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  The Hero Seekers

  The Altodare Series Book One

  Thomas Golden

  Copyright © 2020 Thomas Golden

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 9798607023362

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by: David Norwood

  davidnorwoodart.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Sarah: my love, my muse, my favorite.

  To Garvon, William, and Eliza: All of my greatest adventures have you in them.

  Prologue:

  Altodare Has Fallen

  1

  The invasion occurred gradually and then all at once. Wizen the Aged, faerie counsel to King Axos, had warned of such a time but Axos it seemed would have none of it.

  The elder faerie had come to such a head with kings before. The ways and reason of magical beings were often difficult for mortals to grasp. He had an uneasy feeling, however, that this time was different, that there was somehow more at stake.

  Each attempt he made to give wise counsel to the king seemed only to drive the wedge further and further between them.

  “Axim the Great, now there was a king who would listen!” Thought Wizen, as his wings flapped against the slight headwind that delayed his journey home. “He wouldn’t actually heed my advice, but at least he would listen to it!” With this thought, the old man huffed, flapped harder, and found the headwind was ultimately no match for his rage.

  Wizen had been a member of the high council of Altodare since the beginning. When the first settlers came to their stretch of the Farlands, the faeries offered only help, explaining to the mortals that faeries did not build empires like the elves and humans and so it was of no consequence to them if the humans wished to settle the land.

  Such a land Altodare was, that no one was surprised when the first human settlers had arrived. There were lush meadows of fertile soil wherever one happened to roam. Forests spotted the land, creating natural wind barriers for farmers. The Great River stretched itself from the Nebularian Sea, winding its way through the land until it reached the Crystal Lake in center of the Faerie Woods, the westernmost part of Altodare.

  The country was perfection. All that needed to be done was for cities and villages to be built and the earth plowed for seed. That no one had attempted to tame the land before was the real mystery. The faeries lived there as a matter of necessity and had been open to any who wished to settle the land as long as they respected the faerie traditions, did not cut the trees of the Faerie Wood, nor disturb the waters of the Crystal Lake. The settlers who had come in those days were all too willing to comply and would have eagerly placed a faerie over them as king if it had been required.

  At that time Wizen the Aged was simply “Wizen”, a young but accomplished faerie who had just completed his apprenticeship to the Grand Master Snuth, high faerie of Altodare. Snuth took pride in his apprentice and chose him specifically to take his place as high faerie.

  Snuth was deep into old age, so Wizen was asked by the human settlers to advise them in their dealings so that Altodare might thrive and its future generations see peace and prosperity. Wizen thought nothing of agreeing to the task. It was within the normal purview of a high faerie to give counsel to local governmental matters. Snuth himself had, on more than one occasion, traveled to distant lands to advise kings and rulers. On this day however, as Wizen reached his doorway, he wished he had said no those many years ago.

  The high faerie threw open the door to his house with abandon and tossed his overcoat on the nearest piece of furniture. This was in fact not furniture at all, but the youngest of his three apprentices, Torkwillian Mustardseed or “Tork” for short.

  “All well at the palace sir?” Tork asked. The response was little more than a grunt, but Tork was satisfied being acknowledged at all given the high faerie’s schedule, and his own unique position as third apprentice.

  It is commonly known that faeries are free and lively sprites, not prone to conventional study. There are faeries who can heal, but no studied doctors. There are faeries who can build, but no actual engineers. Faeries are happy to work, but seldom have a need to train for a vocation.

  Less commonly known and almost never discussed are those faeries that do in fact pursue academic study. These faeries are in an interesting position because there are no schools for faeries. Thus, any faerie who might wish to gain a formal education must find a master under whom to be an apprentice.

  Since very few faeries pursue an apprenticeship, there are very few masters under which to study. Tradition held that each master would train only one faerie in his lifetime. So, for most faeries the idea of academic study was at best a fleeting one that passed just before they discovered a passion for something else.

  Wizen was in the unique position of having three apprentices. A decision he made out of a fear that the faerie ways were dying and there were too few to carry on the traditions. It did not seem that one apprentice would be enough; he wanted to create exponential growth.

  He was not wrong. With so many of the young faeries traipsing off to far of places for adventures and so many others reaching a ripe old age and fading into the ether, the faerie population had steadily dwindled to the point that no amount of mere clapping was going to revive it.

  It was his fervent wish to train each apprentice to the fullest, but as the shape of the world continued to degrade Wizen found himself with less and less time for formal instruction, a fact that ate at him constantly.

  Wizen began to think aloud as he paced the floor of his study. His apprentices moved in and out around him. By now, they knew his routines. Tork, had already received his great coat in the hall, and stood in the middle of the study near the desk waiting for the opportunity to place Wizen’s smoking jacket on his shoulders.

  This was at present, Tork’s greatest responsibility of the night and one he took very seriously. His fellow apprentices had made a niche for themselves while he had found himself not bad at anything but not particularly skilled in any one area either. Taking advantage of the rare moment of stillness in the master’s fierce floor walking was something he could do exceptionally well.

  Quelfar Fallwillow was more commonly known as “Quel”. He was the first and eldest of the apprentices. He stood to the far end of the room and reached out to hand Wizen his cup of tea, providing refills, cream and sugar on successive passes. On one such pass, he thought he heard the old man mutter something about, “Innocents bleed and then, where are we?”

  Though Quel had enjoyed the most one-on-one tutelage from Wizen, he had learned that with the often-frantic pace of the old man, it was always smart to listen intently any time his master was within earshot. Quel made up for the lack of direct contact with his teacher by spending hours poring through the books in Wizen’s library. Because of this, he knew even from this muttered fragment of a sentence that the elder faerie was in a mood about Krakoss, a conqueror who had taken control of most of the known world, and likely had his sights set to Altodare and the magic found in the Faerie Wood.

  Many books of Wizen’s library, several written by the high faerie himself dealt with Krakoss and his atrocities across the realms. A general disdain for innocence was a common thread, just as it was common in recent days to hear his master railing against it.

  Nerf, the second apprentice, was not much younger than Quel. She kneeled along the path of Wizen’s fervent pacing. With each
pass, she removed one of Wizen’s shoes and on the successive passes replaced them with his slippers.

  While Quel was engulfed in the library, Nerf was drawn to the small training studio attached to Wizen’s study. She trained daily in hand-to-hand combat and on her rests read about military strategy. Rarer than a faerie who pursues formal learning is a faerie who wishes to learn to battle. Nerf was such a faerie and Wizen had chosen her for this very reason.

  “There may come a day when the faerie world needs a wise general, my child.” Wizen had explained to Nerf. Nothing could have made the young faerie happier and she quickly gave up the sugaring of plums to take immediate residence in Wizen’s training studio.

  “Will we see war sir?” She asked as the high faerie made another pass at her end of the room.

  “War? What good is a war against a mad man who plays by no one’s rules? What use are rules…” The old man trailed off. The room had suddenly become very still. Wizen stood motionless in the center of the room, his mind engulfed in some new thought that could not yet be verbalized.

  “I’ve failed you all.” He said. It was a quiet statement, meant mostly for himself but it held a gravity that struck the ears of the ever listening Quel and made him shiver.

  Tork had come from behind Wizen and placed the smoking jacket over the old man’s shoulders. The act only managed to startle the elder who suddenly sprang to action, knocking Tork over against the desk. Papers flew and the other apprentices ran to the center of the room to ensure that neither party had been hurt.

  “Assemble for lessons!” Exclaimed the high faerie. “Tork, for goodness sake, get up and pull yourself together! We must have lessons.” And with that, the old man bolted from the room. The three apprentices watched after him with a pair of shoes, a teakettle, and looks of utter confusion.

  2

  “I have failed you all most horribly.”

  “How could you suggest such a thing sir?” Asked Tork.

  “Oh, my dear boy, I have failed you most of all. How long have you lived in my household, held my greatcoat, and stood by for my nightly ramblings?”

  “A year sir.”

  “And when have I stopped to explain the history of Altodare and why it must be preserved?”

  “Never sir.”

  “Correct. I have never taken the time, not for any of you. Hard enough you’ve been saddled with a master who is off to court daily to argue with know-it-all humans. I haven’t fully invested in the three of you and there may come a time when it is too late. I have failed you. I am sorry my children.”

  “Sir, you have given us a place for free study. Quel can recite the history of Altodare this moment from the many books he has read, and I can tell you where their strategies succeeded and failed, where their forces are strongest and weakest. You have not failed us sir.” Nerf stood proudly before her master, unwilling to accept the old man’s betrayal of himself.

  The old faerie took these words in as he slowly drew on his pipe. Fear and shame had taken hold in his heart and the young apprentice’s words had stopped him from spiraling into a pit of self-pity and loathing. He was thankful, but the task at hand was still too pressing.

  “You are kind and loyal dear Nerf. But the history in books is edited and you need to know the full story not only of Altodare but also of the realms who border her walls. The Nebulae and Elven Lands and how Krakoss threatens to bring all into ruin.”

  The three apprentices sat in silence. Their entire selves engrossed in the words and actions of their master. It was a new experience, one that excited them beyond all measure. Lessons had routinely consisted of simple instructions.

  “Read this ancient volume.” And “Take time to know the letters of General Pax of the Nebularian militia.” But today it seemed that their master intended direct face-to-face instruction. The apprentices waited with bated breath for his next words.

  “You may know,” Wizen began, “That the first king of Altodare was not a nobleman at all but a woodcutter named Kurtus the Axe Wielder. He was a kind and fair judge of the people and became lovingly known as ‘the Axe-man’ by those who knew him. By the time the Kingdom of Altodare had been fully established he was simply called ‘King Axman.’ Thus, began the tradition of naming successive kings—Axmar, Axim, all the way to King Axos, may his reign be peace filled.

  “The kings of Altodare have always relied on the faerie folk for counsel and advice and we have been happy to give it. My master Snuth, placed me as ambassador to the new settlers. It is because of our input that the Altodarians welcome outsiders and care for their poor and homeless.”

  “Because they were once outsiders in need of care?” Asked Tork.

  Wizen smiled, “So you have had time to learn something young Tork. Yes, we helped them to adopt policies that would help others, as they had once needed help. And the result has been a thriving land of industry and economy where anyone with the will can make a life for himself and his family.

  “There have been failures, losses, and mistakes, but Altodare has largely been the shining example of what success looks like. Half of the capital was burned down during the first goblin war, but the people came together and rebuilt the city better than before. One would think that with all of this success that Altodare would stand forever. For whom would dare threaten its people and its way of life?”

  The apprentices nodded in agreement with their master.

  “But this would be wrong. Complacency breeds laziness and is the death of the strongest warrior. Paranoia gains nothing, but a healthy vigilance protects the people’s interests from interlopers and others who would tear down our values and way of life. What I cannot seem to impress upon Axos our king is that if he does not actively work to preserve Altodare, it will most certainly fall, and sooner than we imagine. For evil is at the door.

  “Consider the Nebulae. The first among the Farlands to embrace Krakoss and his abominable horde. So many years ago, that land had been disordered and tribal but still functioned with aide from its allies.

  “Krakoss arrived with promises of peace, hope, and prosperity for all. The people of Nebulae were understandably inspired and welcoming to this new leader, sadly unaware of the cost. Almost twenty years after Krakoss took power, it is a wasteland, a wild place of pirates and vagabonds where food is scarce and civilization scarcer still.”

  “Sir, what came of the prophecy?” Quel interrupted. He spoke a bit faster than he could think, and he did not truly mean to interrupt, but he found the information surging from his brain and past his lips faster than he could stop it.

  “The what?”

  “I read once about a prophecy. One given to the Nebularian wizards. It was said that there would be children born outside of any known border, and that those children would rise and defeat any evil that threatened the Farlands. Some traditions hold that there were three children and that Krakoss destroyed them. Some state that they were spread across the Farlands and beyond and will return. Sir, could these children exist yet?”

  “My dear apprentice . . . ” Wizen sighed, “There was such a prophecy, but the mere fact that it was given to the Nebularian Wizards should tell you that it was only wishful thinking. A glimmer of hope to keep the people going after they realized what Krakoss was doing to their land. At that time Krakoss sought and destroyed any children who remotely fit the description, and put the supposed prophecy to rest. If the prophecy were valid, Krakoss would have fallen in the Nebulae.”

  “I see sir, I am sorry for interrupting.”

  “Next was the Elven Land.” The Master Faerie continued, “The Elvish warriors had shown immediate resistance but for a loud minority who all but handed the Krakoss the gate keys. The Elven Land has not yet fallen to total chaos but with Krakoss, it is only a matter of time. Already we have heard of mass gravesites where those deemed ‘unnecessary’ are taken away. The people scrounge for food while Krakoss gains even more wealth and power.

  “We have seen Krakoss’ ways. We know how he
methodically guts a nation from the inside out. He comes as a liberator but shortly thereafter the people cry out for mercy for their lives are no longer their own. His disregard for life and his refusal to accept simple truth have devastated the populations of any land he overtakes.

  “I have warned the king for years to prepare and even strike out against this evil before it comes to Altodare. But he listens to Lord Vertia, a good man, well intentioned, but one with no grasp of the history of these lands or what makes Altodare special.

  “Now, my faithful ones, we must do our part for our land. For today at the gates of Altodare, what had seemed unimaginable has turned to a stark reality. Krakoss demands tribute from King Axos. It can only—” The elder faerie stopped short.

  Silence of a different kind fell over the room. A lump grew in Tork's throat as he tried to stifle the tears that were welling up in his eyes. He looked to his master and saw a single tear rolling down the old man’s cheek. He had never seen his master show this type of emotion, and the sight of it was more than the young faerie could bear. So Tork wept for Altodare, just for a moment before reaching out to take Nerf’s hand.

  “Teach me to fight. Now. Please.” He said.

  All eyes turned to the youngest apprentice who had shown no particular interest in any one subject prior to this moment. Wizen’s forehead wrinkled and he squinted at the boy through his spectacles.

  “Never saw you as a fighter my boy.” The old man said.

  “I never thought I would have to face Krakoss either sir.” Tork replied.

  “And you think—” The old man ran his hands through his beard, trying to find the words. “You think an immediate call to arms is the most prudent action?”

  “All we know of Krakoss is that he prays on the innocent and calls it the good of all. How can else can we fight such evil sir?”