Box of Runes An Epic Fantasy Collection Read online

  Box of Runes, An Epic Fantasy Collection contains three full-length novels and one novella, all of which span the early career of J. Thorn. The Arrival and The Reckoning are Books I and II in the Burden of Conquest series, Gold Within is its own standalone historical fantasy, and Revenant is a novella written in conjunction with a Threefold Law recording of the same name. Navigate to the beginning of each novel by clicking below. Each novel has its own table of contents.

  The Arrival, Burden of Conquest Book I

  The Reckoning, Burden of Conquest Book II

  Gold Within

  Revenant

  Bonus Excerpt from Preta's Realm

  About the Author

  The Arrival

  By J. Thorn

  Start Reading

  About the Author

  Other Works

  The Arrival, Burden of Conquest Book I

  Second Edition

  Copyright © 2009 by J. Thorn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover Illustration by Kate Sterling

  Edited by Talia Leduc

  For more information:

  http://www.jthorn.net

  [email protected]

  For those that dream.

  The Arrival

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  About the Author

  Other Works

  Chapter 1

  The arrowhead kissed Machek’s ear, taunting him with whispers of the Empire’s fate. He touched the lobe, pulling a trickle of warm blood down his neck. A nearby oak had devoured the shaft, releasing the scent of moldy bark.

  He spun and scanned for the origin of the projectile and caught a muddy blur through the fading golden rays of the Sun God. He drew a breath and wiped the salty sweat from his upper lip before lunging through the trees in pursuit of the phantom archer. Machek’s heart pounded in his ears as he watched the reeds waver. He smelled fear on the man, desperation.

  The chase continued through the valley on the edge of the Northern Wood, where trampled wheat revealed the assailant’s trail. Machek followed him to the hinterlands of the Empire, to unexplored and unchartered territory forbidden by the Old Ones. Proceeding through a clearing, he spied a camp.

  The shelter swayed under the weight of countless seasons, sloping heavily to one side, and metal cooking utensils captured the rays of the Sun God. Machek placed a hand over his forehead and crept towards the camp with his sword drawn. The assailant whimpered inside the tent, cowering like a cornered fox. Machek stopped near the fire pit, stuck his hand inside the smoking cauldron hanging there, and dipped a finger into the stew. He spat the rancid gruel on the ground and reached for the flask on his hip. The whiskey flamed his palate as the burn rose from his chest to watery eyes.

  Machek could not keep the odor of rotting flesh and human waste from turning his stomach. Strands of maggot-infested cloth hung from a sharpened stake, while black clouds of flies hovered above.

  “Show yourself, or die without face.” Machek heard rustling and sobbing, but did not get a reply. “I am Machek, of the People of the Sun. You have attacked me on my people’s sacred hunting grounds. If you do not come out, I will burn the tent to the ground.”

  He heard more shuffling before the flap was pulled aside. A gaping hole of blackness opened before the remnants of a man filled it.

  “Please don’t kill me.”

  The creature crawled from the tent, stinging Machek’s nose with the stench. Torn strips of fabric hung from gangly limbs like dead branches, and bloodshot eyes burst through a face struggling to maintain a soiled beard.

  “Why did you draw your bow?” Machek asked.

  “Your kind killed us all, all but me,” replied the man.

  “I know nothing of it. What is the name of your tribe?”

  The man chuckled with wet lungs as the laugh disintegrated into a ragged cough. “My mates are over there, rotting in this godforsaken place, thanks to you. I can’t even get them a decent burial.”

  Machek followed his eyes to a mound of bodies ravaged by the crows and the elements. “I have never seen your kind,” said Machek.

  “It doesn’t matter now. I can’t take any more. I dream of a funeral in the Eastern Kingdoms, and wake up here, in hell.”

  Machek took a step closer and the man pulled a dagger from his belt. Machek froze and held his sword defensively.

  The man raised the rusty blade to his neck and smiled at Machek through missing and diseased teeth. He pulled the dagger’s edge across his own throat, spitting out his final words.

  “He is coming.”

  ***

  The sea beckoned the Serpent King into the dark, gray waters, and he peered over the deck and across time. The sting of salt burned his cracked lips. A scuffle stirred the pungent odors of unwashed sailors. Veins of black clouds twisted through bands of raging thunderheads as the first drops of rain bit into shivering flesh, the frigid daggers snapping the Serpent King’s attention back to the fight.

  “Tie him up, now!”

  “But sir, he’s going to die anyway.”

  “I don’t care whether he dies bound or unbound. I said to tie him up!” the Serpent King snapped.

  The sailor lunged for the coarse rope, binding the arms and legs of the dying man.

  “Toss him into the sea.”

  The deckhand seized the unfortunate soul and moved towards the slick railing. As he bent down to secure his grip on the rope, the Serpent King grabbed both men by the collar and tossed them into the foaming seas. While the bound man floated face down as angry waves continued to pummel his corpse, the deckhand screamed, trying to keep his head above the water. The vile ocean swallowed him like so many before.

  “Is there someone on this floating piece of hell who can fetch my drink without spilling it?”

  The crew scurried like rats to the far reaches of the ship, each one determined not to be the next sacrifice to the dragons of the deep.

  “Here is your drink, my lord,” said a filthy sailor, one of the few brave enough to approach the Serpent King.

  He grabbed the boy by the wrist and ripped the chalice from blistered hands. “This will do,” he said as rancid ale dribbled down his braided beard, landing on the hilt of the sword. “What is your name, son?” he asked after a long belch.

  “Shane, sir. My name is Shane.”

  The Serpent King chuckled. He threw the chalic
e into the sea. “Where did the whore that you call ‘mother’ drop you into this world, Shane?” He dragged out the boy’s name in fake admiration.

  “I am from the village of Gisanti, at the edge of the far eastern province—”

  The Serpent King slapped him with an open hand across the side of the head. Shane tumbled to the deck and reached up to touch his face. Blood trickled from his ear.

  The Serpent King turned to the churning waves, wishing for a glimpse of the prized One World. He saw nothing but the unfeeling gray beast known as the Great Sea. He feared the storm, which was far more dangerous than the ridiculous stories of sea dragons taught to children of the Eastern Kingdoms.

  “Pick yourself up and tell the others to honor their duties. Everything must be tied down by the time I finish my next drink or you, Shane of Gisanti, will meet the same fate as the bastards floating under the bow.”

  The Serpent King walked to the cargo hold without looking back or waiting for an answer from Shane.

  ***

  Machek ran through the solemn forest, brushing branches from the path. Sharp lines of sunlight illuminated the frolicking gnat clouds near the ground. He sucked at the moist air, which did not alleviate the burning in his lungs. The deer sought protection under the pines and the songbirds fell silent.

  He looked over his shoulder, hoping to outpace the flames burning in the sky. The image had been drawn on his retina, scarred and haunted. The ancient texts had warned of the first omen long before the foreigner delivered the fateful words.

  The towering trees loomed over Machek. He approached the camp and dove into the felt tent containing the remains of his meager supplies. He gathered scraps of wood and ale, a tithing to the old man known as the Soothsayer. He lifted the flask to his mouth, but did not drink. Acid crawled from his stomach to his throat, reminding him that the alcohol consumed the night before had not yet passed.

  With the gifts in a sack tied across his back, Machek raced towards the Soothsayer’s hut, cresting the rise of the hill in the Northern Wood. Placing his hand on the rawhide tent, he pushed the outer flap aside. Reddish smoke escaped, along with the sound of an ancient chant. Machek took a step backwards and looked to the sky, but as he turned around to retrace his steps, he heard the Soothsayer address him.

  “Lord Major Machek of the Jaguar Knights, enter my domain. The gods have brought you here and they will not let you cower in fear. Accept your fate and sit by my fire.”

  Machek took two steps into the tent and stumbled. He sat across from the Soothsayer, an exotic fire burning between them.

  “How did you know I was coming?”

  “It is what I do, warrior son.”

  A piece of orange ash hovered in the air, spun in a circle, and landed upon the shoulder of the Soothsayer. Embers of fire morphed into faces stricken by silent screams.

  “You have come for a reason. Stop allowing fear to dominate your thoughts and tell me why you seek my council.”

  The Soothsayer passed a pipe to Machek. It burned with a hallucinogenic herb that the Soothsayer used in his rituals. Machek accepted the pipe and looked at it.

  “How am I supposed to think when you cloud my mind with your evil concoctions?”

  “The pipe will settle your nerves and allow you to listen.”

  Machek stared into the old man’s eyes and nodded. The Soothsayer waited as Machek inhaled the smoke.

  “The People of the Sun hide from their destiny. That is why I am ridiculed, shunned, ostracized. Nobody wants to be reminded of our fate, the story that I hold. Our leaders tell us that we own the universe. They say we have brought all enemy tribes under subjugation and that the One World is ours for the taking. While that has been true for a few generations, it cannot be sustained. You have witnessed the first omen and you know what is in store. Decide with your feet, Machek. Walk out of this tent. Go back to your life and live with a blind soul. Or, see what is happening to us and have a hand in your fate.”

  Machek stared at the Soothsayer and paused with the pipe at the corner of his mouth. He bowed towards the old man.

  “There are many interpretations of the omens and soothsayers before me have disagreed on their significance. Our citizens scoff at the readings.”

  Machek drew an even drag from the Soothsayer’s pipe and exhaled blue smoke. He sat motionless for many minutes. “I am here because I saw the bonfire in the sky. I am a student of the Old Ways. Is this the end of the Fifth Sun?”

  A toothless grin slid across the Soothsayer’s face. “Look around you, Machek. The People of the Sun rape the One World. Game is scarce and our enemies know this. They watch us grow fat, lazy, and weak. Tribes that we have conquered have grown restless and are poised to gain back their independence. But you do not need the Soothsayer to answer your questions, do you?”

  “No, I do not.” He shifted and tried to ignore the faces in the fire. “The People of the Sun continue to live as they have. The threat is not real to them.”

  The Soothsayer tossed his clay mug into the dark corner of the tent, where it shattered. “Then they will suffer. There is no doubt in my mind that the first omen has occurred. You have born witness to this. The prophet told of more. The gods will send lightning that will wreak havoc, and the Great Sea will be whipped into a frenzy. Water will come crashing down on the People of the Sun. Creatures with two heads will appear in our villages, and then vanish without a trace. It takes a single event to reshape the story of man. All of the portents have aligned, like dry kindling ready to ignite.”

  “What will ignite them, old man? What will set our fate in motion?” asked Machek.

  “The return of the Serpent King,” replied the Soothsayer.

  Chapter 2

  The lieutenant walked through barracks thinly scattered across the advancing sands of the Great Waste. Men became brothers to the scorpions and the ageless desert. Discolored and decaying flesh hung from the skulls posted around the fires, and warriors licked the cooked bones of dead prisoners before tossing them into the refuse pile. Rodents avoided the overpowering scent of humanity. The warriors of the Dog People wore exotic skins from desert creatures unknown to most of the One World. They grouped around fires, sharing stories of rape and plunder in a guttural tongue. Piercings of bone and painted faces danced between the red flames.

  “Where is my sword and shield?”

  “Next to your rations, my lord.”

  “The People of the Sun will bleed for me.” Lord Major Acatel of the Dog People sneered at his lieutenant.

  His subordinate took a step backwards and lowered his eyes to the dirt before responding. “I am sure you are right, sir, but we need to mobilize our battalion and ready our soldiers for the journey through the Great Waste. The rough estimates sent from our scouts claim that we will lose thirty percent of our warriors to the elements. We must maximize our fighting forces.”

  “Agreed. Send word to the majors that we march in three days. Make sure all the warriors get their share of whores and drink.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Men and boys sharpened weapons, gathered rations, and prepared for the crossing of the Great Waste. Wives in the camp wept, recognizing the sacrifice needed for freedom. Four battalions formed, each containing one thousand warriors. Many carried simple stone knives, while others brought refined weaponry. Acatel heeded the call of ambition, chasing the alluring song.

  ***

  The inferno of daylight crept over the Great Waste as the scouting force came upon the village. Smoke danced from the dwellings, warding off the chill of the night and the spirits of the Dark One. Through the dry scrub, Acatel peered at the sleeping hamlet.

  “Who are they?” he asked his commander.

  “We do not know, my lord. I doubt their warriors sleep with their swords.”

  “That is an assumption that could cost you your life.”

  Acatel ordered a unit of twenty warriors to surround the perimeter. He gave the commands though hand signals, and the men move
d into position. As Acatel moved towards a felt tent, the flap opened, and a woman stepped out into the glaring dawn. Her fine, black hair cascaded down a naked back. The woman’s breasts swayed freely as she bent to pick a tipped kettle off the ground. A moan from her lips chased the weariness of night from her bones. The Sun God reddened her olive skin, coaxing the first beads of sweat from her womanly curves. Acatel froze, trying to anticipate the raven’s next move.

  “The warriors wait on your orders, sir.”

  Acatel ignored his lieutenant’s impatience and barked the anticipated command. “Go. Tell the men that if one so much as bruises the ego of that goddess, I will send him beyond the Region of the Dead.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The woman returned to her tent and the warriors of the Dog People secured the village unnoticed. Upon Acatel’s gesture, the soldiers set fire to each tent, except for one. Shrieks of terror and fright echoed through the valley as the inhabitants rushed out, flailing their arms and wearing coats of fire. The soldiers bound the women and children and moved them to the side as the warriors of the Dog People slaughtered the men and laid waste to the entire village. Dead and charred bodies lay about, while some of the warriors dragged corpses away for the evening meal. A panicked group of women and children huddled together, out of reach of the devastating flames. The woman who had caught Acatel’s eye cried amongst them, still naked and shaking.

  “We have the village, Lord Major. They have been quick to share that they have not had any contact with the People of the Sun. What shall we do with the women and children?”

  Acatel pointed toward the captured. “See the naked woman standing there? Tie her to my horse. Dispose of the rest.”

  “All of them?”

  Acatel spun and struck the lieutenant on the jaw. “Question me again and you will have more missing teeth than worries.”

  The lieutenant peered at Acatel underneath a growing welt of swollen flesh and shame. He grabbed the prisoner by the wrists and threw her at Acatel’s feet.