Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Book 2

  About the Author

  To my brother,

  whose love of computer games

  somehow brought us this.

  Don’t know how the hell that happened,

  but here we are.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “YOU ALMOST GOT me that time,” Jinua encouraged, her shoulders rippling as she twirled her sword.

  On the muddy ground at her feet, her opponent, Celia, groaned.

  Jinua bit back a snicker. “Come on. Let’s go again.”

  “You’re just going to beat me again.”

  “Probably,” she admitted, “but you’re already showing so much improvement! And the more you practice, the better you’ll get.”

  Lia (as she was known to her friends) huffed and rolled onto her feet, scraping off the mud clinging to the back of her leather practice armor and cotton sleeves.

  Last night’s storm had pounded the abbey with fierce wind and rain, churning the grounds to mush, while the thunder and lightning had kept Jinua awake half the night. So far, she’d managed to avoid getting mud on her own clothes, but sweat soaked through her tunic and her muscles burned with exertion and energy.

  They bowed to each other, then crossed swords again, wooden shields raised to protect their chests. Jinua tightened her grip and waited for the younger soldier to strike first so she would have an opening. Lia was smaller, her shield covering more of her body, while Jinua was over a head taller and wide enough such that Lia would drown in her coat. She needed the girl to move before she could effectively strike.

  To her pleasant surprise, Lia didn’t move, instead waiting for her to attack first. They’d been working on her patience.

  Jinua slapped Lia’s sword and went for her neck. Lia blocked with her shield, Jinua’s dull practice blade scraping on wood as her opponent turned herself into a battering ram. Lia grunted loudly as she threw all of her strength behind the shield to strike at Jinua.

  A mistake.

  Jinua smiled and darted back and to the side, neatly sidestepping her opponent. Most people took one look at her height and girth and expected her to be slow, so she prided herself on her speed. Lia almost blew right past her, only stopping when they were shoulder-to-shoulder.

  Too late.

  Lia stabbed to the side of Jinua’s shield, trying to get around the wood to the bigger woman’s chest, to no avail.

  Jinua blocked, pivoted, and struck Lia on the shoulder before she had time to properly turn.

  Lia yelped at the hit, again falling to one knee on the sodden ground, dropping her heavy shield and groaning. Jinua lowered her sword. “Better. You may be muddy, but you’re making me work up a sweat just to get these hits.”

  The girl beamed in a not completely sincere manner. “Thank you, Holy Jinua.”

  Holy Jinua. The title still made her chest feel warm and giddy, even after a month.

  “We’re friends, Lia. None of that Holy nonsense,” she said.

  The girl rolled her eyes. They’d only known each other for a few months, Lia joining just as Jinua was finishing her five-year training. The older recruits were encouraged to train the younger, and Jinua hadn’t stopped that practice even after graduating and receiving the rare honor of a paladinship.

  “I don’t know who I’m going to convince to kick me into the mud when you leave,” Lia lamented, pouting the way only a teenager could.

  “Just bat your pretty eyes at one of the older boys. They’ll help you.”

  “Jin!”

  Jinua laughed, reaching out her hand to help up her companion. “Come on. Let’s go…”

  The word Again died on her tongue as an older man strode into the training ground, his gilded sword flashing in the morning sun. Both she and Lia bowed. “Holy Livius.”

  The weathered paladin motioned for them to rise. He wore a simple cream tunic and black sash that looked almost laughably clean against the weathered, muddied boots that protected him from the wet grounds. Hardly the grand robes or armor a paladin and High Priest would traditionally wear, though he never stood on pretense.

  “Holy Jinua. Recruit,” he greeted. “Jinua, you have a visitor in the temple.”

  Electricity shot through Jinua’s body. “Is it…”

  He nodded. Lia gasped.

  Jinua became very self-aware of her appearance, even as she scrambled out of her training gear. She had an old gray sleeveless knee-length dress that frayed a bit at the hem and displayed the large, muscled arms she’d built in this very abbey, and it was soaked in sweat. It was too hot even for leggings and she wore on her feet only muddy sandals. Ebony hairs stuck to her sweaty forehead, even after she wiped it. “I hope they don’t mind that I look like a sweat-drowned rat,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  Livius snorted. “He won’t. Appearance and people’s thoughts on it are as worthless as a horse’s shit on a shoe. That goes doubly so for us.”

  Feeling better, Jinua handed Lia her wooden armor and sword, stammered a thank you, and sprinted across the abbey to the temple.

  The temple was on the exact opposite side of the abbey from the training yard, and she had plenty of experience running from one end to the other to make it in time for drills and classes. Just shy of two minutes was her record.

  However, Jinua was no longer a greenhorn recruit, and the honorable title of Jadiim’s Paladin lent more than status to one’s name. She poured fire into her veins, feeling them burn under her skin. A rush of energy, strength, power filled her from her crown to her toes, roaring in her ears like a wildfire. The abbey’s pale gray walls tinged pink from the rising sun blurred around her as she moved at blinding speed. She made it to the temple in forty-eight seconds.

  Jinua stood in front of the grand doors, panting, still not quite used to her paladin powers. It had only been a month since Jadiim had sent an angel to give them to her, touching her forehead with a single finger. It had felt like a brand, searing, painful heat that had made her scream as the flames consumed her from the inside out before flickering down to something manageable. A month later and she still had a bit of that fire in her chest, ready to flare at her command.

  Flare and consume. Her stomach growled, reminding her both that she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet and that channeling divinity came at a high caloric cost. If this visitor had been any less important, she wouldn’t have done it.

  She adjusted her black braid, brushed herself off, and took a deep breath before muttering, “Appearance and people’s thoughts on it are as worthless as shit on a shoe.”

  She opened the heavy temple doors.

  Built like an arena, the temple was large enough to accommodate three hundred people, half of all the soldiers trained and stationed at Erynis Abbey. Several circular rows of intricately-carved seats looked down toward a central stage. The path from the doors led directly to the bottom of the stage, meaning any latecomers were seen by everyone. A partial roof shaded the seats while allowing sunlight to illuminate the stage. During holidays and special occasions, the place would be adorned with banners. When her class had finished their training, going from recruits to militia soldiers, flags of red and gold had hung from the roof like tongues of fire, and again in crimson and silver when they’d celebrated her ascension to paladin. It had felt odd to have a whole day of celebration and feasting in her honor.

  Now, the place was still and quiet, almost completely dark this early in the morning. The sun wouldn’t even hit the lip of the open roof for another couple of hours. But that didn’t matter, as the figure standing on stage glowed with his own profound light.

  Jinua swallowed and approached. When she stood at the lip of the stage, she dropped to a knee. “Angelic one.”

  “You must be Jinua,” he rumbled, his voice like molten rock. “Rise.”

  Jinua did, looking the being in the face. Of course, this was not Jadiim, King of the Gods, Lord of Fire and Light, Champion of Truth and Justice, himself, but one of his angels. Not the one who had ordained her, but they had a similar look. Where he’d once had eyes, two orbs of divine fire smoldered and flared. On his back, wings protruded of matching flame, which lit the whole arena like a red sun. Given his dark skin and wide nose, Jinua thought he’d been born in one of the nations on the other side of the Great Steppe. Even the clothes he wore bespoke that region—a white kilt and sleeveless shirt.

  Jadiim’s armies were open to practically everyone with the desire and ability to serve. Only one in a hundred of his militia became paladins. And only one in a hundred paladins became angels, who served as his lieutenants in battle and most trusted servants. Forever.

  “I am Ayize,” he said.

  Jinua brightened. “Sir! You passed through my birthplace during your time as a mortal.” She almost mentioned that she and her brother used to reenact the great battle where Ayize had finally defeated Sua, paladin of Khwane, god of war, on the very field where it had happened. But she bit it back just in time, deciding that he likely didn’t want to be reminded of the day that he had technically died. She cleared her throat. “What does the Lord of Fire wish for me?”

  Ayize sniffed. “He originally wished for Livius, but he begged off due to age and health. He asked that we send you, instead.”

  Disappointment and pride fought for dominance in Jinua’s chest. Disappointed that Jadiim hadn’t asked for her specifically. Pride that Livius believed in her ability to do whatever it was the angel needed him to do, which was no small feat. “I will do everything in my power to live up to his expectations,” she swore.

  He grunted. “There’s a necromancer we need you to dispose of.”

  Excited though Jinua was, she could not say she was surprised. Necromancers had always been bad news. Unlike paladins, who had to earn their divine powers through hard work and the explicit approval of their god—and who could very easily lose those powers if they became corrupt—necromancers were born with their abilities.

  Because of this, they had no accountability—no form of checks and balances—nothing truly stopping them from doing, being, or enabling evil. It had led to an all-out war between the holy warriors of Jadiim and the necromancers, who at the time had the numbers and power to be a true global threat. The war had been a long, brutal struggle that had thankfully ended with Jadiim’s victory and most of the corrupt necromancers dead. Though, despite all this happening almost two hundred years ago, they still lingered.

  “Where?” she asked.

  “Glyrta. It’s a village not far from Hordosa Lake, a little over a week’s ride if I can still judge a horse’s run.”

  “Why so distant? If I may ask, is there not an abbey closer?”

  “We have—had—a temple, and a handful of militia in the village. No paladins, though, so the militia were killed down to a man, and the temple’s been destroyed.”

  She gritted her teeth. The audacity! “I see. Who is this necromancer?”

  “Her name is Enejel. She’s taken over the area with a small army of undead, using the local cemeteries for ‘soldiers.’ At this point, she has about a hundred of them under her command, maybe more.”

  “Surely there are more than a hundred bodies she could raise for her purposes?” Jinua asked. Then, remembering herself, added, “Ah, Angelic One.”

  He didn’t seem to take offense. “The village has been cremating their dead for the last few years, so most of the bodies available in those cemeteries are too decomposed for her to use. That’s why sending fresh meat into this is not guaranteed to end in complete disaster.”

  Jinua nodded in agreement. Risking the life of one paladin was preferable to risking the lives of a hundred common soldiers. Precious lives that, once extinguished, would continue in a horrific half-life as the blood servant of an insane necromancer. It was, after all, one of the main reasons paladins were created—to hunt down and destroy necromancers. Alone.

  Of course, sending an angel would be preferable, as they were immortal and more powerful—almost gods in their own right—but there were very strict rules governing their actions in the mortal world, the breaking of which could result in the godly equivalent of an international crisis. No one wanted to trigger another round of the God Wars, especially not over a single necromancer, no matter how nasty.

  Ayize studied her through unreadable eyes of fire. “You seem remarkably calm.”

  “Angelic One?” she said, confused.

  His face twisted into a surprisingly human snort. “Paladins these days are so much softer than they were in my day. If you’d told me back then that you could get the title and all its respect and honors through a damn tournament, I’d have laughed at you. Possibly punched you for the insult.”

  Jinua grinned, imagining what he must have been like as a mortal. “That would’ve been a fun fight.”

  For the first time since meeting her, he smiled. Even chuckled, his sonorous laugh echoing and warping through the empty arena. “Probably.” The humor quickly faded from his flaming eyes.

  “We have no tolerance for people like Enejel,” he continued coldly. “Necromancers are bound to go bad; it’s in their nature. Every day she draws breath is another day innocents suffer. Do you understand that?”

  She nodded, tugging on her black braid before realizing what she was doing. She’d never killed someone before. All the times she’d donned armor and held a weapon had been for training purposes only.

  “I didn’t ask to learn the blade without believing I’d one day stain it red, Angelic Ayize,” she said. “Today, I serve.”

  He studied her for another moment, then nodded. “Very well. I shall tell our lord that you’ll be leaving today to handle it. You have to the end of the month to dispose of the filth.”

  Jinua bowed. Ayize erupted in a pillar of flames so hot and bright that she had to step back, her hair singeing and curling at the very ends. When the flames vanished, only wisps of smoke remained where the angel had stood.

  Jinua took a deep breath in the now silent arena and wiped her sweating brow. She glanced down at her sweat-stained dress and sighed as her stomach rumbled again.

  “Fine,” she grumbled at it. “I’ll eat.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  NORMALLY THE FARMLAND around the abbey was relatively empty and contained little more than a few houses belonging to peasants, who worked the fields so the soldiers could eat. Beyond that stood a bit of woodland and prairie with a path cutting through, which led to the nearest town a few miles away. Today, however, friends and family of the graduating recruits filled the fields outside the abbey.

  After five years of harsh training, the recruits had endured a gauntlet of challenges meant to test their strength, skill, endurance, and honor. Completing all tasks meant that they were now soldiers in the god Jadiim’s global army, and if someone performed exceptionally well, the god noticed and blessed them with the status of paladin.

  Because of that, friends and family were encouraged to come and watch the days-long ceremony and sequential celebration. By now, many of them had already left, but many still lingered. And because there was barely room enough in the abbey for the soldiers, they stayed out here. Luckily, Jinua’s people were always prepared to sleep under the stars.

  When Jinua stepped beyond the abbey walls, she found the familiar, comforting sight of Lykhuusi tents—each one circular and made of colorfully tied pelts, felts, or other fabric wrapped around poles. The colors and patterns told fellow Lykhuusi exactly where each family lived and what they’d done, even if they’d never before heard of them. That pattern of pigs meant they were swineherds. Those crossed swords housed at least one great warrior. A scale meant merchants. Bow and arrow meant warrior and hunter. On and on.

  Most of the people spoke their native Lykhuusi tongue, but a few slipped in and out of the Glokassan language that was far more widespread in the eastern lands. That was what Livius, Lia, and everyone else in the abbey spoke. Jinua had been fluent since she was seven. Hearing her own language again was such a comfort to her, like fitting into an old coat.

  Several people waved to Jinua as she passed. She waved back, her smile dimming just a little. They’re not going to be pleased to hear this…

  She found her family’s tent near the edge of the camp, overlooking the prairie where the band’s horses and oxen grazed. Almost a hundred animals dotted the adjacent meadow, enjoying some relaxation before they had to haul the camp back to the Great Steppe. Jinua’s practiced eyes found her family’s livestock: their six horses and four oxen, a respectable herd for one family.

  Their tent was reinforced with pelts to keep the inside cool or hot, depending on the season, and the outside was decorated with woven wool. One side detailed Jinua’s mother Cirhina’s accomplishments with duel swords and bow, horses she’d stolen from enemies, and enemy soldiers she’d put into the ground. It was a dark but vibrant portrait, more a warning than a brag.

  The other side was Jinua’s other mother Hiryme’s accomplishments, and they were depicted in much lighter colors, namely the blankets, pots, baskets, and jewelry she made and sold to outsiders, helping to bring prosperity to her family and band. She had made and sold much more than that, but they’d need an ocean of cloth to accurately depict all the things she could create. Jadiim’s symbol—a sword on fire with a crown above it—was in the middle of the two sides, and was seen on a lot of tents.

  The two mothers sat outside their tent now, enjoying the early morning light. Hiryme was making a stew over an open fire—rabbit, carrot, sweet pea, and a bit of orange zest if Jinua could trust her nose—while Cirhina sharpened her twin swords and all of her arrows. Their eldest son and Jinua’s brother, Atar, lay on the vibrant green grass, complaining to the sky and his long-suffering mothers.

 

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