Guardians of Gayrile

Text copyright © 2021 Alice G Bjornstedt

Book design by Alice G Bjornstedt

Published in 2021 by IngramSpark.

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design 2021 by Alice G. Bjornstedt. Photo credit – Raimond Klavins, Sunrise about lake Baikal in the summer.

Map of Northern Orlell 2021 by Alice G. Bjornstedt, pencil and gel pen.

ISBN - 978-1-7375262-0-9

For my brothers, for encouraging me to finish the story,

for my mom, for the suggestions and edits that made it better,

and for my dad, for reading the final product.

The Orlell Chronicles - Book 1

Guardians

of

Gayrile

Alice G Bjornstedt

Prologue

In the castle of Caer Sia, capital of the country of Coonsia, early evening…

Winter was coming, riding on the shoulders of a dreary mist of rain right before nightfall. Only the two guards, standing and shivering on the castle walls, saw the rider emerge from the darkness.

Castle Sia had little reason to expect visitors at this time of day – less so in these times. Life had been uneventful since the fall of the tyrannical queen some thirteen years prior. Blissfully quiet. Boring even. Silent. But it was the kind of silence that left everyone on edge.

The rider bent over the horse’s neck, urging her forward with a few gentle words, his voice rasping and dry. Just a little farther, girl, Dandio Ki, brother of the High King, and leader of Caer Sia’s military, whispered softly. The horse snorted at the sound of her master’s voice and continued forward.

No, the silence wasn’t a peaceful one, he thought to himself as the horse raised her head and trotted the remaining distance to the castle walls. Not in the least. He had sensed that by now, after hearing little from the Northern Isles in these recent months.

The larger island of the two Northern Isles, Gayrile, was a Coonsian territory, and had seen its share of difficulties during the last twelve years. The country had been aided, or so they assumed, by a select few who had founded a sect of defending warriors. Keepers of the peace, protectors of the common folk. Guardians.

And so they kept the peace for nearly a decade… now something had interrupted that.

The drawbridge lowered as the rider approached, and the guards milling about in the courtyard stiffened uneasily as the horse clattered inside. The rider dismounted, swinging down from the saddle, his long sword tapping his leg as he walked briskly toward the castle doors. His hood fell back as he did, and the guards relaxed as they recognized him.

Sir… one of them started.

Dandio turned to him, the torchlight highlighting his face as he smiled wearily. Silver-toned skin, green eyes, and a long scar that ran down the length of the right side of his face. Good to see you, Private. Do you mind letting me in?

The private nodded to the gatekeepers, who swung open the heavy doors, then looked back at the newcomer. The king’s been expecting you. You… you went to Badwater, right? How’s the situation there?

The silence that fell told him that everyone in the courtyard was listening. Badwater, a small town along the northern coast about thirty miles from Caer Sia, was the closest source of news about the Northern Isles.

Dandio took a long breath. Nothing good, he said finally, and slipped inside the castle.

The palace bustled with activity of early evening. He brushed past servants carrying trays of unwashed dishes and baskets of linen, past courtiers gossiping in the halls, and paused to nod a greeting to one of his generals. But he hadn’t come to speak with any of them.

He reached the end of the hall and turned left, into the throne room. The room was strikingly quiet after the bustle of the halls, and completely deserted. For a moment he hesitated, not sure where else to look for his brother. Then the king’s voice, calm and clear, and sounding rather weary, came from behind him.

Ah, good, Dandio. Forgive me, I was speaking with the guards.

Dandio turned, clasping one gauntleted hand to his chest in salute before embracing his brother. Not to worry. Good to see you.

You as well. Ĵan Ki, the High King of the Liznees of Coonsia, looked at his younger brother carefully. Despite the lavish riches of Caer Sia, Ĵan wore a simple suit of dark leather, with red and silver inlays that echoed the nation's flag colors. His keen green eyes, nearly identical to his brother’s, were filled with concern. Both Liznees had silver skin and no hair on their heads or face, like all Liznee males.

Badwater is doing well enough, Dandio told him now, as they moved toward the center of the room. Despite their trade routes being interrupted, that is.

Ĵan looked at him sharply. Their trade routes? Then…

It’s true, Dandio said heavily. All of it, everything about Gayrile turning on us… this Safacon person is no mere politician, and he’s taken total control of that little island.

What of the Direns? Surely they will fight.

The Diren people cannot be troubled with war again, you know this – not after the last queen. They are still recovering.

Ĵan bit his lip. Gayrile was a Coonsian territory – therefore, it was their duty to protect it. Something would have to be done.

What of the Guardians?

Dandio took a breath. This Safacon… he has great power. He disbanded the Guardians almost the moment he was elected. Forced them into hiding, I’ve heard.

Ĵan shook his head grimly. Then it is up to us. We will help Gayrile.

Dandio paused before speaking again, uncertain about delivering the rest of his news. The news itself was so wild, so unlikely that he wondered if Ĵan would believe it. But he trusted his brother, and he knew the news needed to be told. There’s something else, Ĵan… something about one called Kado.

Ĵan looked at him, frowning slightly. Kado… he’s the one we heard of last week. Safacon’s deputy, is he not?

Yes, he is. He is also a wizard as well, or so I’ve heard. Rumor is he was attempting to create an army – an army of undead, immortal warriors.

Well, that’s new, Ĵan said wryly, shaking his head. It seemed to be the goal of nearly every sorcerer that rose to power lately. What of him, then?

He’s coming. Here. He is bent on taking over Coonsia – Safacon is as well, but he cannot allow his hold on Gayrile to slip, and so he stays there. Kado plans to attack us – his force is coming.

Ĵan straightened, the implication of this weighing on him. Very well. In that case we will be ready for him. Any other news?

The look in Dandio’s face told him it wasn’t good news even before he spoke.

The rest of the news is that Kado’s experiment worked. His army, the one he wanted to create, the deathless warriors… they exist. And they’re on their way.

-1-

A Story and a Storm

Two days later, on Gayrile…

It was going to rain again.

Rygal, who had grown up in this climate, could practically sense it. He raised his head and allowed the wind to blow salty droplets into his face. The salty scent of the sea, the distant clamor of the market a few miles away from the beach, and the feel of the cold ocean wind as it blew across the North Sea to Gayrile were pieces that made up his home and the life that he had here.

He wove his way through the muddy streets of the township, moving past crowds of people. This area was known simply as the Alley, which aptly described it. It was narrow road between houses and shops, with the sea directly behind it and the buildings ahead and around. This allowed for a cramped passageway that grew all the more soggy at high tide, when the waves were caught in the wind and blown in soaking droplets into the Alley.

It was low tide now, but the coming rain made everything feel damp.

He pushed his way through the crowd, a small, skinny boy with dark hair and blue eyes. It wasn’t hard to get past people – he could hear the snatches of conversation as he went, bits of information.

Can’t buy a decent bit of fish anywhere, soldiers say it’s for rations…

Rations my foot – they take it straight to their boss more like, bet he’s sitting up in his lovely palace all fat by now…

I assumed he was rotten the whole time and you still supported him, don’t complain to me…

He’s good to us, we’re all still alive, aren’t we?

Safacon could kill us all if he wants to. Don’t fool yourself, he’s a coldblooded man if ever I saw one…

He’s a politician, dimwit, they’re all like that…

Rygal slipped on the mud and had to catch the arm of the last speaker to avoid falling, which made the man pull away. Sorry, he stammered to the man, who eyed him distastefully. Thankfully one of the vendors recognized him.

Ah, Rygal! Glad to see you, boy.

Rygal stopped, leaning against the side of the shop, grinning. Oh, hello, Mr. Kellis. Can I buy a loaf?

The baker, Mr. Kellis, reached below the counter and produced a loaf of day-old bread wrapped in paper. Here you are, boy. Take it and be going – I have work to get back to. Give my regards to Norrin.

Rygal took the loaf, laid a few coins on the counter and started back down the Alley, toward the sea. The wind blew salt water into his hair and face. Despite the cold, he closed his eyes, relishing the coolness and the closeness of the water.

By the time he reached the little house on the hill overlooking the sea, he was damp through. He pushed through the door, peeking inside.

Norrin? I got the bread.

He could see the form of the old man by the window, who now turned. Ah, thank you, Rygal. How is Mr. Kellis?

He was good – he said hello, Rygal reported, placing the now slightly damp bread by the fire. The sofa was positioned next to the fire, with a small table behind it covered in strange tools and objects. Norrin's work, Rygal knew.

Good to hear. Norrin moved closer to the fire, the light reflecting on his weathered face. He had a small, scruffy beard, short-trimmed hair, and wore the simple garb of a fisherman. His eyes had a quiet light of humor deep in them, a light that had always felt so welcoming and trustworthy. Rygal didn’t care that Norrin wasn’t his father, didn’t care that the old man kept his secrets close. Norrin had raised him since before he could talk, and that was all that really mattered.

Still, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering about the past as he set another piece of wood on the fire.

Did you finish that net of yours? Norrin asked him, moving back to the table.

Rygal winced. I… forgot to… didn’t have time… he offered weakly, knowing it was a bad excuse. In truth, he had had plenty of time. The problem was that his time was usually eaten up by other things, things other than fishing.

Norrin turned to him, arching an eyebrow. Is that so? And what has taken up that time, then?

Rygal hesitated for far too long – he saw Norrin watching him, and knew it would be impossible to talk around this. I… I was at the docks yesterday – watched a few ships come in with the Morris boys. We were playing Forts-and-Arrows. Then I went… to Mr. Kellis’ shop.

Oh? Norrin hid a smile as he adjusted the screws on one of the tools on the table.

I was listening, Rygal said. Just listening – I helped him knead some of the dough for the rolls. A few of the fisherman from the Mainland came into port yesterday, and they came by to talk to him. He paused, then looked up at Norrin. They had news.

Norrin looked at him, then set down the instrument. Well, tell me about it.

News from the Mainland. News about how Safacon has broken all ties with the Diren people – I didn’t really understand that bit, but is it true that he’s… trying to take over? He saw a flash of uncertainty cross Norrin’s face, quickly masked. There was a brief silence.

You are a very attentive boy, Norrin told him finally. You listen and you know what is true and what isn’t. And you ask your elders for confirmation before making an assumption.

Well… that’s what you’ve taught me, Rygal said hesitantly. You said I should always gather facts before making a decision. Not rush in headlong.

So I tried, Norrin said with a slight smile. Then he became serious. "Well, Rygal, the answer to your question is a long one, I’m afraid. A long