Sons Of Fire (Guardian Series) Read online

  SONS OF FIRE

  BOOK FOUR

  Guardian Series

  By

  J.W. Baccaro

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, or they are used fictitiously and are definitely fictionalized. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Please do not participate in piracy or violating the author’s rights.

  Editing By:

  Bonnie Lea Elliott

  Book & Cover Design By:

  Wicked Muse Productions

  ®Forbidden Realm Publishing

  November© 2013, J.W. Baccaro

  DEDICATION

  I would like to dedicate this book to my brother, John A. Baccaro. Even though we never saw eye to eye over the years, and our likes and dislikes sometimes differ like fire and water, still, I couldn’t have asked for a better brother. I love you with all my heart bro!

  INTRODUCTION TO THE EPIC GUARDIAN SERIES

  The Elemental Crystals were originally created to protect the earth. However, Abaddon the Demon Lord plans to use them to transform the earth into a realm of haunting darkness and witchery, forever.

  In Prophecy Of The Guardian a young but powerful Nasharin Warrior, Darshun Luthais is drawn to one of these magical crystals of immense power. He learns he’s the fulfillment of the two thousand year old Prophecy of the Guardian. The Wizard Olchemy informs him that he is the protector and guardian the earth has been waiting for.

  With Darshun’s ability to sense the Elemental Crystals, Olchemy devises a plan to obtain them. Accompanied by a small group of companions the hunt is on, in hopes to retrieve the long lost crystals before the Demon Lord claims them.

  During the journey, Darshun encounters Aurora, the sole survivor of a now extinct people. He falls in love for the first time, and now resents the so-called Guardian of the Prophecy role.

  Due to Darshun’s naïve spirit he’s caught off guard by Nayland, a mysterious dark warrior who confronts him about his abandonment of the quest. He reveals that he too, is a Nasharin warrior, though far exceeding Darshun in skill and power. Darshun’s father, Mirabel saves him from death at the hands of Nayland.

  Outmatched and in bewilderment from the attack, a fire awakens in Darshun. He plans on reaching his father’s level of power with a journey to Shajin Island, where Nasharin Warriors train. He’ll be gone for only one day in Earth realm time, but due to the magic of the rigorous island, it will be seven long years for him. Entering the mystical realm of Shajin, he eagerly awaits its life threatening challenges.

  In Crossing Forbidden Lines, Darshun faces a solemn heartbreaking betrayal by the woman he loves and is left dying from a hideous torture inflicted by the Queen’s guards. He is healed by a female Elf, Kelarin who he calls his angel.

  Feeling his power to be tripled, he battles Queen Talvenya’s son and slays him. Thus, earning the Queen’s undying vow of revenge. Afterward, he faces the Demon Lord in a fierce battle which nearly kills him once again. After a mysterious Elder nurses him back to health, he returns to his father, Mirabel to help defeat the massive army of the Demon Lord.

  When the Wizard Olchemy re-surfaces alive and brings his powerful red dragon, along with Darshun’s new Elfin family— they all prepare for a fierce battle in The Coming Of The Light.

  The group defeats the Dark King’s Army and Darshun finally faces Queen Talvenya in a final battle.

  In Sons Of Fire, the sides of Dark and Light take their places for the Day of Darkness. Minevara, Darshun's sister faces the Vampire Queen, and must save Nayland's life by battling him to the death. Kelarin, Darshun's love is kidnapped to be the Demon Lord's blood sacrifice.

  After being bested by The Guardian, Darshun…Queen Talvenya comes to join the Light as King Loreus discovers he may be the ‘One’ chosen to carry the Sword of Purity. In Piercing The Darkness .This sword has been foretold to have the power to unite all the races of the Earth Realm. Kaylis joins them both for a journey to the dreaded Centaur kingdom. Darshun gathers many for the upcoming battles they all will have to face.

  GUARDIAN SERIES

  BOOK ONE

  BOOK TWO

  BOOK THREE

  BOOK FOUR

  BOOK FIVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  DARK ABDUCTION

  Kelarin and a number of Elves, including some of the Aryeh, ventured into a field a few miles west of Ashhaven. They were collecting spearmint and peppermint leaves, red and black raspberries, ginger root, chamomile, and other types of wild herbs and flowers. The gathering being instrumental to creating a special elvish medicine, for a healing tea. The most important ingredient among them all, the heloitha or ‘miracle flower.’ This unique flower originally created by Aurora long ago and seeded by Lord Athanasius. The meadow in which they searched was where he planted the first one.

  At the time, they’d grown rapidly, dominating the meadow; seeds were carried by the wind and soon sprung up in different parts of the world, where many tribes and races grew accustomed to their unique abilities, never knowing the flower’s true origin. Lord Athanasius was correct; the flowers did not have the immaculate abilities unless molded by little Aurora. If one were chronically ill or severely hurt, she would pick a few petals, crush them in her palms to get the mystical oils and rub them over the individuals’ wounds or drip a little down his or her throat. The benefits would show almost immediately.

  As for others working with heloitha, having not the touch of Aurora, they instead mixed the petals in teas to drink. Within a matter of days—sometimes hours, their pains would ease and their bodies would heal. Not only were the flowers good for the body, they were beautiful to the eyes, having swirls of yellow, pink, purple, blue and red. Sometimes, they would even sparkle; sometimes shine. Athanasius always said it was because of the pureness of Aurora’s heart. It ended up he’d been right, for when she was taken by the Samaeltho and corrupted to darkness the flowers ceased their shine and the healing potent, while still assessable, decreased dramatically. Athanasius would keep a flower in his room and watch it every day, hoping its glory might one day return.

  Kelarin kept all these thoughts in her mind as she sifted through the weeds, looking for a heloitha. If only things could have turned out differently, if only paths could have swayed another direction. She did not know the fate of the Queen. When the Elves had returned from the battle against Asgoth, some told her Talvenya was dead, others that she escaped, and still others that Darshun had set her free. She didn’t know what to believe and thought it ironic how such an important tea and medicine was all due to such a wicked woman. If only she could repent, return to the old ways, perhaps to Cyteria one day, where she’d been meant to rule. Kelarin couldn’t help but to feel sorry for her. Until—she saw a shine with clusters of sparkles glistening through the grass. Sifting past the green blades, she saw it—one single heloitha flower, alive with passion.

  A few other Elves noticed as well and came to her side, one of them Strizar, the Captain of the Aryeh, old enough to remember what it had originally looked like. He too fell astonished.

  “Blessed be this day!” Kelarin gasped with dazzled eyes. “For do you know what this means?”

  “Indeed I do my lady, indeed I do.” Strizar nodded. “It can only mean one thing. The innocent spirit in the former Dark Queen has returned. She is not only alive, but the Light dwe
lls in her also. It has to in order for this flower to return to such a state!”

  Nothing could be further from the truth. The innocent child within the Queen did return, and it seemed to come at no better a time, for the day looked beautiful, filled with sunshine, blue skies, brilliant white puffy clouds of many shapes and sizes along with a warm breeze mildly blowing across the meadow.

  When Strizar picked the flower, a bit of sparkly dust blew from it along the breeze, touching his cheek. As if some power flashed into him he fell back, feeling a tingling in his face.

  “Strizar, are you okay?” Kelarin asked, kneeling down to him—then she suddenly froze, watching something amazing take place.

  For the large gash across his face, something he’d carried for a thousand years, left by the knife of the former Dark Elf Ormehthone, glistened with white light and slowly closed up. His face was clean, free from any scaring.

  Kelarin’s eyes widened. “Goodness!”

  “What is it?”

  “Your scar, it’s—gone.”

  He felt his cheek and realized she’d spoken the truth. This along with something else, his eye while not completely functional, at least partial sight returned. He threw off the eye patch.

  “You are healing!” Kelarin cheered. “Oh Strizar, the flower’s potent, it works. It really works!” She grabbed his hands and swayed them up and down excitedly.

  “But—it was only a bit of dust.”

  “Enough to spark wonders, dear cousin. Can you see?”

  Gazing to and fro, he answered, “Not completely, not yet, but I think I may want to now, after all these years it would be a blessing to witness the range of creation from more than just one visual eye. Guess I have to thank the former Dark Queen for that. But if my haughtiness should ever return, be sure to pluck my eye out again.” He laughed.

  It had been a well known fact among the elfin of how he always chose to remain scarred, never allowing the healing touch of Kelarin or any other, so it may be a reminder of his past sins. Yet— one he would have never imagined, Talvenya healed him anyway.

  "That won’t be necessary." Kelarin gave him a dominant motherly glare. "You are well matured now, dearest Strizar. And shall remain so, I just know it."

  He smiled.

  "Oh, how wonderful a day; to know that the lady Aurora has come home, and my cousin having been healed!”

  “Not entirely. Here, let me finish picking it, maybe I can gather a little more of its dust.”

  Rejoicing, Kelarin smelled the air for relaxation, stretching her arms out far. Though there seemed to be something unpleasant and fowl within the breeze, something disturbing her harmony of happiness. She glanced to the forest and saw a strange Elf watching her from the tree line. Though far away, he looked familiar. She adapted her eyes and then recognized him at once.

  “What is wrong my lady?” Strizar asked, noticing her tension.

  “It is—Lord— Lord Satyrus!”

  The warning came too late. A sudden storm of arrows shot out from the tree lines striking down some of the Elves. It happened so fast no one had any time to react. Then about three-dozen Worg Riders stormed out of the brush and attacked. The riders were Syngothrian Cullach, a more brutal and disgusting looking breed than the Cullach of Asgoth, their skin leathery black and tusks twice as long. The Elves, now enraged like a swarm of disturbed bees, fought back. Arrows brought down more than a dozen Worgs before the enemies could even get to them. Sadly though, the remainder, which still outnumbered the Elves, rushed onto the platoon, the riders slicing off heads, the Worg beasts ripping out throats, breaking bones. Axes and swords clashed the fighting gruesome.

  “Take this,” Strizar urged, handing her the heloitha flower. “Get out of here fast!” So not to get confused, he threw on his eye patch, for it wasn’t fully healed yet and the cloudy vision would only disrupt his fighting, and then hurried off to help his brothers. Rushing into the chaos Strizar took down three Cullach with his lightweight mighty Aryehian sword, piercing their armor like butter.

  Another attacked from behind jabbing a long spear. Yet among all the shouting, Strizar sensed his presence and turned aside, bringing his blade down against the spear and cut it in two, then quickly turned around striking the Cullach in its gut.

  Next, he saw a Worg ripping out the intestines of one of his brothers. He ran and jumped onto its back, attempting to wallop off its head, but the ravaged beast began thrashing back and forth. Strizar's sword slipped from his hand as he gripped the thing's greasy fur as tightly as he could.

  It ran through the battle, smashing into friend and foe, desperately trying to rid itself of this pest above. Finally, just as Strizar loosened his grip in attempts to strangle it, the Worg shifted hard toward the right, throwing Strizar off. Growling and snarling it stood over him, about to lunge for his throat with an expression which said; this kill would be his!

  Fortunately, Strizar had fallen beside a bow, left by an unfortunate brother, whose arrow pack lay close, an arm's reach. With immaculate speed, he grabbed the weapons and shot an arrow under the beast's chin, piercing into the mouth and out of the snout.

  Then shot a second arrow between its eyes. The Worg collapsed beside him.

  To his dismay, many Elves had fallen, and rage brewed within him. Being the Aryeh he was, he now unleashed the full extant of his might and fought like a maddened beast, cutting down each and every opponent—Cullach and Worg.

  The rest of his people followed in inspiration, soon taking control of the battle, slaying heathen after heathen. Within five short minutes, hacked limbs, spewed guts and decapitated heads were scattered all across the once beautiful meadow, now tainted with blood. The enemy tried to take them by surprise, but they ended up proving no challenge for the Elves, especially the Aryeh, who cut them apart as if it were a slaughter festival.

  When the battle came to an end, two were kept alive for answers, like why are Syngothrian Cullach attacking Ashhaven?—the first question asked by Strizar.

  The only answer he got was a mocking of sadistic laughter.

  “If you are not going to talk then you shall die,” he warned quite irritated, pointing his bow at one of their heads.

  Then someone stepped out from the trees, drawing everyone’s attention, catching everyone’s gaze—the Cullach included. It appeared to be the Sorcerer Damacoles, having a dark blue dome of energy shining around him. All could feel his power; so dark, so black it seemed overwhelming.

  “He wields the ancient Blackened Arts,” Strizar stated, baffled. “Be careful my brothers.”

  Looking around at the carnage Damacoles muttered, “Weaklings. I had not a doubt they would be slain. Cullach, one can never rely on them.” Slowly he walked closer to the Elves; their bows aimed for his heart. "Why the long faces?" he asked. "Surely, you do not fear one sorcerer, when there are fifteen of you, seven being Aryeh.”

  “These lands are forbidden for your kind sorcerer,” Strizar seethed. “Return to where you came from or suffer the consequences.”

  “Now now, there is no need for threats,” he scoffed as he moved aside his darkish-silver hair, revealing a twisted look upon his face. “I did not threaten you. In fact, I never wanted those foolish Cullach to travel along in the first place. That was Abaddon's idea. Nothing do I hear out of them except constant bicker. The only time they prove useful is in high numbers. Otherwise, they are weaklings. I despise the weak.”

  "You mentioned Abaddon. Therefore it is all the more clear what side you represent."

  "Abaddon is not my master, much as he thinks. I am the last free spirit truly destined to wander eternity. Tell me, have you ever heard of the deity 'Maloithnaye,' a dark God who's name in Demonic means 'One who brings the Darkness?' In a remarkable way, he was also known as the God of ‘Mercy.’ Want to know why?"

  "All this talk is vain! I Strizar, Captain of Lord Caelestias' army, demand you leave this place at once!"

  Ignoring him, Damacoles continued, "Whenever Maloithnaye w
ould encounter a large yet inferior quantity, such as you, he would spare a bountiful by simply asking the chief commander which members of his clan he wished death upon. If that commander chose just one, the rest would be spared. However, if he hesitated by only a little, or could not choose, well then all would die except he, and they would die the worst kinds of death, right before their lord’s eyes, for him to remember. Do you understand my words?”

  "Your words are madness!" Strizar hissed.

  “Hmm, now I ask; out of this group, who do you wish to die?”

  Strizar could not—would not answer this question. Instead, he shouted aloud, “I say this one final time, return to where you came from!”

  "Oh? Well then...” One by one, he looked into the eyes of eight Elves, as if counting them, having a strange gaze, accompanied by a dim white glow. And then he spoke words of foreign language, probably Demonic, which was never good. “So be it, you have made your choice, though I would not want to be your people right now.” He raised his hands and there came a rumbling underground, like a traveling earthquake. All of a sudden, loud fiery explosions erupted across the field, directly under the Elves' whose eyes he gazed into—all non-Aryeh. Instantly, they were blown to bits and pieces. Gushing blood soaked the ground. The smell of charred flesh seemed to be everywhere and fear gradually added.

  "Now for the others," Damacoles addressed him again. "Listen carefully, whom do you wish to die?”

  No longer did Strizar care to exchange words, or the others cease from attacking.

  For every Aryeh released their bowstrings, casting a horde of screeching arrows at this wicked sorcerer. However, the arrows, sharp as they were none could not penetrate past Damacoles’ dome of energy. They tried again and again but always ended with the same results, nothing!