Troyuan Chronicles: Book Eight

By Ernest Velon

A stark wildness, hidden and frightening, permeates the fabric of peaceful space. God’s harmony is lost as greed and lust cascades from the lower social depths. Grasping and corrupting, a spineless black hand stretches engulfing all, a sinister specter no one can fight or oppose. But, be not lost, there is hope even in such rising scum. The Special Services, the Silent Army, is there to uncover and correct the rising abuses. Alack Troyus is part of that host, a young man of extraordinary talents, faces the wild challenge and tames it rendering justice so the innocent can survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665544177

Ernest Velon

Ernest Velon, the master of antiquities, is an expert on Roman History, who applies his talents to the future. A lover of mystery and sci-fi, he created the Alack Troyus character to fill a void in current literature.

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© 2021 Ernest Velon. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  11/18/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4418-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4417-7 (e)

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword

The Fennox Affair

The Shantar Affair

The Oceanic Affair

The Mooselose Affair

About The Author

FOREWORD

O ver the astounding course of twenty years digging and puttering amongst the ruins of ancient Amazia’s Capital Area, the wife and I have delegated our tasks on physical and mental bases. In short, I handle the work and she does the research. I organize the digging and she the selection of where to drive the first shovel. During our digs we’ve uncovered pieces of the Giganti, a great statue of one of the earlier Amazian Emperors, or Victins. According to the ancient records, which we have in fragments, only one Emperor was canonized with a huge statue that graced a park area. The historical legends say he was the only one a colossal statue was made of, because he died early in his youth, all other Emperors afterwards believe it was bad luck to be impersonated in mammoth blocks of stone or metal construction.

The parts of this scattered Giganti are big fingers, huge toes and ankles, several parts of a hollowed torso of immense size, massive arms and elbows, one was raised up, the other seemed to be at the side, we have it all piled in our backyard except the head. The neck part we found the decayed remains of electronics, and we think the head moved as you walked around the mighty Giganti.

Near where the ancients say the park is, now buried under forty feet of rubble and shrubs, an accumulation of over ten thousand years, is a great mound. In this hill children’s tales say a giant guards his treasure. Covered in small trees and grass, the locals use it for picnics and holiday outings. My wife thinks it is the remains of a great palace, one of the very early structures. So, with our work team and a master plan in hand, we set to work at once.

Within a few hours we hit pay dirt.

Beautiful marbleized friezes, mosaics of exquisite designs, a host of dinnerware with stained ‘TD’ on every cup and plate, plus remains of paintings and pictures. Some are well preserved, others just a decayed outline in the subsoil. Large sections of masonry, the stuff used as the internal casement, had the fine exterior torn away by greedy hands. By the layout of things, using advance X-Ray technology, this palace was a layer cake structure, each story going up to a kind of exotic apartments at the very top. Various mountings in non-corrosive metals survived the ages, spelling a description, ‘Palace of Dwitinton’.

Yes! Our eureka moment under the Ring-Sun arrived.

We located the home of the third Amazian Emperor. In those dim times the Emperor lived at the top surrounded by his chief aides and family secretaries, all residing in a communal atmosphere. But, one great discovery led to another. In a large hall, where the roof and layers had collapsed, was a great head. As our workers removed the dirt and debris two massive eyes stared out. If the electronics still worked, it would have blinked at them. Regardless, they fell to their knees in supplication, even amongst these primitives they have hidden legends and myths carried by their mothers since childbirth. Others say such tales are for the foolish, but we know they have their bases in historical fact.

The Giganti and its home can be seen again!

Now, in the evening, after a hard day revealing the lost past, we feel rejuvenated. The great head, with its big eyes, ponderous nose, baby cheeks and a strong mouth, is placed with the fragments of the body. As the wife and I sip our evening spice tea we think back to the adventures of Alack Troyus of the Special Service. Our vivid imaginations, a compilation of our life works, vision him walking thru the park when this statue and the palace is in its full splendor, an age long since gone, existing in dimness, only surviving in the shadows of myths and broken legends.

We open our lips and tell of the tales our hero made.

Ernest Velon

Larentia, 01/10/9838 U.C.

THE FENNOX AFFAIR

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‘T hey’re stamping their feet,’ thought High Priest of the Sacred Black vestments, ‘they are ready to commence the changes my agents have whispered.’ The tall square columns of the Temple vibrated. A weird echo, caused by the arching masonry and cantilever vaults, bounced and rattled the colored window panes. The three hundred souls and cloth tassels added to the nerve piercing din as High Priest Balphamere gleamed within. ‘Their eager faces have become mine. Their spirit is within my palm to twist and use. My greatness is enhanced and they know not what they will be doing. I am complete!’ The cushions and seats, tier after stone embossed tier, are empty as the Faithful Fathers stand stomping away. In a tidal wave of black robes with white trim, they began to clap and shout. ‘And now I must rise…but only a little, they are as cattle before the slaughter!’

Gentlemen of the Sacred Order of Fennox! Faithful Fathers of whose name I dare not say! Grant me but a moment’s whisper for your ears…I plead as much! The single lone figure with the graying head and tiara of his home town and province, stood in the center of the theater-in-the-round assembly.

‘And what does that bastard of the sands want to say!’ Screamed Balphamere so loud in his head he thought the simple figure down below heard him. Their eyes met. A long moment of eternity seemed to rumble by as the High Priest felt a tinge of remorse. ‘He was once a daring fellow, what a shame my boot is to squash him into the simple dirt from which he arose.’

Allow the Faithful Father from Rexamor speak! thundered the House Adjustor banging his staff on the podium below Balphamere’s box.

A chilly silence descended amongst the rumble of robed bodies taking their seats.

What have we become to accept folly as this? A dignity darting, a set of old eyes burned their faces into shame and reflection. I have listened here for twenty thousand and five hundred days, and never has my feet felt cold, my hands become numb, and my face awash in tragedy, until now! Have we forgotten so quickly the verses and wisdom of our ancestors who dwell in the Land of Sweetmints? Have we all not learned the meanings of the Sacred Text to ignore the simplicity of the written word? Is there not one amongst you who will recite the Commandments handed down eight thousand years ago, written in the blood of the prophet Quanlago and sanctified by the finger of the Eternal himself! And yet, my humble ears are broken by your acts. My aging mind is torn as to the purpose of your undoing, and my heart bleeds in pain to the sins you are about to commit. Faithful Fathers, I implore you not to change the old ways and bring shame to the grand seer Fennox. I pour my soul out to you all as brothers in the faith, not to move the Idol of him whose name I am not worthy even to speak, but to hold in trust and remain the statue in the Sacred Shrine, as it has been since foundations of the world was laid and the blocks of this temple raised!

With a single, unnoticeable node, Balphamere opened his first salvo to sink this water bug. He made a gentle nod and his planted agent went into action.

My heart and mind soars to hear such words, came a strong voice from the ranks.

The House recognizes the Faithful Father from the province of Sashhais.

The spoken elegance has humbled my manner and laid low my anger. Another figure, dressed in the black and white trim robes, but with a red mantle covering further the slumped shoulders, came forward. I, like the rest of you, are awash in such wisdom and piety. My weak legs are barely able to uplift this body to move from my cushions, but I must. Faithful Fathers, the ages passed us by as we behold Father Faliticus from Rexamor, and I fore one, am grateful for his enlightened prose. I can sympathize with him, I can relate to his warnings and I can understand his anxieties. But who do we serve? In planned theatrics, the lackey of Balphamere swung his arms around in a circle gathering further their attention. Again, I ask of the assembly, who do we serve? Do we serve the people? Do we serve the High Priest? Do we serve the Eternal? The answer, my Faithful Fathers, is the Triad of Truth, the trinity of sacred testament. We must uphold all three facets of our faith. If we forsake just one facet we are diminished as a whole. If we fail in our duties then we are damned and our future, our world, or essences, will wander away from the power of the Eternal, until we are but as broken pottery cast aside into a furnace for destruction. The changes asked by the High Priest are but tiny compared to the future demands if we do not act. Moving the sacred Image to the court yard proper will allow all the people to worship, than a limited stream into the Temple.

It is blasphemy to even think of such a change, Kashamar!

What can such a simple act be?

The words are simple and firm, Kashamar. The Image must not be touched or moved. The stern stare of Faliticus forced Kashamar away, seeking the rising confidence from his audience. Know the words and you shall have faith!

To act or not to act, is the status here, Faithful Fathers. I submit we move the Image to the court yard so the people can mass about in greater numbers and pray together as one!

By forcing this vote, Kashamar, you desecrate the very temple!

What temple do we defame, Faliticus, what? In a loud tempus of twisted truth, Kashamar swung his arms in all directions. The true temple of the Eternal is all creation! A hard finger pointed at the single proud form. You say, know the scripture, and does it not intone, ‘my house is the clouds above, the shores and mountains and the depths of blue below. There you shall seek and there I dwell till time ends.’ Who are we to question the sacredness of all natural creation, Faliticus! I think your piety borders on the vanity of your deep feelings, and your judgment is clouded…sometimes.

A loud screech erupted from Faliticus as he fell to his knees. A tearing sound, like the parting of a great cloth, filled the chamber. Faliticus sobbed as he ripped apart his garments. I witness the folly of your acts and repent from your decisions. I wash my essences of this sickness. Behold my anguish and anger, my body trembles, my blood boils, but I am powerless to resist. Falling on all fours, crawled away, and resign myself to exile.

We shall take the vote!

Balphamere broke a steady grin, chuckling triumphantly, as the back exit door closed on the vanishing bundle of torn black robes.

Alack leaped to the pumping beat of Altairian military music. Both muscular arms grasping the split end’s of his Flafstaf. A sudden soft bounce and his barrel chest tumbling in a jackknife pose. Both firm legs stretched in tensile knots, a falling form rolling into a prone position. He stretched driving both sturdy arms up above his head. Both lethal parts of his weapon cutting the air in twirls until redness erupted along his biceps. A massive inhale, ribs and skin breaking into a glossy sweat. Alack jumped up. Flipping and twisting in a cowboy, he struck the rear wall mat, bouncing again, and rolled back to a grueling prone position on the blue plastic floor. As he slashed at imaginary targets, lowered his straining body to the mat, in gyrating leg flares struck leashing in spinning tumbled jabs. More rolls on back, sides and hips, and finally began to pause in his physical madness.

Forcing to undergo a twenty minute continuous routine drained his splendid metabolism until it cried out. Going way beyond normal daily exercise program, Alack bent his body in pain and terrible sourness. Wanting to do more, to spring up and grab another weapon, only remained on the cool blue mat breathing hard. Normally the routine burns off some excessive energy making breath steady and circulation perfect. But he is forcing as much air into his great chest burning lungs as they can hold. Alack’s heart rate a power hammer banging in his head, powered down his tensile sinew shaking from the draining strain.

A droplet of Seminian blood fell to the mat.

You’re crazy... The marching crescendo stopped.

Alack leaped to his feet. The Flafstaf crisscrossed over his naked torso in a defensive posture, faced Elanus as the aged man watched by the gym area behind the simple ranch house. The Youth’s faraway look, the disheveled hair, the inverted eyes squinting, made the hoarse voice tremble. How long have you been here?

Long enough to know you’re going to kill yourself. T.A. sat down on a quaint stone bench. Why do you torture yourself, Alack m’boy? Is it something from the Vatados Affair?

Wiping another drop of blood away from his nose, Alack took a lotus position in the center of the mat. No… He assembled the white Flafstaf weapon laying it reverently in front, and brought his raging metabolism down to norms. It’s me… The breathing from the upper diaphragm became a lower exhale, and cleared his mind for the argument to come.

There’s many Cosmo grams from satisfied parties on your handling of Azar Massar.

Alack ignored the compliment, I must drive myself, T.A….and how I do it is none of your business…strength makes all values possible…

Star shit! The value of love is not part of your pain, Alack m’boy.

I must be a taskmaster or I’ll get sloppy and lazy…love has nothing to do with it.

When I was a small boy I use to build models and things like that. The first model I built was a toy battleship and it came with a small electric engine that turned the propeller. Well, I never read the instructions and built it without the motor. Wondering what it was for, because it and other parts were left over, I referred to the instructions. Seeing my error, tried to take the model apart but the glue had dried and I destroyed it in rage. Screaming and yelling, I flung myself around the way you were doing until my mother came and put a stop to it. T.A. removed a sweet stick, lit up and began to puff away. Later on as I grew, as I matured and gained experience with trial and tribulations, I still made many hasty mistakes. But, I never tossed around in a tantrum or did physical things to abuse my body and mind. I calmly reasoned it out and tried to do a better job if I screwed up again. Each mistake was a learning rule. T.A. stood and walked about looking at the dangerous weapons and exercise ‘things’ hanging on the wall. My question is…when will you act more mature with yourself? Even a Seminian has his learning from mistakes.

You only get one chance...one useful man is worth a hundred lazy men…I can’t reason the way you do, Elanus, I can’t.

Why? Your witty words are annoying, proving you know caution.

I haven’t been around as long and did the things you’ve done.

Again I say star shit. You’ve surpassed me in many things. Now let’s try again.

Alack inhaled and exhaled, gave his upper body a tensile stretch actually making joints turn a dangerous redness. I can’t allow my inner ego to get the better of me. If I do...it will close me down...only pain creates awareness inside.

I never realized you have an ego that bad.

Then you really don’t know me, Sir. Alack jumped up so fast T.A. never saw him move. I do…and it’s a raging beast! It wants to go off and do things I despise. So, I must beat it down, tear it apart and wear it out. As I said before, I’m my own taskmaster. That Director Lusiton on Entro-Palis III really got under my skin, that entire Affair made my skin crawl in anger!

Alack m’boy, your not an Altairian Zamindar, you’re a fine young Seminian.

I’m a warrior who needs to be disciplined for careless mistakes. Ego and vanity create blinders to commonsense.

When are you going to stop that?

Why should I?

It drives people away…

Good! I’ll do it more often.

T.A. made a frustrating sigh, Since you’re referring to the Nargun Affair, you made a simple error in a judgment call. You were given the wrong information by an agent of dubious character and that’s that. It happens to us all…

I had my suspicions but I ignored them. I didn’t want to do the extra work and discover the agent’s data was all wrong. I became lazy, drew the wrong conclusions in a sloppy way and allowed those feelings to support my ego...and my actions.

But the book is still open. The four hundred deaths are still unsolved. T.A. took his seat again. If I through a tantrum every time one of my star agents blows an Affair, I would’ve jumped out my window a long time ago.

Special Service’s is underground, Sir. Alack broke a smug expression.

We’ve had this talk before. Getting back to the ego thing, I know you enjoy running around people. Making them seem stupid, insulting them, driving them away by your obnoxious behavior, and acting like a real uncivilized brat. You’ve done this a few times on assignment with excellent results, to get those you are teasing motivated to reveal inner truths. You left Prefect Gallopus an admirer, not an enemy. Am I wrong in this?

You’ve gone right to the point… came a low mumble.

And it’s this inner demon you try and squash?

It’s connected inside of me like some…some plant parasite of Yvolite II. Alack began to pace but not in his relaxed manner. I can feel it still intertwining inside my chest and head… He suddenly stopped, leaped at T.A., twisting and flipping high in the air, to land snuggly in front of the old man in the gray pin stripped suit.

T.A. did not even flinch when the flash of muscles and hair landed.

Alack, taking notice dropped his round athletic ass sitting. Hunching up over his bare knees, the mass of glistening muscles in the black tight shorts moaned. I feel so lost…there was no evidence to four hundred deaths…I knew there is a monster…their own Nargun legend proves it…but no one believed me…and I allowed them to manipulate me.

T.A. Elanus continued to study him, the Prefect in the end did, only his breathing is heard. You made a friend just before you left.

I feel like a caged animal…something that’s been around to long and doing the same thing for an eternity, only to strike out! I know I can never go back, never return too what I once was. To do that would foul up all my advancement to this point, and really mess up the friends I have made. Not to mention my reputation with the Service.

A sweet odor of fleshy porous fumes, which T.A. gets a whiff when Alack exercises intensely, passed away on a light outdoor breeze. A Seminian’s sweat does not stink.

I’ve always thought my mind’s evaluation of things, my detective intuition, my procedures is correct, but I’ve come to the conclusion I may be wrong. My perceptions and interpretations are wrong, and I don’t know how to correct it. My meditation is becoming useless…

T.A. exhaled standing. I can’t help you with this. Forget Palis III and move on.

Alack is also on his feet. Why?

You must! You’ve been there and done it already.

Then its spiritual and inside of me!

That’s beyond my knowledge and experience. This is something only you must solve. We are all worried about you as you get older. We want you always to be smiling, rude and annoying. I think your ego made a new chasm to ford and must go further in your life.

I’m not rude! He is right behind him following. You think I can’t purge the vanity from my system? You think I can’t learn from this depression?

Maybe, Alack m’boy, maybe…

You’re wrong, Sir. Alack’s heavy hand fell upon the padded shoulder. T.A. turned and caught a hurt expression. I maybe vane, act selfish, annoying to others seeking my own way, but I am aware of these defects. My problem is I’m hiding behind these wrong traits, using them to cover up something. But, I don’t know what it is yet. Can you tell me?

T.A. never answered him as he shrugged off the young man’s fingers. He followed as they left the gym area. Nothing is said as they rounded the side of the ranch house, where the long rising plank ramp ended at the side kitchen door, Alack stopped T.A. abruptly. I’m not finished with you. I’ve got to eat, wait in the living room… Alack suddenly heard laughing, the sounds of people partying in the sand, beyond the dunes covering the beach area.

Like the situation on Palis III, it’s already been decided. Follow me if you want an answer. Alack trailed behind T.A.’s stubby body following a path of broken cement bricks that led between the dunes and down to the sandy expanse of the wide beach. Halting, he saw a long table with thirty or so seats and place settings. Several Zo vehicles are parked on the side with culinary supplies. A Special Service hydrofoil transport has crawled up on the lower sands. A few armed guards sauntered about on the high dunes while several dozen men and woman noisily played various beach games. Others are splashing in the rolling surf.

Who are these people on my land!

You’re forgetting, Alack m’boy, this is Imperial property. You own only the house and that can be removed. T.A. raised his cane sweeping the games below. And these people are fellow associates. Except the Guards on duty and the catering staff, all the others are either nude or in flimsy beach wear. I would call them friends. Alack took in a whiff of cooking food. His shocked expression changed to wonderful delight. Things of motivation, I’ve always believed in that.

Arriving at the table a nude girl dashed by and said hello.

Is that who I think it is?

You would be amazed what people are like outside the work environment. Marabel from Encryptions…and here comes Sayamon from the Alien Codes Department. A young Fellow with short hair wearing a g-string ran by slapping Alack on his stout back. I decided those who earned it should take a few days off on my expense. This is their second stop over, this time at Alack’s Place. Then in the early evening onto Colossus for the Shuton’s Ball, or orgy, depends how far I allow it.

Alack nodded to a couple as they waved at him. His big hand lashed out stopping T.A. in his tracts. Have these…friends, gone into my house?

I maybe crazy but I’m not insane. That rented hydrofoil has all the needed facilities, and besides, the Guards have their orders. T.A. saw the handsome Youth suddenly relax and pointed to a chair four down on the Old Man’s left. Calling for lunch to begin, the young and middle age group quickly stopped their activities and took seats. As per Victonian standards, they all donned leisure robes laughing and talking. You may get your answer, sit. T.A. tossed Alack his white kimono, and he quickly slipped it