The Trinity of Heroes (I Will Protect You Book 1)
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Authors: Jared Mason Jr.,Justin Mason
I Will Protect You
Series
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Check out all books by Jared Mason Jr. and Justin Mason:
I Will Protect You Series:
I Will Protect You Volume 1: The Trinity of Heroes
Tokyo Lightning Series:
Tokyo Lightning Volume 1: Chained Lightning
Tokyo Lightning Volume 2: Z-No More
A Quest of Dragons Series:
A Quest of Dragons Volume 1: The Book of Dragon
Copyright 2013 by Jared Mason Jr. and Justin Mason. All rights reserved.
Cover Art and Map copyright 2013 by Isaiah Noll.
All characters and names in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited.
For everyone who ever wondered if their dreams could come true, they can!
The army moved slowly, ravenously, commanded by a force of such unrelenting evil and malice that even the sunlight from the heavens above darkened around it. The army’s shadow spread out and swallowed the lands as its soldiers moved in mindless unison toward their next destination: the city of Haile.
Jerreth unsheathed his longsword and kissed its blade as he reverently whispered a prayer to Sora for her guidance and protection. He felt a comfort in his blade that no man could provide him, its honed edge an extension of the justice he would commence. But even a sense of justice didn’t encourage him on this day; even his unwavering devotion to defend his homeland couldn’t quell the uneasiness in his stomach.
The lands turned black as the army moved over them like a disease, like a plague stripping the forests and lakes of their beauty and tranquility and peacefulness. The faint rumble of a million feet, the quiet gnashing of countless bones, the rising melody of inhuman horrors grew gradually louder as it approached.
“Men, today may be the last for our great city, but by Sora’s grace, we won’t go down without a fight!” a tall, grey-haired man bellowed to the legions of Hailian Knights that stood at the castle gates. His polished plate mail armor gleamed brightly and his sword and shield glinted in the sunlight, radiating poise, morale, confidence, hope.
“Master Grey, our situation is dire. Their army, it grows larger by the minute. Their warriors, they are summoned from under the earth itself. We’ll never survive the siege. We are sure to be overrun. I know we’ll sacrifice our defensive position, but if we are going to die, then let us at least take the fight to them!” Jerreth urged.
“Ah, Captain Jerreth, I can’t agree more. I can see that me training has paid off immensely for ye. Men, prepare yerselves for war! Let these unholy bastards taste yer blades! Flint, Jerreth, Marcus, we will lead the charge!”
Their warhorses raced across the open fields and valleys of Forme, followed by the legions of Knights. As they approached the lumbering army the sights and smells disturbed even these most steadfast of warriors. Skeletons of all heights draped with rotting, decaying flesh marched forward. Their eyes glowed the color of night, a dark purple so intense and haunting it seared souls. Some wielded bones, others swords, and still others nothing at all. These shambling beasts were not the only members of the army. Four legged beasts haphazardly limped forward on broken claws and shattered limbs. Their gums and cheeks had eroded away and their mouths of shattered, cracked teeth showed through permanent smiles. And the giants. Made of bones and dirt and skulls these beasts towered many stories high, wielding huge whip-like chains of carcasses as their weapons.
But the stink, the unholy smell of death, the putrid taste of demise could not have been greater had the Knights been buried in the furthest depths of hell itself. It was as if the earth itself was decaying, rotting away beneath their very feet and rising up again to consume itself.
And there, in the middle of the army, Jerreth could see its leader. He rose in the air, standing taller than all but the mightiest of his creations. His strides were long, purposeful, deliberate. A helm of gold and jewels sat atop his head. He was a king, but of no living subjects. He wore a fine, golden robe and carried a massive staff with a razor-sharp blade on each end. He summoned and chanted and controlled. He raised the staff in the air and plunged it hard into the dirt. Darkness spread out over the green plains, like venom coursing through a bloodstream.
And then the earth cracked and parted, and from underneath it bony hands reached through, followed by arms, then by shoulders and heads and torsos and legs. And the walking dead of every creed and religion and belief fell in line with the rest of his army, mindlessly marching, and consuming, and overtaking.
It was a mesmerizing sight, the sea of the undead, as it flowed over the lands like a tidal wave of death, gathering more and more momentum as it headed toward its destination. But like hidden boulders beneath the water of a shallow reef, the legions of Hailian Knights were gathering to meet that wave. And break it.
The four Knights paused, gathered their resolve, raised their right arms in the air, and readied the legions.
“In Sora’s name, what evil is this!?” Flint gasped, as he looked into the unending ranks of skeletons and reanimated corpses.
“Charrrrrge!” Jerreth roared. He kicked his horse’s flanks and began to gallop toward the army.
The legions of Hailian Knights, surging with morale, yelled in unison and raced headfirst into hell itself.
-
The History of the Great War, Volume 1, Chapter 1
as recorded by Markan Codex.
Are we but pawns in a game between good and evil? Is it possible that the stakes be our very souls?
- Philosopher Phillanomis, Early Writings
The hustle and bustle of the city of Haile, Forme’s capital, during its busiest times paled in comparison to the good times to be had at the Silver Shield Pub, tucked into the center of Haile’s sprawling marketplace. Nestled amongst homes and barracks like a wizened farmer in an unruly potato patch, the pub was distinguishable by four large chimneys denoting a place of warmth and brotherhood. In addition to its chimneys, the pub was adorned with a gigantic emblem over its front door of a kite shield with swords crossed at the top. The shield stood as a proud beacon throughout Haile, denoting a place for all to come and feel welcome. A cloaked traveler, wearing his hood to hide his face, pushed open the large oak door to the Silver Shield. The powerfully invasive smell of hops immediately stung at the man’s nose, welcoming him with a foretaste of the local brew as he entered. Behind the bar, a young, silver-haired, man dressed in a brown robe poured brews freely for his patrons as he looked up to greet the new customer.
The cloaked man approached the counter. “Whatever you’ve got that’s strong, bartender,” he said; his voice was deep, brooding.
“Here you go, friend, welcome to the Silver Shield! I’m Galvan Gabrielle and I hope you find your stay to be to your liking,” the bartender said courteously. He poured a stout and set it down in front of the man.
“Thank you, sir. I am supposed to be meeting a woman here…about this high.” He motioned with his hand to about shoulder height, but kept his head lowered as though he were trying to avoid unnecessary eye contact with the bartender.
The bartender’s attention floated past the man to a partially concealed table in the back of the crowded bar. “You mean ‘Sunny’ back there? I call her that because she has the brightest hair I have ever seen!” the bartender exclaimed, making reference to the woman’s golden blonde hair; hair which even now seemed to illuminate her gloomy corner booth.
The hooded man sighed. “Yes, barkeep, that would be her.” He placed several cryn on the counter and began to walk away.
The bartender tossed a last, earnest attempt at hospitality across the table growing between them, “You have no enemies here, sir. Why don’t you take off your cloak and relax?”
“I have enemies everywhere I go, barkeep, even here. I prefer to keep to myself.”
“Suit yourself; let me know if you need anything else,” the bartender answered, trying to mask his growing uneasiness toward his new patron.
The mysterious hooded man started slowly walking toward the back of the bar. As he approached the corner booth, a beautiful woman stood up and moved toward him, her golden hair now shining as light from the nearby candles illuminated her slender figure.
“My dear, you are more beautiful every time I see you,” the man said insincerely, reaching out a hand to take hers momentarily. “How do you do it? How do you maintain your beauty whilst I can barely manage to maintain my form?” His hand was scarred, scratched, bruised, and old with the stories of a long life. When their hands met, his felt cold to hers and hers warm to his.
“You know how I do it, and yet, you refuse to do so for yourself. If you really wanted to learn, I would happily show you the way,” was all she replied as the two exchanged short, disingenuous pleasantries and sat down. Her azure eyes glistened in the candlelight as she glanced at her hooded guest. Between them sat a chess board filled with pieces ready for battle. Mirror-polished black porcelain pieces cast razor sharp shadows from the man’s side of the board, squaring off against the woman’s elegantly flowing white crystalline pieces. The two settled into their game with the ease of a long-rehearsed rivalry; though they had played each other many times, the outcome was never certain. They were like two master Knights sparring for the hundredth time, both so well trained in combat and accustomed to the other’s peculiarities that not even the most adept warrior could foresee a victor.
