Today we offer you an inside glimpse of Darryl Woods' new epic fantasy, THE SUMMONED ONES (BOOK 1 OF FLIGHT TO BERICEA SERIES).
Can a group of college-aged friends from a small Kentucky town actually be the Summoned Ones of
During their journey, they will explore this new world, discover new talents and previously hidden abilities, develop friendships with people they couldn’t have dreamed possible, and will be forced to take actions they would have never considered in any less dire circumstances.
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Prologue
“Rally to the general! Rally to the general!”
shouted the tall, lanky soldier as he fought his way toward Darnon.
Kail thought to himself that if they
survived this battle, General Darnon would likely discipline him for issuing
commands. What he did not know is that Darnon greatly admired his skill with a
sword, and regarded Kail as the best he had seen in his long military career.
Over the last nine years of war, the two
had engaged in an odd sort of dance. Darnon was keenly aware of the respect his
troops had for Kail. A respect not only for his individual prowess in battle,
but for his uncanny understanding of the battlefield. As he was now
demonstrating, Kail instinctively knew where he and the others were most needed
at critical junctures in a battle.
In the beginning, when Kail first joined
his army’s ranks and began to positively affect the outcomes of battles,
General Darnon decided to reward his new soldier with a promotion. But each
time he prepared to issue Kail a field commission, the rogue would do something
that forced the general’s hand and demanded reprimand. Darnon came to realize
that these altercations were no accident. Over time, he learned what Kail
already knew: that he could serve best as a rank-and-file soldier in the thick
of battle. So, the two played out their game. Darnon would dole out light
punishment and Kail would act indignant, then reluctantly accept his penalty.
“Fight your way to the general!” Kail
bellowed again and again over the din of battle.
His general was indeed in trouble, as was
the army’s position in the overall battle. Only minutes earlier, Darnon’s
command post had been overrun. The enemy was countering in near-perfect fashion
the battleplan drawn up that very morning. The general now found himself
surrounded on three sides. His skillful use of his massive two-handed sword was
the only thing keeping him from being overwhelmed. Three of his officers fought
frantically to protect his back, but two were so slowed by wounds, they could
barely defend themselves, let alone their commanding officer.
“The general, the general,” Kail continued
to scream, as enemy after enemy fell to the savagery of his blades.
Kail fought as he often did, with a
medium-length sword in one hand and a long dagger in the other. His blades were
literally a blur, the speed and uncanny accuracy of their wielding unmatched. A
wedge of soldiers followed in the wake of Kail’s lethal blades. Many of the men
owed their lives to the fighter as he mercilessly dispatched the enemies that
came toward them. Those not killed outright by Kail were quickly dealt with by
the throng of soldiers growing behind him.
“To the general, to the general!” Kail
heard his entreaty taken up by soldiers across the battlefield.
The shouts took on a cadence that seemed
to cause Kail to intensify his frantic fight to reach the general he respected
and admired. Darnon had been so intent on his own fight for survival, it was
only now that Kail’s shouts began to register. Allowing himself a quick glance,
Darnon made eye contact with his tall soldier. That brief exchange gave both
the exhausted warriors the boost they needed to close the gap.
Kail finally reached the ring of enemy
soldiers surrounding Darnon. As the skillful swordsman attacked them from
behind, each foe quickly fell in turn. The last two made the mistake of
wheeling to face their new threat, only to be cleaved nearly in two by the wide
arc of the general’s long sword.
The shouts imploring the men to rally to
their general continued unabated even though Darnon was temporarily out of
harm’s way, surrounded now by dozens of his men. The shouts persisted in no
small part because of Kail. Darnon couldn’t comprehend why his usually astute
tactician continued to encourage the troops to rally to their general. The only
affect apparent to Darnon was that his troops were collapsing into the center
of the battlefield, now completely surrounded by the enemy with little hope of
escape.
“To the general, to the general!”
continued the shouts from Kail and the mass of troops surrounding Darnon. Such
conduct exasperated their leader, and he began to second-guess the man he had
once trusted implicitly. In this moment of despair, when Darnon thought the
lives of the troops he commanded and his own forfeit, he heard the sudden
thunder of hooves and the clash of steel. The Jerimassian cavalry exploded into
the enemy with such force, the sounds of new battle drowned out the localized
fighting. Darnon’s army began cheering as they realized help had arrived,
seemingly from nowhere.
The enemy, so sure of complete victory
only moments before, now found themselves caught in a vice. Darnon’s surging
troops pressed them from the inside out, and they were completely surrounded by
the formidable Jerimassian cavalry. The skillful horsemen darted in and out of
the enemy’s ranks, inflicting heavy casualties then disappearing before any
defense could be marshaled.
As they had done in several prior battles,
the enemy troops now turned their aggression on their leaders. Darnon’s troops
aided these common soldiers as they attacked their superiors. Darnon and his
men knew that the bulk of the enemy fighting force was made up of men coerced
into fighting to keep their families alive.
For the last nine years, their foes had
served under an evil entity named Zybaro. He overran villages and captured
their inhabitants, forcing anyone capable of serving into his army and
enslaving the rest. The new soldiers were forced to fight or witness the
murders of their loved ones. Enforcing his brutal siege with the aid of
powerful, mutated magicians called nollax, Zybaro swept across Malabrim,
amassing an immense army. Malabrim was the country General Darnon and Commander
Namir now fought, hoping to free as many souls as they could and disrupt
Zybaro’s methodical march to total domination.
When the conflict was at last over, the
remaining enemy troops dropped their weapons and placed their hands, fingers
interlocked, on their heads. Over the years, Darnon and his men had seen this
scene play out many times. Without waiting for orders, the soldiers began
corralling their now-placid enemy towards an empty area of the field. They
would next begin the long process of removing their enemy’s armor and searching
for hidden weapons.
Kail set out to help the troops with their
task, but made it a point to pass close by the general en route. He spoke
softly so that only Darnon could hear.
“I’m sorry for the confusion back there. I
saw Commander Namir’s scouts on the ridge. I thought it best to get everyone
away from the perimeter.”
Darnon couldn’t help but return the
soldier’s unrepentant grin.
The general heard a commotion and turned
to see Namir reining in his horse a short distance away. The commander
dismounted in the fluid motion of one who has spent a lifetime in the saddle.
Leading his well-disciplined steed forward, the reins slack between them, Namir
approached
Without offering a formal greeting, the
commander got right to the point. “My scouts reported they saw you having a
hard time.” Not waiting for a reply, Namir pressed on, genuinely concerned.
“Darnon, you know I was ordered north. We
stumbled across a mine being worked by the most wretched souls. We couldn’t
allow their agony to continue. If we hadn’t taken the time to liberate them, we
would have been well over a league from here.”
Darnon face reflected his regret but not
shame. He inclined his head, indicating acceptance of just how dire the
situation would have been without his friend’s aid.
“The state of those miners was the worst
I’ve seen yet. Children as young as four or five years, piled like cordwood,
dead of malnutrition and exhaustion. The condition of the ones left alive was
so deplorable it made the dead seem like the lucky ones.” Namir paused as he struggled
to deliver his dark narrative.
When he continued, contempt edged his
voice. “When the guards saw the overwhelming odds and realized they had no
hope, they turned on their captives. If not for some of the stronger miners
defending themselves, the slaughter would have been far worse.”
Darnon’s pained look and glistening eyes
were reflected in Namir’s countenance.
“Between the captured soldiers and those
you rescued, at least we saved a few,” Darnon all but whispered.
Namir gestured to the surrounding
battlefield. “I agree my friend, but at an ever-increasing price. How long can
we keep this up?”
“What alternative do we have? We can’t
just leave these people to their own fate. Besides, how long will it be before
those miners are replaced by our own families?” Darnon demanded.
“I know how you feel about the prophecies,
Darnon, but if the clerics of Hinloose really have found the means to bring the
Summoned Ones to our aid, don’t you think we should at least try?” Namir asked,
expecting the same skeptical response he had heard so many times before.
Darnon replied in a matter-of-fact tone,
“The air has grown cold. This will be the last of this year’s campaigns. Let’s
get these people healthy enough for travel and back to Bericea. Once there, we
can make plans for the summoning as we await the spring.”
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