Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy

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The ancient man walked the dirt road, green forest on
either side, holding danger. Long, grey hair framed his
clean-shaven face, a knotted staff in his right hand. His
flame-blue eyes glowed, intensified by his emerald-green
cloak. This human looked too old to be alive, aged beyond
what his race normally lived.

The man stopped briefly to look to either side of the
road, then began to take another step. The sound of hoof
beats stopped him and he straightened. His mind passed
over his options quickly, considering changing the
beautiful, clear day to a horrible, stormy day or walking
through them. He decided on the latter, anticipating more
fun from it.

The sorcerer, an evil magician of great power, stooped
again and smiled at the prospect of causing some mischief
with the riders. Barely in view of the sorcerer the road
bent, and in moments the horses and the creatures on them
appeared. The magician screamed in horror, for these were
not men to bother. He began to chant as rapidly as
possible, gesturing wildly to complete the elements of a
spell to save him.

As he neared the end of the spell he could see the face
of the lead rider, a contorted mix of ape, rhinoceros and
rabbit. The first hooves hit and the spell stopped. He knew
in his last moments that the story was true; the Deathless
Horsemen would stop for nobody. To be in their way,
good or evil, was to be dead.

The thirteen riders sped on for several more hours on
the Far-west Kingdom Highway, then turned east onto a
smaller trail towards the mountains. As the path got too
small for horses, the steeds changed to large, nimble
wolves. When the wolves could no longer carry them and
cover the terrain, the riders themselves changed into
mountain goats and charged up the side of the mountains.
Finally, they reached their destination and changed into
humanoid form.

The strange creatures stood on a large, platform-like
ledge in front of a spacious cave. The mountain it stood on
towered over all but three other peaks in the Efre mountain
range, which ran north to south along the continent. From
their roost they could see across the lightly forested
kingdom of Unlo to the western Ravenous Ocean. To the
east, they could see the kingdom of Seftrel, a land of neftir
and humans in low mountains surrounded by a steep band
of peaks called the Seftrels.

They each wore thick furs and gathered around a fire
near the mouth of the cave. The leader, a tall figure with
flaming red hair and a beard, began their meeting. “We
have seen the endarils chased from their village by the
forangen, watched their year of wandering and helped them
find the hidden valley in the Mountains of Shards. Soon
the wizard Corl will cast the spells which will protect the
valley but cause the conception of the special endaril.”

A short member spoke up, evil, but not as much as the
others. “I don’t think we can use him properly. If he fails,
we will have to compete with Rangdor for the rest of
eternity.”

A rival of the short one laughed deeply and snorted.
“Your job is to spread fear, not be afraid, you little freak.
In one hundred fifty two years we will be the only beings
terrorizing this continent. Rangdor and his armies will be
gone.”

A tall, shadowy member stood and walked towards the
cave opening. “I spread worry but now is not a time to do
it. The child will succeed, but since we need to wait for
over one and a half centuries for him to become an adult, I
say we rest and be patient. Our day will come.”

The leader nodded in agreement. “Though we can’t see
the future beyond the beginning of the child’s battle, I’m
confident we’ll get our advantage.” He stood and the
others followed.

In a beautiful, green valley lived a race called the
endarils. On this autumn night of their planet’s year they
celebrated their safety in their new home, the Hidden
Valley. A green lawn next to a small lake, surrounded by a
forest, circled by sheer mountains, bore the weight of tables
laden with succulent rabbit, wild pig and birds. Huge
plates of fruits similar to apples, pears and grapes
surrounded the meat.

Two thousand humanoid beings filled the lawn, slightly
shorter than humans. One family sat on a large blanket at
one end of the grass, other endarils waiting on them,
laughing with them and giving them gifts. The eldest of the
family was a very mature man with a long beard, shoulder
length white hair and bright green eyes. His cloak and cape
shone a fresh-snow white and both bore a crest, the royal
seal of the endarils: a circle filled in half green and half
brown and a band of silver surrounded it. This was Corl,
king of the endarils and the most powerful mortal wizard
on the continent. As first of the daril ruled races, the endaril
rulers also ruled their cousins the mendar and thrandrils.

Near him sat his son, Morg, also a benevolent magician
of great power, called a wizard. Short black hair and
unusual height complemented his handsome, beardless
face. Bright purple eyes looked out upon his silver-skinned
people. He wore the royal cloak and cape and a staff lay
between him and his father. On his other side sat a woman
in white armor bearing the royal seal. This great warrior’s
long, golden hair accented her eyes, a blue as deep as the
lake. Greentree reclined beside her son, Cort, who lounged
next to her in his white armor talking with one of his
grandfather’s subjects. Blond hair hung to his neck and his
grey eyes thoroughly examined the beautiful maiden that
sat next to him, her ruby eyes laughing from the pleasure of
his company.

Just beyond the blanket stood a silver lantern on a tall
pole. Several others illuminated the area as the magical
people piled food on their plates. A small boy with a head
of black hair and soft yellow eyes hung on his mother’s leg.
An elderly man, close to 1200 years old, stood straight and
strong as he took a healthy serving of rabbit. Smoothing
back his brown-going-grey hair, he turned from the table
and spied a lonely female of a millennium in years and
strolled towards her.

At the opposite end from the royal family sat a band,
eating and laughing, their instruments on the ground in
front of them. Soldiers wandered among them, wearing
their dress armor of leather with silver sashes and capes.
Some of the magicians wore their nicest cloaks. Many
others strolled around the yard nude but for their smiles and
personalities.

Soon Corl stood and a hush settled upon the crowd. He
cleared his throat and smiled. “My lovely people, we have
found a new beginning. We are at last safe from the danger
of Rangdor and can start comfortable lives.

“It is also an ending.” The endarils first frowned, but
then Morg stood and they smiled. “My son, Morg, is your
new ruler, if you’ll consent to it.” The gathered revelers
cheered until the tables shook. The 750-year-old wizard
raised his arms for silence and it fell. “I will serve you
better as a teacher and a wizard. Greentree di Rethel is
now queen. Let the dancing begin!”

The musicians picked up long, wooden string
instruments that almost purred with the notes; or short,
wooden or metal pipes that sang like the wind on a spring
day as the birds awake. As the warm, soft music wafted
across the grass the endarils formed several circles. They
moved slowly and rhythmically, swaying to the tune. The
royal family dispersed to different circles. Fifteen minutes
later the tempo increased and the circles broke up. The
dancing slowly sped up, children and elderly keeping
speed.

As the morning approached several hours later, slow
music rolled off the instruments. The two hundred
remaining couples held each other close and slowly rocked
in the falling dew and the mist coming off of the lake.
Greentree danced with Morg and Cort with his new friend.
The band finished the song and packed up as these last
endarils put their arms around each other and strolled off
towards the beds.

The next day they rested, the dancing and revelry
leaving tired endarils to sleep the day away. The children
swam and played in the afternoon then ate leftovers before
going to bed again, almost as tired as their parents.

The following day, the race rose early and began the
construction of their new village. They built sturdy huts in
the trees and under them, strong enough to resist a northern
winter. The royal family built their own. Corl set about
placing magical protection on the valley, sitting alone on
one of the mountains chanting and gesturing. In three days
he had woven a great spell, which shielded the valley from
entry by any unwanted creatures.

When Corl returned, the village was built. At one end
of the lawn where the party had taken place, endarils
worked on the base of a castle. It would be a modest one
by human standards but huge compared to the normal
endarilan abode.

On that night, the one when Corl returned, Greentree
was fertile again for the first time in one hundred fifty
years. A normal female endaril was fertile once every
seventy five to one hundred years, during their childbearing
life, but Greentree was different.

With the castle almost done, the conception occurred a
week later. The two moons, Hift and Nuvi, were in a
strong gravitational alignment and they brought about a
settling of Corl’s magic. At the exact moment of the first
division of the new child, the spell settled. Like a great
sigh, space and time paused, changing the growth of the
child forever.

This endaril’s birth took place two weeks after the Feast
of Growth, which marks the beginning of spring on the
planet Lerilon. With the black hair of his father and the
deep blue eyes of his mother, this beautiful child brought
great relief, for the endarils had feared deformities. The
child’s name was Tych; his full name, derived from placing
‘di’ in front of the oldest living family member, was Tych
di Corl.

“Say hello to Thain, Tych,” said Greentree to her
twenty-year-old son.

“Hello, Thain. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Tych bowed in the endarilan form of respectful greeting.
“Unfortunately, Sir, I must go to my lessons. To your
health.” At this time Tych was about as developed as a
three year old human physically, but emotionally twenty.
He bowed again and backed out of the room. At the door
to the room he turned left and ran down the hall and up the
stairs to his grandfather’s room.

“He’s a remarkable young endaril. You and Morg must
be proud of him, Greentree.”

“Yes, we’re very proud. He already speaks endarilan,
common human, neftiran, hiftnuvini, pemilonian and eagle.
Corl is teaching him the dialects of our cousins, the mendar
and the thrandrils.”

“My youngest granddaughter, Lendril, is growing fast
too. She has an eye on Tych but is too shy to introduce
herself.” Thain pulled a large, stuffed sphere that served as
a chair over to the bed where Greentree lay. He lowered
his voice so as not to be heard by any of the castle help.
“There is a rumor going around that Rangdor attempted to
reach our valley but was thwarted. According to this, Corl
helped in the battle.”

“Thain, in your wisdom you know that such things
should remain rumors. Corl was in a battle a year ago that
he refused to talk about and since then twice Buhlaht, the
King of Dragons, has visited him. The endarils and
dragons have avoided each other since the wars. We
brought about the destruction of many of their races when
our invasions created dissent. You know all this and so do
the other endarils, therefore the rumor naturally started.”
Greentree sat up and took the hand of the elderly endaril.
“You’ve been a good friend and teacher to Corl since he
was a child and when his parents were killed you showed
him his strengths so that he could discover the ways around
his limitations. Do your best to silence the rumors, for
Corl. He obviously wants it that way.”