The Orc's Tale Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jonathan Moeller
Tags: Historical, Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Epic, Science Fiction & Fantasy, One Hour (33-43 Pages)
had taken her from him, just as he had taken his mother, and now his home.
He could not go back again.
###
Later that day, Kharlacht returned to the vault below the Tower of Bones.
He did not take much from the treasure hoard. Only a cuirass of blue dark elven steel, and some coins and jewels to pay his way. Kharlacht donned the armor, strapped the sword to his back, and left the Tower, making his way into the mountains.
Towards the lands beyond.
His home was lost to him, but with a good sword, he could find his fortune elsewhere.
THE END
Thank you for reading THE ORC'S TALE. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter , or watch for news on my Facebook page . Turn the page for a bonus chapter from the first book in the FROSTBORN series, Frostborn: The Gray Knight .
Bonus Chapter from FROSTBORN: THE GRAY KNIGHT
A letter to the surviving kings, counts, and knights of Britain:
I am Malahan Pendragon, the bastard son of Mordred, himself the bastard son of Arthur Pendragon, the High King of all Britain.
You know the grievous disasters that have befallen our fair isle. My father betrayed my grandfather, and perished upon the bloody field of Camlann, alongside many of the mightiest knights and kings of Britain. Before that came the war of Sir Lancelot’s treachery and the High Queen’s adultery, a war that slew many noble and valiant knights.
Now there is no High King in Britain, Camelot lies waste, and the pagan Saxons ravage our shores. Every day the Saxons advance further and further, laying waste to our fields and flocks, butchering our fighting men, making slaves of our womenfolk, and desecrating holy churches and monasteries. Soon all of Britain shall lie under their tyranny, just as the barbarians overthrew the Emperor of Rome.
My lords, I write not to claim the High Kingship of Britain – for Britain is lost to the Saxons – but to offer hope. My grandfather the High King is slain, and his true heir Galahad fell seeking the grail, so therefore this burden has fallen to me, for there is no one else to bear it.
Britain is lost, but we may yet escape with our lives.
For I have spoken with the last Keepers of Avalon, and by their secret arts they have fashioned a gate wrought of magic leading to a far distant realm beyond the circles of this world, certainly beyond the reach of the heathen Saxons. Here we may settle anew, and build homes and lives free from the specter of war.
I urge you to gather all your people, and join me at the stronghold of Caerleon. We shall celebrate the feast of Easter one final time, and then march to the plain of Salisbury, to the standing stones raised by the wizard Merlin.
The gate awaits, and from there we shall march to a new home.
Sealed in the name of Malahan Pendragon, in the Year of Our Lord 538.
###
The day it all began, the day in the Year of Our Lord 1478 when the blue fire filled the sky from horizon to horizon, Ridmark Arban returned to the town of Dun Licinia.
He gazed at the town huddled behind its walls of gray stone, his left hand gripped tight around a long wooden staff. He had not been here in over five years, not since the great battle against Mhalek and his horde of orcs, and then Dun Licinia had been little more than a square keep ringed by a wooden wall, an outpost named in honor of the Dux of the Northerland.
Now it was a prosperous town of four thousand people, fortified by a wall of stone. Ridmark saw the towers of a small keep within the town, alongside the twin bell towers of a stone church and the round tower of a Magistrius. Cultivated fields and pastures ringed the town on three sides, and the River Marcaine flowed south past its western wall, making its way through the wooded hills of the Northerland to the River Moradel in the south.
Ridmark’s father had always said there was good
He could not go back again.
###
Later that day, Kharlacht returned to the vault below the Tower of Bones.
He did not take much from the treasure hoard. Only a cuirass of blue dark elven steel, and some coins and jewels to pay his way. Kharlacht donned the armor, strapped the sword to his back, and left the Tower, making his way into the mountains.
Towards the lands beyond.
His home was lost to him, but with a good sword, he could find his fortune elsewhere.
THE END
Thank you for reading THE ORC'S TALE. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter , or watch for news on my Facebook page . Turn the page for a bonus chapter from the first book in the FROSTBORN series, Frostborn: The Gray Knight .
Bonus Chapter from FROSTBORN: THE GRAY KNIGHT
A letter to the surviving kings, counts, and knights of Britain:
I am Malahan Pendragon, the bastard son of Mordred, himself the bastard son of Arthur Pendragon, the High King of all Britain.
You know the grievous disasters that have befallen our fair isle. My father betrayed my grandfather, and perished upon the bloody field of Camlann, alongside many of the mightiest knights and kings of Britain. Before that came the war of Sir Lancelot’s treachery and the High Queen’s adultery, a war that slew many noble and valiant knights.
Now there is no High King in Britain, Camelot lies waste, and the pagan Saxons ravage our shores. Every day the Saxons advance further and further, laying waste to our fields and flocks, butchering our fighting men, making slaves of our womenfolk, and desecrating holy churches and monasteries. Soon all of Britain shall lie under their tyranny, just as the barbarians overthrew the Emperor of Rome.
My lords, I write not to claim the High Kingship of Britain – for Britain is lost to the Saxons – but to offer hope. My grandfather the High King is slain, and his true heir Galahad fell seeking the grail, so therefore this burden has fallen to me, for there is no one else to bear it.
Britain is lost, but we may yet escape with our lives.
For I have spoken with the last Keepers of Avalon, and by their secret arts they have fashioned a gate wrought of magic leading to a far distant realm beyond the circles of this world, certainly beyond the reach of the heathen Saxons. Here we may settle anew, and build homes and lives free from the specter of war.
I urge you to gather all your people, and join me at the stronghold of Caerleon. We shall celebrate the feast of Easter one final time, and then march to the plain of Salisbury, to the standing stones raised by the wizard Merlin.
The gate awaits, and from there we shall march to a new home.
Sealed in the name of Malahan Pendragon, in the Year of Our Lord 538.
###
The day it all began, the day in the Year of Our Lord 1478 when the blue fire filled the sky from horizon to horizon, Ridmark Arban returned to the town of Dun Licinia.
He gazed at the town huddled behind its walls of gray stone, his left hand gripped tight around a long wooden staff. He had not been here in over five years, not since the great battle against Mhalek and his horde of orcs, and then Dun Licinia had been little more than a square keep ringed by a wooden wall, an outpost named in honor of the Dux of the Northerland.
Now it was a prosperous town of four thousand people, fortified by a wall of stone. Ridmark saw the towers of a small keep within the town, alongside the twin bell towers of a stone church and the round tower of a Magistrius. Cultivated fields and pastures ringed the town on three sides, and the River Marcaine flowed south past its western wall, making its way through the wooded hills of the Northerland to the River Moradel in the south.
Ridmark’s father had always said there was good
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