Scourge of the five king.., p.1
Scourge of the Five Kingdoms, page 1
SCOURGE OF THE FIVE KINGDOMS
A FIVE KINGDOMS OF CORDIZAL SERIES: BOOK 1
CHARLES K JORDAN
WHITE RHINO, LLC
Copyright © 2020 by Charles K Jordan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by White Rhino, LLC
https://white-rhino.jp/
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This book is dedicated to my mother and my nephew. Both of you inspired me to be better and to follow my heart. Thank you, and Rest In Peace.
I want to thank my family and dear friends who stood by me and even believed in me more than I believed in myself at times. Whenever I doubted myself, whenever I wanted to give up, you were there to make sure I kept going. Without your love and support, this series would have never have happened.
I especially want to thank my editor and best friend. I can honestly say that your support and encouragement gave me the confidence to finish a lifelong dream. I don’t know if I will ever be able to repay what I owe you, but I will try to live up to your expectations of what you believe I can accomplish.
Finally, I want to thank you, the reader. I hope you enjoy the ride as much as I have.
Charles K. Jordan
CONTENTS
Prologue
Part I
Part II
Part III
1. Gaiaus
2. Arcanus
3. Arcanus
4. Kir’Lor
5. Arcanus
6. Haz-Ar
7. Zandall
8. Haz-Ar
9. Arcanus
10. Gaiaus
11. Arcanus
12. Ang’Lor
13. Haz-Ar
14. Kir’Lor
15. Haz-Ar
16. Kir’Lor
17. Haz-Ar
18. Kravious
19. Gaiaus
20. Lothar
21. Morax
22. Arcanus
23. Arcanus
24. Kir’Lor
25. Kir’Lor
26. Arcanus
27. Kir’Lor
28. Haz-Ar
29. Zandall
30. Arcanus
31. Himley
32. Haz-Ar
33. Ang’Lor
34. Haz-Ar
35. Zandall
36. Gaiaus
37. Beggar King
38. Kir’Lor
39. Gaiaus
Epilogue
Author’s Notes
PROLOGUE
PART I
Archmage Marlee Slands stood beside his lecture podium and paused to allow his students to digest his words. Marlee loved his work as a lecturer at the Arza Arcane Academy, and, as his students thought about his lecture, he took in the sight of them.
Although he would never admit it aloud, he was pleased to see that the blue hues of his people, the Arzans, made up the bulk of the class. A handful of Ramons, their tawny skin sticking out like a sore thumb, dotted that sea of Arzan blue. To his pleasant surprise, several Nawahl had overcome their reclusive nature and trekked from the Lichwood Forest to attend. Even more surprising, two Grang sat in the front row, leering at him with their unsettling carnivorous smiles. Logically, Marlee knew that any Grang at the Academy would be studying to become warrior-priest for his Fist and would accordingly be on his best behavior. However, given Marlee’s history with Grang, he could not help but wonder if one or both of the reptilian warriors would try something before the end of the trimester. The only disappointment, so far, had been Xandran attendance. According to the rolls, there should have been nearly as many Xandrans as Arzans in the class. Unfortunately, over three-fourths of them had failed to make a single appearance. He mentally sighed. He knew what to expect of Xandrans; he simply wanted, even if only once, a class full of hard-working, non-stereotypical Xandrans.
“So? Does anyone have an answer for this little conundrum?” Marlee asked. “The pursuit of magik is a difficult path, but the end results can allow even a man saddled with bodily sickness from birth to wield powers of tremendous strength.” He paused just long enough to pan his eyes across the lecture hall. “As the old adage goes: power leads to corruption. So, why do we study magik? Or, better yet, why do you think the Five Kingdoms allows anyone that can afford Academy tuition to wield such a dangerous power?” He loved the murmur of confusion this train of thought stirred up. “It would be easy to preach responsibility and duty to society, but we know how easily a man can break a vow when convenient. So, again I ask: is magik safe in the hands of the common citizen of the Five Kingdoms?”
Time dragged. Marlee had begun to feel disappointed in his students’ lack of effort and confidence when suddenly, a student stood up near the front row.
“Ah! Finally, a student feels like participating. Splendid!” Marlee exclaimed. “Pupil Haz-Ar, is it not?”
Haz-Ar Darkmare stood tall, even for an Arzan, with glistening silver hair and dark, blue-purple skin. He had a contagious air of confidence about him, and his emerald green eyes shone as if he knew a joke that no one else knew.
“Yes, Archmage,” Haz-Ar respectfully responded. “Haz-Ar Darkmare.”
“So? Do you have an answer for us, Haz-Ar?” Marlee asked.
“Personally, I think of magik as a tool. The world’s greatest and most powerful tool, yes, but still a tool.”
Marlee smiled. This was precisely what he had wanted to hear. “A tool that can be used to kill?”
“Yes,” Haz-Ar said, nodding slowly. “Magik can kill, yes, but is not so unlike other tools, I think. A blacksmith’s hammer could crack a skull as easily as it tempers steel. Daggers slit throats as easily as they slice cheese.”
Marlee gestured for Haz-Ar to continue.
“Now that I think about it, magik is a bit more than a simple tool. Magik is more like a sword. A sword can be used to conquer as well as protect. It can also be used as a reminder of our mortality. It acts as a reminder to live within the policy of our society.” Haz-Ar paused and ran his fingers through his silver hair. A slight smile formed on his lips. “And, most importantly, as with a sword, one can never be the best. There will always be someone or something out there that is faster, stronger, or with better technique. All one can really hope to accomplish is to be considered one of the greatest, a name on a shortlist.”
“Superbly said!” Archmage Marlee said as Haz-Ar sat back down in his place on the stone benches. “Pupil Haz-Ar made several true and excellent points. Everyone here benefits from the youthful wisdom he shared with us today. We will pick up from here on the morrow, and I expect more of you to show promise from then on out,” Marlee said firmly, but not unkindly.
He watched his students shuffle out of the lecture hall and caught a glimpse of Haz-Ar’s silver hair disappearing into the crowd of students scurrying out. Marlee smiled. That one held promise.
“Carline!” Maximus Polfrey bellowed, waving a massive silver goblet in his meaty hands. “More wine for Maximus Gaiaus and myself!”
Maximus Polfrey was already well into his third bottle, and they had just sat down for lunch.
“Carline is fantastic. Her family has served mine since the days of Polfrey the First,” he whispered to Gaiaus as he wiped his sweaty brow on the sleeve of his bright red robe.
The only word that could accurately describe Polfrey was: obese. He was the fattest Ramon that Gaiaus had ever seen – and that was saying something because his people were known for their girth throughout the Five Kingdoms. Maximus Gaiaus, on the other hand, was very fit for a Ramon. His rotund countrymen frequently commented on his heavily muscled body; his thick bull neck and barrel chest were conversation starters. Even as a Maximus, the highest rank a Ramon citizen could achieve, Gaiaus frequented the yard to practice arms with his guards and was renowned for his skill with a Ramon broadsword. His family line was proud and remembered the old ways of their people.
At its zenith, Rame had the continent’s dominant culture and an unrivaled economy. Ramons were consistently on the cutting edge of academia and magik. They were the leaders that others followed. The key to that dominance, Gaiaus knew, had been Ramon military might and the Ramon work ethic. In the old days, Ramon children trained from childhood. As the children grew into adults, the training intensified throughout adulthood until death. The Ramons of old had been feared across the continent. Now, after generations of decadence and years of slaving, Ramons were soft and fat. Fools like Polfrey were now the norm. In time, Gaiaus would change that.
“That is very fascinating, Maximus Polfrey,” Gaiaus said. “I am grateful for the lunch, but I have come to discuss rather pressing matters.”
“What could be more pressing than food and drink?” Maximus Polfrey chortled.
“I came to ask you about Maximus Augustive,” Gaiaus said. “He sits on the Consul of Five, and you have his ear.”
“You mean I have him by the balls,” Polfrey boasted. He ripped a wing off of a roasted duck and took a bite. He made a squeezing gesture with his other hand as if holding Augustive’s testicles in hand. “I can’t believe my father married
Gaiaus could not stand Polfrey’s sister. That vapid woman was many things, and little was not one of them. Unless, of course, you were talking about her pea-sized brain.
Gaiaus did not want Polfrey to derail the conversation. He met the other man’s eyes and said, “Maximus Polfrey, the clans in the Wildlands have gathered, and they have sent an envoy to meet. The Five Kingdoms cannot afford to lose the chance to conquer the Wildlands.”
“Conquer?” Polfrey confusedly mumbled around a mouthful of cheese.
“Not in the sense that our ancestors conquered lands, of course,” Gaiaus said, putting down his cup and spreading his hands. “This time, we will conquer with treaties and gold. The Wildlands are a goldmine waiting to be tapped. If, say, a few Ramon officials were able to make sure a treaty happened between the Wildlands and the Five Kingdoms...” Gaiaus paused to make sure that Polfrey was as greedy as he was gluttonous. “And, say, the same few Ramons were the first to invest and establish businesses from the Uncouth Coast to the Himolayon Mountains...” He paused again, allowing his scheme to settle into Polfrey’s feeble mind. “Then who knows? The amount of gold returned might put those investors into a state of riches that would rival Xandra’s sultans.”
Polfrey stopped eating. He stared at Gaiaus and licked his lips while dry-washing his hands. “So, what do I need to do to help ensure peace between the Wildlands and the Five Kingdoms?”
“Very little, actually. You would need to make sure that Maximus Augustive wants to meet with the Wildlands clans,” Gaiaus said.
“And?” Polfrey asked in hushed tones.
Gaiaus saw the hungry look in Polfrey’s eyes and knew he had him. He forced himself to smile. “Once the treaties are underway, we will need an ambassador.” Polfrey leaned in close, nodding his head conspiratorially. “The only other thing you need to do is have your brother-in-law appoint me for that task.”
Marlee found Archmage Sal Nales relaxing in the lecturer hall with a small plate of figs and a bottle of Arzan wine. Sal nodded and smiled in greeting as Marlee approached. When Marlee got close enough, Sal made the Arzan hand gesture for brotherly friendship and greeted Marlee as he had for years now. “Bringer of Storms! How fare your lectures this cycle?”
Marlee was a middle-aged Arzan of average height and weight with dark green eyes and light green hair. His skin had a pale blue complexion, and he was often told that he had a friendly smile. Marlee, as usual, had dressed well below his station in life. Today, he wore well-cut charcoal gray robes made of sturdy Arzan wool.
Sal, in comparison, was a slender man of short stature. He had dark blue skin and long flowing hair that was a blue so dark it was often mistaken for black. Sal preferred silks to wools and often wore colors flamboyant enough to make a Xandran flinch.
“Sal, my friend,” Marlee said warmly. “I would have your counsel if you would give it.”
“Oh?” Sal said with his lopsided grin. “And what would bring the mighty Stormbringer here, to little old me, for advice?”
“Sal, you sell yourself short – no jest intended,” Marlee said lightheartedly. The two shared a chuckle. Marlee sat on the bench in front of Sal and grabbed a fig from the plate on the table. “Actually, Sal, I came to you because I have a pupil in my lectures.”
“That is what keeps us employed, my friend,” Sal said, returning the jest.
“In all seriousness, Sal. This pupil is gifted. He has the passion and the intelligence needed to perform magik,” Marlee said intensely. “You can almost feel the magik seeping from his words. His name is Haz-Ar Darkmare." Sal shifted forward at the name, now listening intently. “As you know, Sal, I refuse to play politics, so I know nothing of the minor families. I don’t want to put the boy’s academic future in peril by making uncomfortable inquiries about him. You know how some of these aristocrats are. Schemes and plots upon plots and schemes and such.”
Sal inhaled deeply. “To be honest, Pupil Darkmare’s pedigree is complex, to say the least. His family is rather new, but he does come from a line of talented magikians.” Sal paused for a moment, obviously flustered by Marlee’s ignorance of gossip. He took a deep breath, then continued, “A dubious line of talented magikians.”
“Dubious?”
“Haz-Ar’s father, Al-Zon, was a necromancer of vast powers,” Sal said, a hint of distaste in his voice.
“His father practiced necromancy?” Marlee said, stunned.
Necromancy had been illegal in Arza for at least two hundred years, and Arza had demanded that the art be banned across the Five Kingdoms. You could, of course, study theory at the Academy, but casting even a lesser necromantic spell was a capital offense.”
Yes,” Sal said, reaching for his wine goblet. “He was no part-time enthusiast. He was perhaps the most knowledgeable man of the art from our era.”
“He was?” Marlee asked, humoring Sal’s habit of eliciting a train of thought from pupils and colleagues alike.
“Well, as one might expect from an outlaw, he had to deal with less than trustworthy companions,” Sal said over his goblet, a sparkle of mirth dancing in his crystal blue eyes. “The most reliable rumor that I have heard is that he was in the market for some...” Sal paused, seeming somewhat uncomfortable even though he was trying to carry on in his usual casual way. “Err, subjects for his arts.” Sal took a sip of his wine as if to wash away a sour taste. “And, well, you can’t just buy those in a market.”
“So?” Marlee asked, feeling morbidly curious about the boy’s father.
“So, as the story goes, Al-Zon was murdered for all his gold and ducats. Something akin to a spice deal gone bad in the gutter side of town,” Sal said with a half-hearted grin.
“How long ago did this happen?” Marlee asked.
“I would say about fifteen or sixteen years ago,” Sal answered. “If my memory serves me well, Al-Zon’s wealthy merchant brother, Da-Naly Darkmare, raised Haz-Ar after that.” Sal put the goblet down next to the platter of figs and looked at Marlee with his easy grin. “Da-Naly isn’t exactly known to be a philanthropist.” He eyed a fig and reached into the platter before continuing. “He is known for being as cold-blooded as a Grang warlord.” Sal finished the fig and went for another, apparently allowing Marlee to take it all in.
“Well, at least I know he isn’t politically connected,” Marlee said after a moment before scratching his arm through his robe.
Sal dropped his prized fig and erupted into a fit of laughter.
Kir’Lor sighed loudly, which for a Grang sounded like wool being slowly ripped apart, as he made his way down the dimly lit corridor toward his father’s meeting chambers. Kir’Lor reached a pair of massive double doors and stopped, adjusting his polished red half-plate. If he had worn the garments that he had become accustomed to during his time in Arza, his father would never let him hear its end. He steeled himself, opened one of the massive doors, then walked into the chamber.
The chamber seemed unchanged: vast, impressive, and overly barren. One would never have guessed that Kir’Lor’s father was the most powerful, wealthiest, and continent’s most influential Grang.
Near the chamber’s center sat a large table with a relief of Cordizal carved into it. Maps of the Five Kingdoms and other documents were strewn across the table. Kir’Lor’s father, Ang’Lor, the Warlord of Warlords, looked up at him as he approached.
