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The Secret of the Sunstones
Part I : The Wanton Kingdom
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wan·ton (wŏn-tən)
adj.
1. Immoral or unchaste; lewd.
2. Gratuitously cruel; merciless.
3. Marked by unprovoked, gratuitous maliciousness; capricious and unjust: wanton destruction.
4. Unrestrainedly excessive: wanton extravagance; wanton depletion of oil reserves.
5. Luxuriant; overabundant: wanton tresses.
"As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods? They kill us for their sport."
- William Shakespeare
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Awakening
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Deep inside its thousand-year prison, a powerful force of chaos twitched in its sleep. Consciousness slowly returned, but it would take time to fully awaken. Even so, Abaddon knew its freedom was near; such was the Great Lord’s promise. This time, nothing would stop the anarchy and destruction. Gaia would feel its wrath. Humans would feel its pain. And vengeance would be wrought.
Patience ….
The demon stirred once more before returning to sleep.
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Arc I : A Prelude
Chapter I : Spawn
Earlmorn of Quartus, Twenty-Eighth Day of Harvestmoon
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Bram Morrison’s eyes shot open as a thundering battle horn jerked him out of a restless sleep.
His ship was under attack.
“Damn it!”
He jumped out of bed and quickly donned his darksteel armor, enchanted plates that covered every inch of his body. He grabbed his sword, a poisonous, magically imbued blade that could mortally wound with a single strike. Lastly, he donned his helm, the epitome of a Gnostic Knight’s attire. Shaped like a beast’s skull with fearsome horns protruding from its temples, it sent a message to all who witnessed it. Gnostics were King Richard's deadliest weapons, an elite force capable of enacting merciless justice.
“Capt’n! We’re gettin’ swarmed up here!”
Bram heard Biggs, his First Lieutenant, pleading from above deck. Unwilling to waste a single precious moment, he leapt from his cabin at breakneck speed. Before even reaching his crew, he knew exactly which creatures had attacked them.
Spawn.
As a Gnostic Knight, Bram felt no fear. He channeled negative emotions like these directly into his enchanted armor. They fueled his battle lust, and in an instant, his darksteel plates were enshrouded in a purple aura of heightened killing power.
With the battle horn still blaring, he burst onto the deck. It was brimming with gorm, one species of spawn with the wings and body of a bat, yet as large as a human torso. Their hideous heads were shaped like a spider, with dark beady orbs for eyes and sharp, disease-ridden fangs. They smelled worse than a week-old corpse.
Biggs fended off several of these monsters at once, while the rest of Bram’s crew fought at the ship’s bow, outnumbered, ten to one.
“Go help the others,” he ordered. “I’ll take care of these.”
While Biggs rushed over, Bram leapt into the fray. He plunged his sword deep inside the nearest gorm and jerked it free. Strands of greasy black ichor dripped onto the deck. In one swift motion, he twisted his body and sliced through another of the savage beasts.
The battle felt good, but it wasn’t the same without the one he loved. It had been too long, since she was by his side.
His muscles tensed, and he wasn’t about to feel regret. Instead, he channeled that energy into his Gnostic armor. The darksteel glowed, and he leapt into the air, high above the ship’s deck. His sword spun, hacking through the gorm swarm, severing wings and limbs with aplomb. Appendages thudded onto the deck, followed by bloodied bodies. He landed gracefully to admire the pile of harmlessly twitching carcasses at his feet.
He jumped again, sword arm gliding through the spawn swarm like an opera conductor’s baton. His magnificent song of violence mounted at every turn, slaying until it reached its crescendo. Bloodlust sang in his veins, an anthem of carnage on his lips. In short order, he littered the deck with a chopped salad of monster parts.
At last, he relaxed. He removed his helm, ready to receive a stiff breeze, but there was none. By now, a hot sun beat down from above, suffocating his ship in a haze of heat and humidity. Worse, the stagnant air magnified the gorm stench and was certain to worsen by the minute.
Still, he needed to catch his breath. He ran his fingers through his hair, untangling silver strands from his sweaty scalp. Some might find their pale color out of place for a man his age. Barely in his thirties, Bram was youthful and clean-shaven, and his copper complexion was better suited to a darker head of hair. Even so, the light metallic locks became his trademark trait.
He wasn’t native to his homeland of Angkor. His eyes were more slanted than his neighbors, and his bone structure more pronounced. Yet his background remained a mystery. The man who raised him, a farmer from the western countryside, died in a tragic enemy attack while Bram was still at the Academy, robbing him of the chance to learn of his birth.
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Nevertheless, behind a Gnostic helm, appearances didn’t matter. The Knighthood granted Bram high status, which was why he brandished his armor so often in public. He wanted to remind the nation’s elite of his favor with the king. He rarely went out in civilian clothes, except in the company of the woman he loved.
He imagined her, standing before him, gleaming in her bright blue sorceress’ uniform.
But he shook his head, forcing the temptation to leave. His job was unfinished as long as the threat remained. He had to remove the stinking gorm carcasses from the ship before they drew the attention of other, more dangerous spawn.
Bram was one of six Gnostics, and each had the privilege of captaining an airborne vessel. Indeed, the Heron was a marvel of magic and engineering—an airship—and it was currently enroute across the Great Ocean, an airspace vulnerable to creatures like spawn. The scent of gorm carcasses intensified the threat, but getting rid of them was a problem. They were heavier than a sack of flour, and Bram estimated it would take hours to heave them over the edge. He didn’t have that kind of time. There had to be a better way.
“Biggs, over here!”
He summoned his lieutenant, who was currently wiping blood off his blade. The slender man had battle scars all over his body, but he had survived worse. He trotted over and saluted.
“Aye, Sir!”
Bram gestured to the chopped-up bodies. “We need to be rid of these before they attract other spawn.”
“We’ll haul ‘em over within the hour, Capt’n.”
Bram shook his head. The estimate was too optimistic, and he needed something more efficient. “Not good enough. The sun’s too hot and there’s no wind. It won’t be long before this stench attracts every spawn within a dozen leagues.”
Biggs cocked his head in consideration. “Wouldn’t said so otherwise, but we could fly the Heron an’ take a sharp turn. Push the bodies to one side. Assumin’ we’ve taken precautions, it’ll hurl ‘em over.”
Bram thought about it. Even airships could capsize if flown too aggressively. The maneuver would take some preparation, but it could work. It reminded him of a strategy he had once taken while escaping a Kitezhian ambush. He had been with her, when the enemy boarded his ship. With the help of her magic, a single sharp turn had them careening to the side. It was a melancholy moment, reminding him once again of the one he left behind. He drew a sharp breath to stem the ache in his chest.
“Do it,” he ordered.
No sooner had the lieutenant rushed off when another member of the crew flagged Bram to port side.
“Ahoy, Capt’n!” the man signaled with his arm.
Bram rushed over to see where he pointed. A dozen large black shapes hovered in the distance, like wraiths. A shiver ran down his spine.
“Shit! Of all the damned beasts ….”
He recognized the endrakes, another spawn species, though far worse than gorm. They resembled something between a raven and a lizard, but with jaws large enough to swallow a man whole. Worse, they stunned their prey with poisonous darts hidden beneath their wings.
These beasts were cunning and patient, waiting just beyond the reach of the Heron’s cannons. Bram needed to rid the skies of this threat before reaching his destination. Otherwise, they’d sweep in for the kill the moment he tried to land. He had to lure them close and force a conflict.
It was a long shot, but his mind went to the Heron’s magically charged munitions. Among them, the lightning round. Its accuracy was shoddy, but the endrakes’ feathers would attract the charge. Bram believed the bolts would find their target, even if the beasts dodged.
The only problem was how to get them close.
A nearby commotion interrupted his pondering. The king’s chancellor, his top-secret passenger, badgered one of his crew. The Knight approached, hoping to deescalate.
Virgil Garvey was a middle-aged bureaucrat who worked as one of King Richard's administrators. He wore dark silken robes, lined with golden embroidery, had long blond hair that was pulled back and slick, and had high cheekbones and a carefree expression that suited his role as a mid-ranking official.
Such guests were rare aboard warships, but things had changed in recent years. Gnostics were originally intended as the king’s elite vanguard, placed in battle to clear the worst of the enemy's threats. But The War was over, and Angkor had won. The king transitioned his Knights to something more akin to clandestine agents. Still chess pieces, but for a new type of game.
Knights were usually well briefed on new missions, but this time was different. Under the guise of national security, Bram’s orders were terse and came with many unanswered questions. He had played other roles in the past: saboteur, thief, and assassin. But this time, he was ordered to fly a chancellor across the Great Ocean to a remote landmass in the southern hemisphere. An uninhabited region without kings or queens to spy on, empires to invade, or enemies to vanquish. Considering the dangers, the mission seemed frivolous. At least on the surface. But Bram was certain there was more to it.
He addressed the flustered politician. “Chancellor Garvey, could I be of assistance?”
“Ahh, Captain!” Virgil’s face brightened. “Perhaps you could explain who I am to this … this brute here.” He gestured rudely at the crewman. “He tried to force me back to my chambers, as if I were some kind of prisoner! Honestly, these peasants should learn some respect.”
He practically spit out the words.
Bram bit his tongue, but it took effort. His men were well trained soldiers, not rubes, fresh from the countryside. Angkor’s elitist politicians grew more pompous and out of touch with each passing week. Bram dismissed the crewman, who by now looked desperate to return to his duties.
Now that the discussion was private, he turned his attention back to Virgil. “If I might ask, Chancellor, why have you left your quarters at a time like this? Did you not hear the battle horn? Did you not notice the attack?”
Virgil suppressed what appeared to be a chuckle. “I see no danger at the moment. I’m merely concerned with what might be an unacceptable delay to our mission. You know that we’re on a strict timeline.”
Bram wondered if the chancellor exuded confidence, but it was more likely arrogance or carelessness. “There shall be no delays, Chancellor. My men already dealt with the skirmish, and we’ll maintain our original schedule. By my word, we’ll arrive in Minoa by morn.”
Virgil grinned, seemingly more aware of the situation than he originally let on. “Are you sure about that, Captain? What about those over there?” He pointed to the endrakes in the distance.
Bram’s eyes narrowed. The bureaucrat wasn’t as naïve as he looked.
“Those are … dangerous … Chancellor. Staying on deck would be ill-advised. We’ll need to confront these beasts, eventually, and—”
“Stop shooing me away!”
Virgil deflected the interruption with a flamboyant giggle and wave of his hand. “Look, Captain, I’ll level with you. I came here because I think I can help.”
Bram gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted was for one of Richard’s sycophants to micro-manage him. He had disdain for these midlevel managers, who always seemed to think they knew more than they did.
“Chancellor ….”
He stopped short when Virgil raised his hand, thumb and forefinger pinched together. It demanded silence. To the captain of an airship, no less. To a Gnostic Knight!
Suddenly, he was a lot less concerned with the man’s safety. Though it would be a mark on his record if he failed to bring Mister Garvey back alive, he would very much enjoy watching the toady politician get swallowed by an endrake.
But, to his surprise, Virgil rolled up his sleeve and revealed a tattoo along his right forearm—an intricate set of runes, usually reserved for highly trained wizards. “If you handle the spawn when they get here, I’ll lure them over.”
Bram raised his brows. Such skills were rare. Only a tenth of one percent of children were born with the ability to cast magic. Wizards were considered offensive spellcasters, and sorcerers were their defensive counterpart. Both fields took decades of study to master, and as such, society referred to them as scholars. Meanwhile, Bram, his crew, and the vast majority of men and women without these powers were laymen.
Virgil might have come across as eccentric, but Bram was beginning to understand his usefulness. Not to mention the chancellor still withheld the details of the mission, which Bram desperately desired. He figured he’d gave the pompous twit a chance to show off his skills, and then, perhaps, he’d warm up and relinquish the information.
Bram took on a humbler tone. “What did you have in mind, Chancellor?”
Virgil’s grin widened. “As you know, endrakes have a keen sense of smell. The gorm carcasses no doubt lured them here initially, but their stench lingers like a cloud around this vessel. My idea is to concentrate the scent and send it toward the beasts. They won’t be able to resist.”
It was just the solution Bram was looking for. “They’ll break formation and make a go. Then we’ll open fire.”
Virgil nodded, his oily grin seemingly well earned. As rare as it was to train in magic, it was even rarer among politicians. The time commitment was just too prohibitive for anyone vying for a seat at the king’s table. And if Virgil hadn’t put forth the hours to master his art, he wasn’t any more useful than a braggart novice.
Even so, Bram figured he’d put his claims to the test. He figured Richard must have sent this particular chancellor for a reason. Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye. A high-pitched howl in the distance reminded Bram that the endrake threat was imminent. And as was often said, drastic times called for drastic measures.