The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2 Read online

  THE BITTER WAR OF ALWAYS

  IMMORTALITY SHATTERED BOOK TWO

  Copyright © 2017 by Christian Warren Freed

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  First Edition

  First Printing: 2018

  ISBN

  War Fighter Books

  North Carolina 27540

  http://christianfreed.wixsite.com/christianwarrenfreed

  ACCLAIM FOR CHRISTIAN WARREN FREED

  HAMMERS IN THE WIND: BOOK I OF THE NORTHERN CRUSADE

  “I love this book. This book hooked my attention on the first page and it was hard to put down. There is darkness in this book, you know something is going to happen so you keep reading to find out what. The author writes it so good, it’s like you are there experiencing what the characters are. And I love it.”

  “I purchased this book to read to see if it would be suitable for my daughter to read. She is advanced in reading, but some books for kids older than her can be a little to much content wise. I think this one will work out great for her and she would enjoy it as much as I did. I'm glad I came across this book and can't wait to read the rest of the series.”

  WHERE HAVE ALL THE ELVES GONE?

  “This story is fresh and a little tongue-in-cheek, a nice fantasy change of pace with twists here and there that make you have to keep on turning the pages.”

  “Christian Warren Freed is a very gifted, well-spoken author and his story took me in from page 1. His descriptions of situations, momentary happenings and his vivid characters of the world within the story made my fantasy run wild. As a reader, I felt like being part of the carefully woven net of this book.”

  THE DRAGON HUNTERS

  “Excellently written. The author is able to really capture the stress, fear, and panic of life and death situations such as combat. Greatly looking forward to the next installment in the series!”

  “Mr. Freed weaves the parts of this tale together smoothly, keeping the story moving at a good pace. He uses his own military background to paint powerful battle images and then he moves on. With only a little background, he makes the reader care about the members of the band - to worry about them and want them to do the 'right thing'. He adds depth to the characters through their actions and his dialogue is very realistic.”

  ARMIES OF THE SILVER MAGE

  “Armies of the Silver Mage was a great read...any fan of Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones will love this book. I'm looking forward to next book.”

  “The book is almost an homage to the great classics like Sword of Shanara and the Lord of the Rings. The author has cleverly used his past military and combat experience to make the battle scenes more realistic.”

  Other Books by Christian Warren Freed

  The Northern Crusade

  Hammers in the Wind

  Tides of Blood and Steel

  A Whisper After Midnight

  Empire of Bones

  The Madness of Gods and Kings

  Even Gods Must Fall

  The Histories of Malweir

  Armies of the Silver Mage

  The Dragon Hunters

  Beyond the Edge of Dawn

  Forgotten Gods

  Dreams of Winter

  The Madman on the Rocks

  Anguish Once Possessed

  Through Darkness Besieged*

  Where Have All the Elves Gone?

  Tomorrow’s Demise: The Extinction Campaign

  Tomorrow’s Demise: Paths of Salvation

  A Long Way From Home: Memories and Observations From Iraq and Afghanistan

  Immortality Shattered

  Law of the Heretic

  The Bitter War of Always

  Land of Wicked Shadows*

  Storm Upon the Dawn*

  War Priests of Andrak Saga

  The Children of Never*

  SO, You Want to Write a Book? +

  *Forthcoming+ Nonfiction

  For Taylor

  PROLOGUE

  Dawn bestowed unparalleled grace upon the lands, yet no bird rose to greet it, nor did beast nor insect stir. Instead of peace only nature could provide, a battle raged. A battle so great and intense that none could recall a time in history to match it. Columns of smoke billowed up into the clouds, carrying with it the stench of charred flesh and worse. Bolts of supernatural power flared across the battlefield, killing scores with every strike. Catapult rounds accompanied the blasts, chewing up ground and smashing armored bodies.

  The battle had raged for three days and was finally coming to the inevitable conclusion. Stacks of bodies filled the tree lines to make room for the current batch of combatants. Ranks were dangerously thin. Exhaustion spread across the field. It was all each individual could do just to suit up and march toward their enemy. Vultures crowded the treetops as eager spectators. Soon they would feast.

  Ils Kincannon stood atop a lonesome hill and somberly watched as the remnants of his once proud army took the field for what was destined to be the final time. They had been cut down to a mere seven thousand men and were outnumbered five to one. This would be the final march of the knights of the Seven Manacles. Arrayed against them were the loyal order of the Golden Warriors, sworn protectors of the Hierarchy and the wizards who ran it, as well as the kingdoms of the Free Lands. They were a most impressive sight, especially for a man who had once been their commander.

  Kincannon knew them to be the very best the Free Lands had to offer. He’d been proud to lead them, until greed and corruption seduced his soul. It was greed that veered him away from order and decency, thus plunging the world into the worst war in history. Kincannon broke away from the Hierarchy with the mind to steal the newly created Staff of Life, a divine rod capable of linking the user to the land, virtually turning him into a god. Only now, after years of violent conflict, was he aware of the wrongness in his judgment. He was at last prepared to accept that and atone.

  His colorless eyes took in the waning moments of the battle below and wondered what had gone wrong. He’d aimed to seize the Staff and set the world to what he viewed as right. The Hierarchy immediately labelled him a heretic, yet people continued to flock to his banner. Despite the accusations heaped upon his name, Ils Kincannon remained a hero to the general population.

  Swords clashed as the front ranks collided in a massive press of men and iron. Pikes ran through armor and into the soft flesh beneath. Both knights and soldiers fell by the score. Screams of the dying echoed with thunderous intensity. It was a sound Kincannon was all too familiar with. He had served the Hierarchy for almost forty years and knew many of those pitted against him. Friend should not have to kill friend. Perhaps that was what pained him the most.

  “My lord?”

  Kincannon turned to face his most trusted friend and advisor. “Yes, General Issius?”

  The war lord, a tired old mercenary with more scars than hair on his head, strode up to him with battered helm under an arm. “The army is on the verge of annihilation. You must use the Staff or call for retreat, else all is lost.”

  Kincannon shook his head in sorrow. “I cannot. Only now, after all this senseless slaughter, do I understand what this Staff really is. They were foolish to create it. I cannot use it or it will be my hand that condemns the world to death. Summon the squire to bring my horse. I will ride into battle and seek at least a small measure of redemption for my soul. Any man who is not a coward, nor afraid to face his death, is fr
ee to ride with me. Perhaps we may make an end worthy of legend.”

  “But the Staff!” Issius protested.

  “Will be found by another, but when the world is ready for it. I have already dispatched men, with the aid of that wizard, to see that it is properly disposed of. I fear for the world should the day of rediscovery arrive. Now, summon my squire!”

  General Issius turned to walk away, furious with the deceptions of his leader and friend.

  “Will you ride with me, old friend?” Kincannon called out to him.

  The words scorched his heart. After countless battles and nearly twenty years, the end of his life was finally here. It was not the end Issius had envisioned. He replied without stopping. “Aye, but I fear the end shall lack the glory you so dream of.”

  Close to five hundred men were mounted and waiting for commands. They were Kincannon’s personal guard and battle staff. A retinue of his finest fighters not already spent in combat. He looked into each man’s eyes and felt his heart break as minor details of each came to him. Rolfnir with his four children. Adgal who had lost his wife during the past winter. Sixteen year old Olaf who joined because his father had, and his father before that. On and on. They were all a part of him. It was a difficult thing to do, asking men and boys to die in his name. Difficult but necessary.

  “Each of you has fought for me and sworn your loyalty to a cause greater than your own. Your brothers are in the vale fighting for you and me. Will you fight with them? Give your blood for theirs?” he addressed them.

  A small cheer went up from some of them. He knew it was mostly bluster, for no sane man truly wanted to die in battle. Not even the crazed were anxious to pass on to the next world. His veterans had been through much more than the youths, so eager to prove themselves, and they knew that what was being asked was tantamount to suicide.

  “I ask you all, will you follow me into the gates of death and find victory for our cause?”

  Another cheer, louder, rippled through them. General Issius turned his head away rather than let Kincannon see his utter disgust. Kincannon was too wrapped up with his five hundred. He nodded approvingly. They have spirit, if only they had numbers as well. He looked down into the vale again and couldn’t help but feel distressed that his army, the one he was purposefully sacrificing for the greater good of the rest of the world, was surrounded and dwindling. With a grunt, Kincannon spurred the side of his mount and started down the hill. The last glory of the Seven Manacles had begun.

  To the soldiers lost in the swirl of battle, life had grown precariously short. Fear took root and started to overcome many. No matter how many of the enemy they killed, a hundred more seemed to surge forth to take their places. Young men, not yet old enough to marry in their homelands, fought with amazing tenacity. But the cold darkness of reality was catching up to them. Talk of their leader deserting them reverberated harshly through the rank and file. The only thing keeping many from breaking away was the ring of steel hemming them in.

  A shout suddenly arose from the beleaguered men of the Seven Manacles.

  “Lord Kincannon fights among us!”

  The Golden Warriors blanched at the name, even as the defenders roared. There was new hope. The very sight of the Lord of the Seven Manacles inspired his ranks into new fits of rage. The bedraggled men doubled the fever pitch of battle and fought to the last. Kincannon and his five hundred broke into the enemy lines, cleaving great holes with every sword swing. Everyone, except those nearest, understood the desperation. There was no possible way the Seven Manacles could find victory, not even with the near legendary Ils Kincannon at the head.

  Kincannon paused long enough to see Issius pulled from his saddle and killed. His own horse buckled a moment later before throwing him to the ground. Kincannon struggled to rise but it was too late. Dozens of men in stained golden armor set upon him.

  Late that night, when the dust settled and the smoke began to clear, the entire host of the army of the Seven Manacles lay dead or dying. The Hierarchy leadership had instructed the army to take but one prisoner. Teams of men scoured the battlefield in search of the heretic Ils Kincannon. Healers ignored those orders and treated wounded from both sides. The rebellion was crushed and it was time to restore the semblance of humanity. After all, it was all they had left.

  It wasn’t until midday of the following that they managed to find the heretic. Blood continued to flow from wounds too numerous to count. Arrows pierced him. Broken swords lay around his dying body in tribute. He was dehydrated and bordering on death.

  “Captain!” shouted the young soldier standing over the body.

  The commander strode calmly over to the small knot of warriors. His head was bandaged, entire body bruised. He looked down on the prize but couldn’t force himself to smile. There was no satisfaction in this victory. This was not the way he imagined the end of the war. With a sigh he said, “Go and inform the general, lad. Let them know they can call off the search.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The once proud Ils Kincannon tried to laugh at the exuberance the soldier displayed, but only managed to cough up blood. He raised a weak arm to grab the captain by the bottom of his cape. Pulling the man so close that only he could hear the heretic’s dying words, Kincannon whispered the prophecy that would forever dominate the fate of the world.

  ONE

  Out of Galdarath

  The thunder of some fifty odd horses roared across the open plains of northern Galdea. Snow kicked up in a small blizzard. The wind was freezing, numbing the riders to the point of frostbite. Despite the hardships already endured, the drain of strength from the horses, all the sores and pains that came from a forced ride, they could not allow themselves to stop. Pursuit followed close behind.

  Enemy forces had been lying in wait for the column not far from Galdarath proper. A brief battle ensued and resulted in several darklings slain and none of the Golden Warriors. The minor victory felt good after many long months of pursuit and too many setbacks. Since then, the column successfully managed to evade the darklings and stay one step ahead.

  All night they rode, racing to reach the valley of the Twins. They didn’t rein in for a brief halt until the first fingers of light were stretching across the sky. Aron Kryte was forced to make unsavory decisions. The eastern plains stretched farther than his eyes could see, rolling softly under blankets of snow and interspersed with light forests and glades of silver bark birch trees. Normally this part of the Free Lands was serene, peaceful beyond reproach. But war had come, threatening to render everything into terms of despair. Making matters worse for Aron, the Lord of the Golden Warriors and heir to the mad Ils Kincannon’s legacy, it was still a three-day ride to where Field Marshal Dlorn waited with the main body of Galdea’s army. The horses would tire long before they ever reached the Twins if he maintained the breakneck pace. The rebel armies of the Black Imelin weren’t far behind.

  He turned from the landscape. His men sat clumped around a handful of campfires, just large enough to warm them and cook a meager breakfast. He decided to take council at his private fire.

  “We could be worse off, if we had split up,” Amean Repage, his second in command and most trusted advisor, said. He liked the idea less and less as the minutes dragged on. “The terrain is unfamiliar and the Black is hard on our scent. Splitting up now will only make it easier for that bastard turncoat to catch and kill us.”

  Aron sipped on a lukewarm cup of coffee, relishing the minor amount of heat entering his system. “We don’t have much of a choice. I seriously doubt that we can fend off hordes of darklings for another three days. They’re smarter than we give them credit for and driven by the Black’s magic. We must do what is best.”

  He was still coming to terms with being named the heir to Ils Kincannon. Combined with the Black being a direct descendant of the man who had taken and hidden the Staff of Life from that fateful battle of Sadith Oom so many years ago, he couldn’t help but feel trapped in a game far beyond his ability
to conceptualize. Making matters odder, both he and the Black Imelin, once the great wizard-warrior of the Free Lands and member of the Hierarchy High Council, had reversed the roles of their ancestors.

  “They seek the power of the Staff,” Karin Ilth broke in. “My visions haven’t returned but I can see the obvious. That and what the Black wants me to.”

  Venom singed her voice. Since having the vision that took her into Aron’s path, she had been stymied at every turn. Her one solace came from her developing relationship with Aron. Theirs was an odd love affair, born in the fires of a fledgling war.

  “There is a way,” Andolus announced. “And we should be able to take a few of the enemy down in the process”

  All eyes but Long Shadow’s turned to the elf prince. The silent warrior left the warmth of the fire for an open area away from the others. He already knew what the elf counseled. Shrugging his heavy travel cloak off, Long Shadow drew both of his mighty broadswords. Using a skill few in these lands had mastered, he went about a daily training ritual that would exhaust most. Steel flashed and hacked with the grace of angel wings. Long years of discipline honed his skills to the sharpness of a blade.

  Elsyn, once princess of Galdea, now turned queen-regent in the wake of her father’s assassination but a few days earlier, broke her saddened gaze from the fire to watch him in awe. She had seen him go through his drills just once, but from a distance. She was impressed with his rugged stiffness. His body was heavily muscled and honed to a deep shade of bronze. Save for a small knot on the back of his head, he was always freshly shaved. She couldn’t remember ever seeing such a man. Almost by accident, she picked up the conversation around her.