Guardians Watch Read online

  GUARDIANS WATCH

  Book Three of

  Immortality and Chaos

  (epic fantasy series)

  Wreckers Gate: Book One

  Landsend Plateau: Book Two

  Guardians Watch: Book Three

  Hunger’s Reach: Book Four

  Oblivion’s Grasp: Book Five

  Also by Eric T Knight

  Chaos and Retribution

  (sequel to Immortality and Chaos)

  Stone Bound: Book One

  Sky Touched: Book Two

  Sea Born: Book Three

  (Book 4 Spring of 2018)

  the action-adventure-comedy series

  Lone Wolf Howls

  the action thriller

  Watching the End of the World

  All books available at Amazon.com

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  Author’s Note:

  To aid in pronunciation, important names and terms in this story are spelled phonetically in the glossary at the end of the story.

  Go to Glossary

  For Dylan

  My first born

  Always know that I love you

  and I’m proud of you

  Prologue

  In the beginning, the world was new and raw. Primeval seas crashed against nascent cliffs while mountainous thunderheads dealt torrential rains that scoured barren stone with torrents of angry water. No eyes looked on this new world. No creatures scurried across its surface. There was no will, no thought, no purpose.

  Until the day when the first of the beings arrived, crashing down out of the sky in fragile-looking pods that cracked open upon impact, spilling their passengers onto the lifeless world. These beings awakened slowly. They were shapeless, nameless, without memories or form of any kind. They were blank as newborns, remembering no past, knowing no future.

  In time, these beings divided into three groups, based on their basic natures. Some were heavy creatures, slow of thought and action, ponderous and weighty. Others were fluid, sliding across the broken surface of the world, gathering in the low places. The last were nearly invisible, flighty and rapid, unable to finish one thought or action before racing onto the next.

  One of the heavy group looked down at the stone it sat on one day, then reached down with what passed for an appendage and scooped some forth. Wonder glowed in its eyes, for the stone was like clay in its grasp, and it could shape the stuff, even sink into it with only a thought.

  The others looked on, wary and interested. Others of the heavy, ponderous type began to poke at the stone as well. Those who were fluid of form prodded the stone in only a desultory fashion, disappointed, until one among them slid across the stone to the edge of a vast sea that foamed and muttered to itself. The being slid into the water and a wordless cry of delight arose from it. It gestured and a wave arose, taller than the rest, crashing against the shore, clawing its way almost to the gathered creatures before sliding back.

  A third being, one of the flighty ones, looked at the stone, then at the sea. Nothing showed on its blank face. Then what might have been its head tilted back and it looked into the sky overhead, surveying the massed clouds. With a leap and a cry it soared upwards, faster than the eye could follow. In moments the clouds had trebled in size, dark and fearsome as the eye of winter, and tongues of lightning flicked down to stab at the stone.

  Thus were the three Spheres delineated, Stone and Sea and Sky, and the beings that dwelt within them named themselves. Those of the Stone became known as pelti; those of the Sea became shlikti; those of the Sky aranti. They were the Shapers. The world was their playground, the power that suffused the Spheres yielding to their every whim.

  In time they would be called gods.

  They were the First Ring, the first to arrive on the new world, and the greatest, but they were not the last. More would follow, until Stone and Sea and Sky frolicked with these ageless beings, each moving through its Sphere, endlessly bending and folding and shaping.

  In the Stone, the pelti sculpted cliffs as high as the clouds, mountains whose stone faces reflected every color of the rainbow. Volcanoes that blotted out the sun and rained ash.

  In the Sea, the shlikti raised up mountainous waves that washed across entire continents. Mighty rivers that roared down the mountains, eagerly returning to the sea.

  In the Sky, the aranti howled down rainstorms that turned the planet black, cut only by nonstop flashes of lightning.

  The Sky took water from the Sea, snatched it away and raced with it into the heavens, then hurled it back at the land. The Stone absorbed the Sea, hiding it away deep in its bowels. The Sea carved away the Stone with its infinite patience.

  Theirs was an existence unburdened by mortal chains of pain and consequence. They neither aged, nor died. They felt no pain, nor even conceived of its existence. Their pride was boundless. They taunted each other, stole from each other, fought and forgot. Over and over, endlessly. It was a timeless, endless existence.

  But they could not escape boredom. In time it beset them all, made them quarrelsome. And, at last, one of the First Ring, a pelti, began to wonder. Despite all it could do, it was empty. What was the point of it all? True, the very bones of the earth yielded to its slightest whim, but to what end? The only motive came from it and its brethren. There was no real change, no real growth.

  And thus it was that this one Stone Shaper conceived of a new idea. Of another Sphere, yet not a Sphere, that could change and move on its own, that could go beyond the limited imaginations of the Shapers, that would Shape itself.

  This one Shaper sat alone, away from the others, and pondered this new thought it had. Pondered for a time that humans would have called eons, but which meant nothing to it or its timeless brethren. And slowly, very slowly, a new idea began to form.

  It bent, and scooped forth raw Stone. To this it added Sea and Sky, taking from the Spheres and forcing the three together. Then it breathed on this new concoction, adding some of its own essence. Its creation stirred. The pelti was pleased and turned to show its brethren.

  Behold. I bring you Life. It is formed of the Three, and so makes a new.

  They gathered around, curious at first, and then concerned. In their multitudes they watched this new thing. It did not have the robust nature of the Spheres, could not be called such, was more a Circle. The time they spent was only moments to them, timeless beings that they were, but time enough for vast changes in the short-lived world of Life.

  The first to speak was a First of the Sea, a shlikti.

  We do not approve. This steals from our Sphere to make its very being. Destroy this thing now.

  But the one who forged the Life demurred. It moves and changes on its own, without our motivation. It is fascinating. See?

  Indeed, in the time they had spent pondering, the new Circle had grown and changed. Some types of it now covered much of the land, green and brown that grew across stone faces and up mountains, stretched tendrils down into the water and up into the air. Other types had spread into the oceans, some anchored at the bottom, some floating free. Most Life was so slow-moving as to be almost motionless, but some swam in the water, ran across the land, or soared in the air.

  We should watch it longer. See what it does, the pelti said. It is new, and different.

  We should destroy it. It is outside us, and therefore dangerous.

  So conflict seemed imminent until the pelti who shaped the first Life said, We have not heard from our brothers in the Sky, the aranti. What say you?

  The aranti raced and skittered around the Life, sniffing and listening. It is bad and good, it
said at last in its many voices. It is, and yet it is not. We do not care.

  Still the Sea would not be assuaged and it rumbled in its crashing green voice, threatening and complaining. It takes from us. It takes from all the Spheres without respect. It has broken our law.

  Then the Shaper of Life spoke yet again:

  But see. Its taking is very short. True, it takes from the Three, but only for a short while. See how it dies? Then does it give up what it has taken, back to the Three, and all is made complete again.

  So it was that the Shapers allowed the intruder to exist among them: Stone, who watched over and nurtured in its own rough way. Sky, who cared less and forgot more. And Sea, who watched, ever sullen, nursing bitterness toward the intruder.

  From the writings of Sounder Treylen

  One

  Macht Wulf Rome, the man known as the Black Wolf, feared far and wide by his enemies, fierce and ruthless in battle, sniffled and wept openly. Tears poured down his cheeks and gathered in his great, bristling, black beard before dripping onto the breastplate of his distinctive black armor, smearing the dried blood splashed there. He leaned aside and blew his nose onto the floor, then wiped ineffectively at the tears with the back of his hand. The room around him was packed with sweating, shouting men. Curses and smoke filled the air. They surged around Rome, pressing on him from all sides, but he paid them no heed, his attention focused on his opponent and several small objects lying on the table before him.

  Lucent sat opposite Rome on the other side of the table. He wasn’t as tall as Rome, but he was considerably older and the years had packed weight on his frame so that he was bigger around. A great deal of muscle lay hidden under his fat—a fact which many young soldiers had discovered to their chagrin when they faced him in the practice yard. He leaned back in his chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him, a broad smile on his face. His nose was red, the broken blood vessels attesting to too many years of hard drinking. A tankard of ale sat on the table before him. “Are you ready to give up then, Macht?” he boomed. His voice, honed by decades as a sergeant in the army, easily cut through the din. “There’s none will think less of you for doing so.” He leaned forward, setting his meaty forearms on the table. The glint in his eyes was mocking. “Except me, of course.”

  “I’m not giving in,” Rome said, grabbing his own tankard and taking a long draught. The ale didn’t seem to help at all. Lucent was a blur through the tears. “I’ve only just started.”

  “Too true,” the fat man replied with a laugh, slapping the table. “You’ve only had four,” he said with disdain. “My youngest is a babe of five and he eats more than that for breakfast.”

  Rome wiped at the tears once again and tried to think of a proper retort, but nothing came. Realizing he couldn’t put it off any longer—not if he wanted to preserve some self-respect in the middle of this debacle—he picked up another of the tiny orange peppers from the bowl in the middle of the table. The shouting and hooting from the crowd doubled and money changed hands as odds changed and bets were placed. Grimacing, he stuck it in his mouth, bit it off at the stem, and started to chew. Fresh tears started and his face darkened to a new shade of red that bordered on purple. “I think I’m getting used to them,” he gasped, tossing the stem down with its four brothers before him and grabbing his tankard.

  Lucent already had a dozen stems in front of him and there wasn’t a tear on his broad face. The people of Managil called them scorpion peppers and now Rome knew why. He’d been stung by a scorpion back when he was stationed at the outpost near the Crodin lands. In retrospect, he didn’t think that hurt as much as this. Something seemed to have stung the entire inside of his mouth, his throat, and even his stomach. Why had he ever let Lucent goad him into this? Why didn’t he just keep his mouth shut when Lucent started bragging about how many of these he could eat? He’d known the man for twenty years now. Lucent didn’t brag unless he could back it up.

  It all started earlier that afternoon. Lucent was training some of the new recruits and he was venting his frustration with them by yelling at them. That was about when Rome happened by and he’d made some comment about how surely young, strong men should be ashamed of themselves for letting an old, fat man kick them around. Of course Lucent responded to the insult by calling Rome out and naturally Rome just had to grab a practice sword and take him up on it. One thing led to another. One moment Rome was taunting Lucent and clowning for the recruits and the next moment Lucent backhanded him in the nose—which was where all the blood on his armor came from. Somehow one thing led to another and here he was, sitting in a tavern eating scorpion peppers.

  A new wave of heat struck Rome and he started coughing. He didn’t have to be a genius to see this was going nowhere good. In the beginning there’d actually been a few bets placed on him winning this contest; now they were just betting on when he’d give up. If he had any sense at all, he’d quit now. There was nothing to gain here.

  Instead Rome took another pepper from the bowl, nearly knocking it on the floor in the process, and stuck it in his mouth. This time he didn’t even try to remove the stem. What difference did it make? It was the only part of the pepper that didn’t hurt.

  Across from him Lucent shook his head. “You’re a stubborn man, Macht. A stubborn, stubborn man.”

  “Want to give up now, old man?” Rome croaked. “I can see you’re having second thoughts.” In fact, he could barely see at all. The pain in his mouth was bad enough but it was the tears that really bothered him. A leader shouldn’t be crying in front of his men. But he couldn’t seem to help it. He didn’t think he’d shed this many tears in his entire life. There was a fresh tankard by his elbow and he grabbed it like a drowning man.

  “I am,” Lucent said with mock gravity. “I’m wondering what kind of fool’s calling himself my king!” he yelled. The room burst into laughter. Men whooped and slapped each other on the back.

  Rome coughed again, felt the horrific mess in his stomach start to come up, and somehow fought it back down. This was going south fast. He really should quit before it got any worse. It was the only halfway sensible thing to do. He couldn’t win. His mouth opened to say the words but just then his vision cleared enough for him to see that Lucent had stood up and was thumping his chest, playing to the crowd.

  Rome ate another one.

  The crowd cheered. More money changed hands. Hands patted him on the shoulder. Other hands set a fresh tankard of ale down before him. Rome leaned forward, grabbing it with both hands as a fresh wave of pain roared up from his stomach and out through his nostrils. As he did he saw with relief that there was only one more pepper in the bowl. Maybe there was a way out after all. But just then a barmaid wormed her way through the crowd. She carried two tankards in one hand and another bowl of orange peppers in the other. Rome groaned. Fortunately the sound was lost in the din. It was looking like he’d made a serious mistake.

  The crowd parted again and there was Tairus, shaking his head. The short, stout man yelled at a nearby soldier and a moment later a chair appeared. He pulled it up to the table and sat down. Leaning in close to Rome he said, “You’re a damn fool, Rome.”

  He said it low enough so no one else could hear over the crowd, but somehow Lucent did. Or maybe he just guessed. Either way, he guffawed, slapped the table again and dropped into his chair. “I tried to tell him to quit, but he won’t.”

  “Bad things are going to happen to your stomach,” Tairus said. He was wearing chain mail and his face was sunburned. He’d been at the training grounds outside the city, working with the soldiers they’d picked up from the other kingdoms during the summer campaign.

  “Ain’t it the truth,” Lucent intoned.

  “To say nothing of your arse,” Tairus added.

  “Didn’t you eat a couple of these with me one time?” Lucent asked.

  “I did,” Tairus said gravely. “Two days I was running to the privy. I wished I was dead.”

  “And you only ate two,” L
ucent said.

  “It’s not that bad,” Rome said. He wasn’t sure if they understood him. His words were kind of garbled. He wiped at his eyes again. “I think I’m getting used to them.” This time when they tried to climb up out of his stomach he thought he was going to lose the battle.

  “Help me out here,” Rome heard Tairus say to Lucent. “He won’t quit.”

  “I was only having fun.”

  “There are openings on the city watch. We need more patrols in the Warren.” The Warren was the meanest part of Qarath.

  “No need to be nasty,” Lucent grumbled. Abruptly he stood. “I submit!” he yelled. “I submit!”

  A chorus of curses and threats met this statement. Lucent’s face darkened and he turned on the crowd. “Some of you have trouble with this, we could go outside and discuss it up close like.”

  He wasn’t yelling anymore, but every man in the room either heard what he said or caught the gist of it. The room went quiet and there was a lot of mumbling and averted eyes. Nearly every man in that tavern had faced Lucent on the practice field. He’d been training new recruits for years and he’d cracked a few of their skulls. Nobody trained the pups better, but no one was quite as mean. No one wanted Lucent mad at him.

  Lucent sat back down. “All in good fun, eh?” he said to Rome.

  “I never had so much fun,” Rome replied. What he wanted to do was look in a mirror and see if his mouth was blistered, but instead he took another long drink of his ale. “Any time you want to try again.”

  He missed the dark look Tairus gave Lucent, but all Lucent did was laugh and say, “I think I’ve learned my lesson, Macht.”

  Rome stood up. “I think I have a meeting.”

  Outside, Tairus pulled a square of cloth from his pocket and handed it to Rome, who used it to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. When Rome offered it back to him, Tairus shook his head. “You keep it.”