The Mage's Devotion: A Sword and Sorcery Novel (The Orzare Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  This is a work of fiction. All names, places, and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual names, places, and events are entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 Richard H. O’Toole

  All rights reserved.

  CONTENTS

  MAP OF ORZARE

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  MAP OF ORZARE

  Preface

  “Grab your satchel. We need to move,” Flynn’s father urged him as he rushed through the door.

  “Father, what’s happening?!” the young boy nervously cried.

  “Mazaranth is sacking the city, we have but moments. Grab only what you need. We must be light on our feet if we are to make it to the falls before daybreak.”

  “What happens at daybreak?” Flynn questioned.

  Conan Matthews flashed an angry gaze at his son, catching Flynn off-guard. It was not very common for his father to show such strong emotion; the gaze fulfilled its purpose though. Flynn was quickly off his feet and preparing his things.

  Conan loaded a large sack and filled it with things such as bread, apples, sleeping rolls…Flynn on the other hand started loading his satchel with his favorite horse figurine and books that his father had taught him to read.

  “Only the essentials Son. We do not have need of such pleasures. Here take this,” his father handed him his favorite skinning knife.

  “What is this for?” Flynn squeaked out, hesitantly.

  “Son, I have tried to prepare you the best I could for the unpleasantness of life, but now…now it is time for you to see it for yourself. I wanted to keep you safe, but I am not sure that is possible anymore.”

  “What? Why…is this happening?”

  “Because there are bad people in this world, son, but we have no more time. Now we must be brave. Grab your satchel. It is time to leave.”

  Flynn did as his father requested. He placed on his fur coat, lifted the strap of his satchel over his head, and they headed out into the rainy night.

  Flynn was surprised as they stepped outside. He had expected it to be pitch black, as it was most nights. Most nights, if you focused really hard, you might catch a dim hint of Murphy’s tavern off in the distance. Tonight, though, the sky was alive! And there wasn’t a star to be seen anywhere. It didn’t take long for Flynn to realize why; the village was on fire! The Matthews’ house was several rock throws away from the outer edge of the village, but the heat from the searing flames could be felt almost the moment that they stepped outside. When Flynn finally realized what was happening, he froze with fear.

  “We must move,” Conan urged.

  Flynn immediately responded to his father’s voice. The two hurried off behind their hut, and into the fields they worked. Conan was a farmer, and he owned no small plot of land. His fields extended for many miles with occasional segments of forest land in between. On the other side of town, there were long distances of hills that led up to the main road. The enemy would be coming from that direction. Conan knew this, but he also knew better than to underestimate the Mazaranthee military.

  The Mazaranthees were renowned for their cunning and military strategies. They were likely sacking this village, and all villages along the road to Middleton, the first large city of the Northern Alliance. Conan had fought against the Mazaranthees about twenty years prior. It seemed as though every decade or two they were making an attempt on the north. With Conan’s knowledge of their military strategies, he knew he couldn’t keep to the plains and the farmland if they were to survive.

  The Matthews headed north into their fields. Before the end of the first field, Conan led them west, following alongside the path that bordered the field, keeping several meters back. They maintained this heading until they reached a tree line into the forest. Several families fled down the path, headed in the opposite direction.

  “Why is everyone going a different way than us?” Flynn asked.

  “They are headed to certain doom son.”

  “Why don’t we stop and tell them so?” Flynn pleaded.

  “This may sound harsh son, but to survive this night will take no small amount of luck, and more importantly, stealth. We will likely not make it ourselves. If we travel with a larger group, we will all surely die,” Conan whispered. “They will take their chances in that direction, and we will take ours this way.”

  Flynn nodded as his eyes peered down the path, betraying his certainty. It was difficult to see children that he knew and cared for head off into peril, but he would be lying if he said that his father was uncaring. Flynn only knew his father as a brave and kindhearted man. If he said there was no way, Flynn must trust him.

  Conan peaked his head out of the field to peer down the path. He looked both ways, held his finger to his lips as he stared at Flynn, and they waited. Flynn couldn’t hear anything. They kneeled in that position for what seemed like an eternity, until Conan finally waived Flynn on, and they crossed the path into the woods.

  Conan’s footsteps were calculated and quiet. Flynn saw that his father was taking extra care to walk quietly and dodge dry twigs. Flynn attempted to do the same, with no luck. Conan held out his palm with a stopping gesture. Flynn stopped instantly and looked around, feeling very anxious. He heard nothing though.

  Conan used his index finger and pointed down to his feet. He then took a step, very slowly, while still pointing. Conan’s heel sunk into the moist ground, ever so slightly. Then his foot rolled forward onto the ball of his foot. He continued this with the next foot, still pointing. After looking back up at his son, Flynn nodded. This method seemed to help some. Avoiding dry twigs still seemed to be the key to keeping quiet, but as they continued deeper into the forest, there seemed to be more moisture all around and Flynn found it much easier to walk silently.

  The Matthews continued walking in this way for a couple of hours, occasionally taking breaks to listen. Or so Flynn thought. In reality, Conan was actually just being attentive to the burn that this walking method placed on one’s hamstrings and calves. He would stop on occasion to ensure that Flynn wouldn’t wear out, but it was actually affecting him much more than the young legs of his nine-year-old son.

  Conan finally decided to take a true break, when they neared a pond that Flynn was quite familiar with. The last couple summers he came here often to play with Sara, the blacksmith’s daughter. Conan would reward Flynn with some free time a couple of days of the week for the hard work that he would do on the farms and in his studies. Flynn would run into town right away to Sara’s hut where she would often be knitting or doing other household chores with her mother. He would wave to her through a crack in the door until she would eventually catch a glimpse of him. She would sometimes suggest to her mother that she bring her father something at work, or to buy something in the market, and they would run off to this pond and enjoy the afternoon.

  At first, only Flynn would get in the water, for fear of Sara’s mother discovering what she was actually doing. But before long, she got more creative and started storing extra clothes inside nooks of trees in preparation for the days she knew she would spend with Flynn, then come back later to gather up her clothes for washing. It had taken Flynn and his father much longer to reach the pond this night, than it ever did for he and Sara.

  He and Sara had had a lot of fun these last couple years. Reliving these fond memories didn’t last long though. It didn’t take Flynn long to realize that not only was this place no longer his sacred childhood sanctum, but it was also very unlikely that Sara and her family made it out alive. This thought brought tears to his eyes, to the point where he could feel that deep heaviness in one’s chest right before a spell of heavy sobbing.

  Flynn felt he was going to completely lose it, when there was a noise of a twig snapping. Both Conan and Flynn straightened their backs for a moment, holding completely still. Conan reached slowly into his large sack and pulled out a metallic item. It appeared to be some type of a sword. Flynn was surprised because he hadn’t seen his father pack it. Flynn knew that his father kept his old sword underneath one of the floorboards, but it hadn’t even occurred to him that his father may need to use it one day.

  They both listened intently. After a few moments, Conan relaxed a little. Seeing his father ease a bit, Flynn also found it easier to relax. They remained still a bit longer and Flynn let out a long yawn as he took a seat on the wet grass.

  Conan turned to Flynn and spoke softly,
“Son I know it is late and it seems as though this is a safe place to stop, but like I said, we must reach the falls before daybreak. The caverns and the sounds of the falls will offer us protection from Mazaranth, but if we are exposed to the sunlight, it is that much more likely we will be caught. We aren’t out of this yet. We must be vigilant. Come, let’s get some water from the pond. It will be some time before we will see another body.”

  Conan took his hand and scraped up the dirt parallel to the water. Flynn watched as the water from the pond slowly sifted through the dirt and into the hole that his father just made. They both took several sips, having to pause in between as they waited for the hole to fill back up each time. A few sips later, a couple bites of bread, and they were back on their way.

  This deep into the forest both Conan and Flynn had let up on their slow heel-to-toe walk and began walking casually, still maintaining a listening ear. They continued in this fashion for hours until they came up to a large road. It was the same road that led alongside their village, but it had rounded about the forest, now heading east and west. Conan held out his hand for Flynn to stop and they crouched several feet back from the road, listening closely. There wasn’t a noise to be heard.

  Conan peered down the road both ways, then waved Flynn on as they both crossed the road, with Conan leading the way. On the opposite side of the road there was a large bolder that Conan quickly made his way to. Right before walking behind it though, there was a large cracking sound of a twig behind them. Conan froze and turned back to look at his son.

  The road was illuminated in the moonlight and Conan could see no twigs that Flynn could have stepped on. Flynn froze, completely still and stared at his father. Conan waved hurriedly. Flynn began to walk quickly, and another cracking sound came.

  Suddenly a bolt hit into the rockface that Conan was standing by. A man on horseback came barreling toward them wearing a full plate of armor and a mace in his right hand. The man on horseback began twirling the mace and Conan sprinted toward his son. Flynn saw the man coming and jumped off the path and back from the way he had just come, on the opposite side of the man’s mace.

  Conan was grateful that his son had reacted properly, but the horseman was not the only threat. Suddenly, yells came from the tree line to the west and another bolt hit into the ground before Conan. He dropped his sack, pulled out his sword, and began running toward Flynn.

  Conan reached Flynn just in time to intercept the first soldier. As the soldier lifted his one-handed sword, Conan swiped and cut off the man’s hand. The man fell in shock as he stared at the stump at the end of his arm. Another soldier arrived immediately after, swiping sideways at Conan. Conan jumped a step back and parried the sword into the ground. He quickly lunged deeply into the soldier’s leather chest guard. The man dropped instantly.

  Suddenly there were two more soldiers and the man on horseback had reoriented himself for another charge. Conan and Flynn retreated back into the forest with the soldiers yelling and running after them. Conan knew they would lose this foot race, especially with a man on horseback.

  Conan turned to his son and yelled, “Get in behind the man on horseback and run to the falls. I will hold them as long as I can.”

  Flynn stopped for a moment and simply stared. Frozen stiff with fear and sadness.

  “Now! Do it now. This is not the time to question me son!”

  Flynn did as he was told and ran between large oaks to get behind the horseman. He turned just in time to see a blonde-haired woman in a bright white gown walk up behind his father and summon a wooden spike from the ground, impaling his father through the back. For a moment Flynn almost allowed his legs to buckle mid-sprint, but he quickly got ahold of himself and continued across the road, tears in his eyes, until he reached the other side of the road and hid behind the boulder. Momentarily out of sight of the soldiers, he ran as fast as he could. Another couple hundred feet and he would reach the water. Flynn could hear the yelling behind him, but he hit the water as fast as possible, swimming straight for the falls, and keeping his head well below the water line.

  Flynn was nearly out of breath when he finally hit the falls. It was then that he realized he should have gathered himself a bit first, because the moment he reached the falls, was the moment that he sank. The water threw him down low, at least a good fifteen feet. Flynn tried to swim back up, but the current was too strong. He started swimming sideways instead, away from his assailers, but was quickly running out of air. He looked around, desperately struggling to grab onto anything to assist in his race to the surface, but saw nothing. Before he knew it, he began convulsing to the point that he had no choice but to choke on water. Then his sight grew dim.

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  “Stay away from me!” a young woman yelled as she ran down the street.

  “Charlotte! Snap out of it!” a man yelled as he chased after the woman.

  Jolly Mostrider peeked up over the mug that he was sucking the foam from as he heard the shouts from up the road. As he glanced out the open window, he noted a young girl in her early twenties with thick, long, black hair sprinting in his direction. She was panicked and appeared to be chased by a man in his late forties. He clearly knew her, since he was calling her name, but if a girl was telling you to stay away, well you needed to do just that. Jolly stood up and tossed some coins to the bar keep.

  “Thanks Jasper. As always, you run a tight ship. I’ll see you on my way back through.”

  “Aren’t you going to finish your beer?” asked the older man as he cleaned a glass.

  “Duty calls,” Jolly yelled back as he stepped out the door.

  The girl was just passing him with the man closely following. An orange glyph flashed on Jolly’s right hand and an instant later Jolly wore a full body of armor. The armor was a thing of beauty. It stood out even amongst the wealthiest of nobles. His helm was made of some form of white shimmering metal, covering most of his face except for a ‘T’-shaped area for his eyes, mouth, and nose. His chest plate was stunning. It was made of the same metal, but it wasn’t like your typical cuirass. Instead, it was made up of dozens of small overlapping plates which seemed to form to Jolly’s body in some type of supernatural way. Not even a slight weak point could be found in it; neither at the elbows, nor the neck, as it appeared to snake up underneath the helm. The greaves and foot plating were nothing extraordinary apart from that shimmering white metal. In fact, with the exception of the chest plate, most of the rest of the armor appeared to resemble basic plate armor, except glimmering and white.

  The running man was so stunned by Jolly’s flash of armor, that he hadn’t even realized the arm that Jolly had held out in front of him. He slammed right into it, stopping instantly, and flopping onto his back. A loud ring sounded as the man’s head bounced off Jolly’s arm plating. Jolly walked over to the man and stood over him.

  Jolly’s armor was not the only intimidating feature of the man. He was a thick bodied man and a good head and shoulders taller than most. He sported a few scars, but the only one that appeared through the armor was over his left eyebrow, leaving a decent amount of the eyebrow hair missing. More frightening, was the way that he moved. Sometimes with larger men, there is a sluggishness to their movement, like they would gas quickly if they had to exert themselves for any extended amount of time. Watching Jolly walk though, one could tell that he wasn’t quite comfortable moving as slowly as the rest of the mortals.