The Paladins of Naretia

Chapter 1

The Paladins of Naretia

Book one in the Naretia series.

Copyright ©2016 by TP Keane

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any manner whatsoever without the written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Inquirers may be sent via: www.tpkeane.com

Massachusetts, USA

First Edition

Printed in the United States of America

Cover Design by ebooklaunch.com

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data Available

Library of Congress Control Number:2016900714

ISBN: 978-0-9971793-0-9

10-ISBN: 0-9971793-0-9

To my wonderful husband, Peter, who stood by my ambitions, and selflessly gave up A LOT of his time to be my sounding board.

To Mark and Ryan, the bringers of joy, inspiration, cups of tea, and cuddles

Chapter 1

A stiff, snow-laden wind pushed against Olórin as he walked out into the night. It was bitter and persuaded him to wrap his heavy, brown cloak around him more tightly. The tidy mountain village of Valeskeep hunkered down against the icy winter squall; its hunched, thatched backs oblivious to the journey he must take. 'Just three ingredients,' he thought. 'Three treasures hidden for eons in the ancientness of Naretia. Two I can find easy enough, but pry less easily from the hands that covet them.'

Olórin shivered, his eyes followed the path the gusts took up the steep mountains. Somewhere within the jagged claws that scored the thick clouds above, lay the first ingredient. To obtain it he must meet his beloved Goddess, Edwina. He must face her, and his weaknesses. She will judge him, know him, and Olórin so desperately wanted to be seen as worthy.

He cast his blue eyes back to the window, through which the warming glow of a fire fought against the darkness outside. A few tankards of courage staved off the ice from his innards, but the feeling was fading fast. He burned the memory of the jovial tavern into his mind, for fear he would never see it again, before digging his walking stick into the drifting snow ahead of him. If there had been a road, it was lost now to the knee-high white powder crunching beneath his feet. Shutters latched and all noise of life muted by the gale, the homes of Valeskeep appeared abandoned. But, of course, Olórin knew they weren't.

A biting wind whipped at his long beard and stung his wrinkled cheeks until they became numb. The orange glow of the street lamps was dulled in the smothering blizzard. He pulled himself along the narrow streets, breathing harder with every step, one hand keeping a firm grip on his battered hat. Where the brim used to be wide and stiff, it dangled now, drooping over his face like a soggy biscuit. The proud point which had once stood to attention on the top of his head was deflated, battered and hung behind him like a cape. As decrepit as his hat was, he would not part with it for all the gold in Naretia. It had been with him since his days of apprenticeship and contained all of his supplies. It was also the only thing keeping his bald head warm.