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    Blazing White Stars
    Blazing White Stars
    Blazing White Stars
    Ebook269 pages4 hours

    Blazing White Stars

    By Kenneth McDonald

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    About this ebook

    Carzen Zelos and Mara Lendoran weren’t looking for a war then they signed on to escort a merchant caravan across the mountains in Albestin. But caught in the middle of an orc invasion, they are drawn into a quest that might be the coastal kingdom’s only hope against the dark magic and physical strength of the Tainted. Accompanied by the Feldergrass cousins and a White priestess, Carzen and Mara must travel into the cursed Tel’har Forest where the sinister power behind the rising orc nation awaits.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKenneth McDonald
    Release dateMay 10, 2014
    ISBN9781310577673
    Blazing White Stars
    Author

    Kenneth McDonald

    I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

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      Book preview

      Blazing White Stars - Kenneth McDonald

      Blazing White Stars

      Book Five of the Colors of Fate Series

      Kenneth McDonald

      Kmcdonald4101@gmail.com

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2014 by Kenneth McDonald

      Cover Credit: The cover image is adapted from the painting Starry Night Over the Rhone by Vincent van Gogh (1888). The image is in the public domain.

      * * * * *

      Works by Kenneth McDonald

      Wizard’s Shield

      The Ogre at the Crossroads

      The Colors of Fate

      Black Shadows Gather

      Green Hearts Weep

      Red Vengeance Rising

      Faded Yellow Dreams

      Blazing White Stars

      The Mages of Sacreth

      The Labyrinth

      Of Spells and Demons

      Grimm’s War

      Grimm’s Loss

      Grimm’s Love

      The Godswar Trilogy

      Paths of the Chosen

      Choice of the Fallen

      Fall of Creation

      Daran’s Journey

      Heart of a Hero

      Soul of a Coward

      Will of a Warrior

      Courage of a Champion

      * * * * *

      Chapter 1

      The White priest floated upon a swirling sea of colors.

      It was disorienting, that roiling chaos. The colors represented every shade and gradation one could imagine, blended together in a riotous medley of life energy. It was the reason that color-walkers studied their talent with such care, and even senior priests were loath to practice their skill in places where people gathered in numbers.

      But the White priest focused his awareness and rose steadily out from the tumult of the city. As he gained distance from its concentrated life the pressure upon his consciousness eased. He lingered there for a moment, hovering in empty space where the only colors were the faint emanations that echoed from the life below, like trails of scent rising from a bed of flowers. Then he headed north and east, accelerating over the landscape until the tiny pale pips that represented birds shot past him.

      From within the color-walk the priest could not see the natural features of the lands he traveled over, but he could mark his progress by the subtle shifts in the colors he sensed below him. As always, people stood out the brightest, the scattered farms and villages he passed over flashing like brilliant points of light. But as he left the immediate orbit of the city behind those markers faded from view, even though he knew that there were more settlements below. The emptiness of those blank spots hit him almost as strongly as the flood from the city he had left behind.

      Most walkers would not have been able to note the subtle change that marked his arrival at the outer edges of the Tel’har, but the priest was a veteran who was attuned to such elusive distinctions. The colors that resided in plant life were more difficult to separate from the background than those in animals and especially in thinking creatures, but that was balanced by their prolific spread. And there was something more in the ancient forest, a deep suffusing Green that the priest perceived like a balm to his jangled nerves.

      But there was something else as well, something new. He sensed it from a good while off, while still soaring vacantly over the outer edges of the wood. He felt it first from its impact upon the life within the Tel’har, an edge of discordance that was spreading like oil seeping into a pool of clean water. But then he could feel it in its own right, an open sore that swelled and grew until it dominated his perceptions.

      So strong, so quickly, the priest thought. He had been monitoring this development, but even so it caught him by surprise how quickly it had taken root here, eclipsing the colors that had felt buried into the very roots of the land just a few leagues back.

      To his attenuated senses it seemed like a second sun rising ahead of him, burning within the fastness of the forest, but instead of heat it radiated a penetrating disquiet. It was Yellow, but that word meant something more in the color-walk than it did in the mundane world. It was a fundamental power that overwhelmed the distinct presences that he could only barely make out against its overwhelming surge. There were many of those other presences, that much he could discern.

      Carefully he dropped lower and slid closer.

      Movement within the color-walk was a function of will rather than physical effort. The latter meant nothing in this place, separated as he was from his body. But it felt like a physical resistance that intensified as he came closer to the source of the disturbance. He knew that the pain he felt was only a translation of sensations experienced by his projected consciousness into something his mind could understand, but it was enough to stop him for a time before he could muster enough strength to proceed.

      But as he drew closer to the Yellow pulse, his perceptions of the surrounding area grew more indistinct, not less. Within the bubble of his own thoughts he felt a penetrating tingle of alarm. He tried to withdraw but the Yellow presence continued to grow, as though it was a pit that he was sliding into. He could feel it now impinging on his awareness, almost like a physical pressure that quickly became unbearable. Still he could not escape, until everything was that one color, attacking, surging…

      * * *

      Prelate Caladon! Prelate!

      He groaned, the pain that had exploded in his mind replaced by the pains of his body as he came back into himself. Those were familiar pains, though, and almost welcome after the ordeal that he had just experienced.

      I am well, child. Stop… stop shouting so, please.

      He blinked, relieved as the swirls of colors that had filled his vision steadied and took on solid forms. He was back in his room, the plain stone walls reassuring in their clean lines, the simple but solid wooden furnishings all where they were supposed to be. It was a pleasant room, orderly.

      The priest turned his attention to the worried-looking young woman standing over him. The panic that had edged her voice was now fading from her eyes, replaced by a mixture of simple fear and deep concern. She was young, her blonde hair cascading down around her head like a halo, bright against the pure white of her robe. The priest had to still a chuckle at that impression; clearly he was recovering if that was where his mind was going.

      She started to dart in again as he tried to get up, but jumped back just as swiftly at his wave of dismissal. He regretted it a moment later as his head swam with the effort, but as it was too late to accept her aid graciously as he should have from the start he had to grit through it. He did manage to get more or less vertical, though it took a significant exertion.

      Bright Senya, he said to her. You are too loyal to this feeble—and foolish—old man.

      She knelt beside his cot. You shouldn’t say such things, Prelate, she said. And you shouldn’t take such risks.

      It was necessary, he told her.

      You saw it again? she asked. The disturbance?

      More than that, now, he said. Get my scapular, the formal one.

      Protest flashed across her face before she hid it behind a stern mask. You need to rest…

      I need to report to the High Council. Immediately. He softened the words by placing his hand over hers. Difficult times lay ahead of us, child. I fear that we will all have to make sacrifices.

      He remained seated on the edge of the cot as the young woman rushed off to fetch his formal garments from the dressing-room down the hall. He scanned the room again, taking comfort in the calm order of this, his personal space. He considered heading down to the sanctuary to pray and refocus himself before his trip to the Council. They would not be receptive to what he had to tell them.

      Few people were eager to hear tales about the ending of their world.

      His eyes drifted to a spot on the far wall. It was blank stone, unadorned. He had never gone in for the frippery that some of his peers enjoyed. If he wanted to view a tapestry there were many in the sanctuary, and curtains… bah.

      He realized that his gaze had settled on a specific spot. He knew without having to check that it faced north and east. He could not see the colors now, but he knew what lay in that direction, separated by more than a hundred miles of hills and fields and finally forest, a forest that had long served as a bulwark between the coastal kingdom of Albestin and the dangerous lands that lay beyond.

      No longer. Now the dangers had come to them, and they would not be stopping at the Tel’har.

      Sacrifices… he whispered.

      Hearing Senya’s footsteps in the hall beyond his half-open door, the old priest summoned his waning strength and rose from his bed.

      * * * * *

      Chapter 2

      The city-state of Albestin, perched upon a crag upon the rough High Coast, was swollen with a roiling flood of humanity as tumultuous as the seas that crashed against its sheltered harbor. It was the youngest of the Eleven Kingdoms, having gained its independence from Elyria only slightly less than two centuries ago. It had started as a colony of the Island Kingdom, claiming a space undesired by the more prosperous nations that filled the breadth of the continent to the south.

      Albestin controlled a hinterland that included a narrow swath of land extending north along the coast and a sliver of fertile space that extended inland between the Tel’har Forest to the north and the Dun Hills to the south. Even that sliver was sparsely populated, the inland road winding between scattered settlements until it culminated in the fortified village of Tamber’s Hollow, in the shadows of the great mountain range that paralleled the coastline. Albestin was isolated, its neighbors the wild elves of the Tel’har and the barbarian Nassir tribesmen that dwelled in the plains that abutted the mountains. But its people did not mind being spared the frequent conflicts and periodic wars that plagued the more civilized south. Despite its lack of rivals the city was protected by a tall wall of stone that formed an almost-complete circle around its harbor, the mouth that fed Albestin with trade and the bounty of the Blue Deep.

      In normal times three out of five of the kingdom’s residents lived in the city that gave it its name, but these were not normal times. A temporary town of hastily-assembled wooden shacks and tents, raised in defiance of the coming winter, had been erected on the flatlands just south of the city’s walls, and smoke from dozens if not hundreds of fires there rose into the general haze that the prevailing winds blew east from the shore. There was another camp, smaller but more orderly, to the east along the inland road, its nature clearly distinguishable by the glint of the wan sunlight on metal armor and weapons.

      Both that road and the perpendicular route that followed the course of the coastline were busy with riders, wagons, and foot traffic. Most of it was headed toward the city, and long queues had built up at Albestin’s two main gates. People swarmed around those openings, and it was clear that the armed patrols that were in place there had their hands full.

      Another such column was just emerging from the wooded hills that continued east beyond the cleared fields that extended for a good mile or so from the city’s tall stone walls. At first glance it looked like a merchant’s caravan, wagons crowded with heaped goods accompanied by armed outriders with sturdy gazes schooled to wariness. But as the column continued to pour out of the hills it swelled to unprecedented size, with more than thirty wagons and over a hundred and fifty horses, not to mention strings of cattle and other domesticated creatures, the whole accompanied by a small horde of people who had the look of refugees rather than traders. Cries of relief could be heard echoing down the length of the column as the city came into view, and by the time that the final wagons trundled out of the gap in the hills it was clear that their destination was well at hand.

      Carzen Zelos, driving one of those terminal wagons, let out a weary sigh when he finally got the view that had stirred up those ahead. The last week had been rough. It had taken the less-than-merry company of evacuees that long to cover a distance that he could have managed in two days alone on a horse. At least there hadn’t been any more attacks by the orcs that had driven these people from their homes in the first place.

      Are we there yet? piped a voice from behind him. Carzen bit back his reflexive response, knowing it would only encourage its owner.

      Quiet, Beetle, Jaron said, turning in the seat beside Carzen to calm his cousin. Too much to hope that the little bugger would remain asleep for the final leg of their long journey, Carzen thought.

      Jaron Feldergrass and his cousin Beetle were hauflin, a race of diminutive folk shaped like humans but well short of Carzen’s belt buckle when it came to height. These two were old friends and companions, having joined him first for a campaign against the slavers who’d raided their home village in the western Cinder Valley, then again on this expedition west, on what had started out as a trip designed to reopen an old trade route over the mountains before it had turned into something else.

      We’re almost there, Jaron said to both of his fellow riders. There was more than just a statement in those words, questions as well, questions that Carzen shared.

      It’ll be all right, he said.

      Jaron stood up on the wagon seat, balancing easily despite the way that the vehicle bounced over the ruts in the road. The hauflin all seemed to have that gift, Carzen had noticed, an innate agility and quickness that was deceptive for someone who assumed them harmless based on their size. And then there was Beetle, who was a lot of things, but harmless was not one of them.

      It looks pretty chaotic, Jaron said.

      Well, we’re probably not the first refugees to come seeking shelter, Carzen said. Captain Davvers did say that they were evacuating most of the settlements between here and the Tel’har. Tamber’s Hollow was the farthest out, we may be the last ones to arrive.

      I hope they can find room for everyone, Jaron said.

      It’ll be all right, Carzen repeated, like a mantra. Anyway, you’ve got kin there, right?

      My sister, Jaron said.

      I take it that it’s been a while since you’ve seen her, Carzen said.

      Yeah. Years. A lot of years.

      Well, she’ll no doubt put you and your cousin up.

      Maybe, Jaron said. He fidgeted a bit in his seat. What about you and Mara, what are your plans?

      There is no ‘me and Mara,’ he thought, but he said nothing. The tension between him and his partner on this venture hadn’t eased much over the journey, but in all fairness he hadn’t seen much of her over the last week. It might have been the fight they’d had in Tamber’s Hollow, the morning that they’d abandoned the town, or it might have just been the many distractions involved in shuffling more than two hundred people over a hundred miles of uncertain terrain. A hundred times Carzen had thought to seek her out to clear the air, but somehow he just hadn’t gotten around to it. She had her own horse, a gift of the Albestinian cavalry officer who’d come to their rescue at Tamber’s Hollow, and she’d spent much of her time riding with the outriders protecting the caravan. The orcs thankful hadn’t made another appearance, but from what they’d learned it was unlikely that the army gathering somewhere on the far side of the Tel’har Forest would remain absent for long.

      You should talk to her, Jaron said, echoing Carzen’s thoughts.

      She doesn’t want to talk to me, he said.

      How do you know, if you keep avoiding her?

      Carzen started to protest that she was the one avoiding him, but he bit off the words before he could speak them. I don’t pretend to understand women, he said. But in Knowlton at least I knew where I stood.

      Oh?

      The women I knew there were interested in three things. Money, power, and maybe a bit of danger, a hint of risk to make things interesting. That was one benefit of being the second son of Lord Zelos, I guess.

      You’re the eldest son, now, Jaron pointed out.

      It’s not a job I wanted.

      The women you describe. They don’t sound very appealing.

      Yeah, well, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.

      Jaron snorted in response. Carzen glanced over at him, then said, What about you? I thought you were sweet on that priestess, the one we rescued.

      Yarine? We’re old friends, but there’s no romance there. Carzen shot him a dubious look. There had seemed to be more to it than that, though he’d only gotten to see them together during the brief journey back from the Burning Spires to Knowlton, a trip that had been muted by the collective trauma that the hauflin captives had suffered. Carzen had felt… even now, months later, he wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. A sense of purpose, maybe, a glimpse of something that he’d found lacking as the younger or elder son of Lord Zelos of Knowlton.

      Beetle make smooching noises with his lips, drawing a laugh from both of them. Carzen knew that a big part of the reason that Jaron was here was his cousin. For all his deadly prowess in battle, the little fellow was something of a misfit. Even after all the time they’d spent together, Carzen still didn’t know quite what to make of him, or how much he really understood about the world around him.

      Well, there’s plenty of fish in the sea, Carzen said to Jaron. Especially now that you’re beyond that flyspeck village of yours. You sister lives in Albestin, so there must be a hauflin community there, right?

      Jaela… she helps run an orphanage, Jaron said after a pause. I… I haven’t corresponded much with her since she left Fairhollow. It was a long time ago.

      Carzen could sense the tension behind that statement and let it drop, uncomfortable at the private turn in their talk. They were distracted as the wagon came to a bend in the road that brought the training camp they’d spotted earlier back into view. They were still too far off to make out details, but Carzen guessed that there had to be at least a few hundred men based there. Though he wondered why they were out here, and not inside the security of the walls. What would they find on the other side of those gates?

      It looks like the Albestinians are taking the threat seriously, anyway, he said. They could see men engaged in sparring drills on the far side of the wall of tents that formed the perimeter of the camp, though they were still too far away to hear the sounds of their training over the noise made by the refugee column.

      I’ve been in a war, Jaron said. It wasn’t much of one, not by your human standards…

      Enough by my standards, Carzen said. I was still a boy when it happened, but I grew up on stories of Dal Durga’s raid on the Cinder Valley. A lot of men from Knowlton were involved in the fighting, and a good number never came back. Even if half the stories were exaggerations, it sounded… rough.

      Jaron nodded. The fighting didn’t make it far enough north to threaten Fairhollow, but my company saw a few of the villages that had been hit. I don’t want to see these people go through that.

      Come on, this is one of the major cities, Carzen said. "Albestin may not be one of the great kingdoms compared to say, Siresia or Vingesia, but it has an army, and a lot of people. Elevaren said that more than twenty thousand people live within those walls. More than that, now." He wondered how many of the young men from Tamber’s Hollow would end up in that training camp, and how many would die when it came time to face the orc horde.

      There were many Nassir, as well, Jaron pointed out.

      Yeah, Carzen said.

      And those Bad Orcs, Beetle added behind them. By the way he said it, there could be no doubt as to what he was referring.

      Carzen glanced back. "Thanks. I’d almost forgotten about them," he said dryly.

      How many of those do you think they’ll have to send against the city’s army? Jaron asked.

      Carzen shook his head. The elves had called them Tainted, and his own experience had certainly proven that word accurate. Orcs—at least in all the stories he’d heard, he’d never met one in person until Tamber’s Hollow—were supposed to be nasty but weak, sinister cowards that legends placed into the role of fodder to be hacked through by the knight seeking glory. The band that had come to attack the town had included many like that, but it had also included some that were bigger than most humans, stronger and faster and able to absorb wounds that would have killed a man twice over. A handful of elves had come to Tamber’s Hollow in time to warn them, but not soon enough to avoid being trapped with them in the valley. Carzen and Mara had been part of a small party that had tried to slip out via a supposedly hidden pass only to be ambushed by a group of orcs.

      The memory of what had happened next remained fresh even with

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