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The Callindra Chronicles Book 3: A Fall of Stars – Chapter 4

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“Good alewife do be bringing Felix a tankard.”  Durrak said, “It do be many a moon since I have shared a cup with another Dwarf.”

Felix slapped him on the back hard enough to nearly knock him from his seat. “That is indeed most kind Durrak Caverstorm.  Perhaps I can offer something in return?”

“May I be imposing on you for one of those cigars?”  Durrak asked, “They do be smelling of home.”

“That may be inadvisable my friend.”  Said Felix, but he produced one anyway and handed it over.  “They don’t often seem to be the same.”

Durrak took the cigar and smelled it.  The scent was of brimstone and iron.  The smell of the Adamantine Forge itself, the tip was glowing sullenly, already lit.  “This do smell even more of home.”  He said, drawing on it to light it properly.  It took a bit of puffing but when the cigar lit, the smoke was an acrid yellow and diffused very quickly.  Angry red sparks shot out and split as very high quality steel would.

“You are a smith.”  Felix said; a statement not a question.  “You are from Farenholm itself.  I know that accent and the smoke does not often lead me astray.”

The alewife brought a pair of foaming tankards and set them before the pair with a smile.  “Roast is near done.  Would your friend like a meal as well?”

“My dear, I would be forever grateful for a meal.”  Felix said.

“I do be accounting for his meal also.”  Durrak said at the same time, putting another handful of gold on the bar and waving away Felix’s protest.  “It do be a pleasure to share the company of a kinsman.  I do be insisting Felix.”

The cigar, for all its strange scent and odd behavior, brought a tingle to Durrak’s tongue and a pleasant thrill to his senses.  The smoke was harsh, but he found it was much like working at the forge, something he had always enjoyed.

“I take such kindness to heart and insist on returning it in kind.”  Felix said gravely, “What would you have me trade?”

“The cigar and the companionship do be more than sufficient.”  Durrak said.  “Did you be knowing Farenholm?  Did you be walking the ancient halls of my ancestors?  Do you be knowing of Cerioth the Black, Bane of Ignitium?”

“Certainly I once walked the halls of Farenholm.”  Felix said with a wistful smile, “Her tall arches and endless caverns are a bright spot in my long memories.  The splendor and grandeur of the King’s front hall has stayed in my mind as one of the triumphs of mortal engineering and craftsmanship.

“As for your other question; I heard a report that she was seen near Hellgate keep.” Felix said, “But I didn’t see that myself so I can’t speak for the accuracy of that particular rumor.  Have a care speaking that name aloud my friend.  Ill luck comes to those who invoke the names of those fell things who have made compacts with dark forces for power.”

“When?”  Durrak asked, his voice sounding harsher than it had before.

“I heard the rumor a month ago.”  Said Felix, “The man I spoke to said he’d seen the dragon fly out of a swirling cloud of black smoke that rained emerald green rain down on the ground.  He didn’t stay to watch, even abandoned his herd and ran until his horse was blown.  I don’t know more than that.”

“I do be going there.”  Durrak said flatly, “If I no did need to resupply I no would delay one moment.”

“Now I see the resemblance.”  Felix said, “You father-“

“Did be a fool.”  Durrak interrupted.  “He did embark on a mission knowing it did be the undoing of my people.”

“Perhaps.  However, I seem to remember the Moragainnag stating that the doom would be worse if he did not set forth.”  Felix said, pausing to take another lit cigar from his pouch and flick the stub of his first into the fire.  “I was there when the doom of Farenholm was pronounced.  Unlike most of your folk I had the wisdom to leave.  If I’d thought for a moment they’d disregard her words I’d have tried harder to convince them.  I am sorry.”

The pewter mug in Durrak’s hand shrieked in protest as his hand tightened on it, mashing the thick metal into an hourglass shape.  The dwarf blinked in surprise and unclenched his fist.  “I do be sorry Alewife, I do be paying for the damage.”

She swiftly replaced the mug with a fresh one full of ale.  “Not to worry master Dwarf.”  She said, looking at the mug with wide eyes.  “These things happen ye ken?”

“I do be insisting.”  Durrak placed a platinum piece in her free hand.  “I no do wish to be an unwelcome guest.  I did simply lose control, it no do be anything.  Please do be thinking nothing of it.”

She took his gold without further comment and retreated behind the bar, setting the mug carefully on a shelf behind the bar.  Filling a fresh tankard with beer, she returned and set it in front of him without meeting his eyes and left without speaking.

“I do be spreading fear.”  Durrak said sadly, “I no do wish to be a harbinger of fear and despair.”

“None of us do.”  Felix said, “Doesn’t change that what we know changes how we influence the world.”

Durrak drained his tankard in a single long pull.  “Aye.  Our desires no do mean a bedamned thing.”

Felix put his hand on Durrak’s shoulder and squeezed.  “That tale requires something in return.”  He said solemnly and placed the cigar pouch on the counter.  “The wizard who traded this to me warned me not to keep it too long.  I find the results got more interesting when I began adding other things to it.”

Durrak made as if to protest, but Felix smiled broadly.  “Keep it my friend.  Keep it and remember this day as I fear pleasant memories will be few and far between in days to come.”

The Callindra Chronicles Book 3: A Fall of Stars – Chapter 3

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Durrak Caverstorm; Battlemaster of the Drakanda style and sole survivor of Farenholm trudged down the road at a mile eating pace.  It didn’t look like he was moving very quickly, but his short legs moved steadily, not slowing when going up a steep incline or indeed at all until the sun reached its zenith.  He might not have stopped even then, but a roadside inn and rest hove into view and he decided it was worth a look.

The prodigious bag of provisions he had been carrying had shrunk drastically over the last few weeks and if these folk had anything to spare he would buy it and damn the cost.  Shifting the straps of his pack he transferred his Gisarme to slant across his right shoulder as he approached The Ox and Cart.  Smelling the scent of cooking meat made his mouth water as he rapped smartly on the door with the butt of his polearm.

It had been a year since he’d won his title and the world had changed substantially during that time.  Folk were less trusting and he had discovered seeing an obviously capable traveler who was alone sometimes made them more nervous so it paid to be up front.

“Hello the Inn!”  He said in a voice that would carry but hopefully not inspire fear.

“Who’s that then?”  A woman said from within, “No need to rattle the door off the hinges; come on in if you can pay and bugger off it you can’t!”

This was a pleasant surprise; many of the people he’d found didn’t take coin anymore.  “I do be able to pay alewife; what do that delicious scent be?”  He pushed the door open and strode inside; his Dwarven eyes piercing the slight gloom with ease.

The room was set in a familiar pattern low tables with benches instead of chairs and a small bar at one end next to a hearth where a haunch of meat was turning on a spit.  The woman who regarded him with a jaded eye as he entered was shockingly young; perhaps fifteen summers, although she took in his appearance with ease that suggested she had grown up in a tavern.

“Let’s see the coin and you can have what you want.”  She said, touching a crossbow that was cocked and loaded sitting over the taps.  “We don’t have prejudice against Dwarves or adventurers as long as your coin is good.”

Durrak grinned, setting his pack and polearm down on a rack by the doorway before walking up to the bar and plunking down a half dozen gold.  “Lady, please do be letting me know when this runs out.  I do be famished and parched from many long days on the road.”

She brightened a bit at the sight of the gold and even further when she scratched them with a wicked looking belt knife and revealed them to be pure.  Pulling him a large wooden tankard of frothy ale, she set it down on the bar.  “This will help with the thirst master Dwarf.  That roast won’t be done for another hour, but I got some cheese and bread, maybe some leftover sausages.”

“I do gladly be sampling your ale and nibbles until the roast do be ready.”  Durrak said, drinking deeply and smacking his lips.  The ale was a bit light for his taste, but it was quite refreshing.

As Durrak ate and drank, several more folk entered chatting amicably and ordering drinks and inquiring about the roast.  They took him in without comment, a few nodding politely and some staring but not in an aggressive manner.  All of them had also put a weapon of some sort aside as they entered even though they were obviously villagers, not adventuring types.

Thunder rumbled outside, but no rain fell.  It hadn’t rained for ages and the land was parched and dry.  The winds seemed to be blowing erratically of late, not bringing the moisture from the sea to nourish the soil.  All signs of bad times and possibly worse to come.

The door opened to admit another traveler, his cloak black and ragged at the ends.  Setting an immense pack down next to Durrak’s with a heavy thump he grinned and rubbed at his huge red beard.  A fellow Dwarf; a rarity in these parts.  He stumped up to the bar and sat next to Durrak.

“How’s the ale?”  He asked in Dwarven, giving him a grin.

“Light, but quite potable in quantity.” Durrak said in the same language, returning the grin.  “From where do you hail?”

“I am a traveler.  Felix is my name.” The other replied, offering a hand thick with calluses.

“My name is Durrak Caverstorm.”  Durrak said, shaking the offered hand.

“Caverstorm?”  Felix asked, “Have you the title from the Drakanda school?  Never did I think to see the Mistress of that school fall from aught but old age.”

“I took her title.”  Durrak said, feeling the sadness of that memory even now.  “Took it by fair trial of combat.  One of many regrets I carry on my shoulders.”

“Ah.” Felix said, reaching into a pouch and removing a smoldering cigar.  He puffed it alight to a small explosion of purple sparks.  The smoke he exhaled was bright blue and sank to the floor instead of rising.  The smoke had the scent of a meadow high in the mountains in the dead of winter.

“I have been traveling for some time and have not seen another of our kind.”  Durrak ventured, “Do you know how our people fare elsewhere?”

“Farenholm has fallen.  Vanterholm stood last I saw, although it was beset by hordes of goblins.”  Felix replied, “I do not stay in one place long.”

Durrak saw the looks the others were giving them and continued in the common tongue, “Perhaps we do be doing better to converse in a language the others do be knowing?  I no do want to cause suspicion.”

“Yes, perhaps that would be best.”  Felix said in unaccented common, “It has merely been so long since I spoke to a fellow Dwarf in my native language.  My apologies to our gracious host.”

The Callindra Chronicles Book 3: A Fall of Stars – Chapter 2

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“Callindra stop picking on the locals.” Cronos’s voice came from the doorway.  Even though he was younger than her, he had grown a lot in the last year and looked several years her senior.  He wasn’t wearing his twin bastard swords and looked strange without them.

“What can I get for you sir?” The barkeep was bravely attempting to do his job, and Cronos looked slightly more normal.  Especially since the sleeves of his shirt covered the tattoos that proclaimed him a powerful mage.

“Fruit juice, or water if you don’t have juice and some bread.  Callindra isn’t it a little early for the hard stuff?  Why not just have an ale, save the falling off your chair for later.”  His voice sounded harsh, but she could hear the concern.

“You must be Cronos?”  One of the strangers was still standing uncertainly, holding his glass of whisky and looking at him with a confused expression on his face.

“These gentlemen are looking for The Brotherhood of Steel.” Vilhylm said, “I have invited them to return on the morrow to discuss whatever business they wish.”

“I’ve told them they have to drink to the memory of things lost.”  Said Callindra.  She pulled a withered and dried crown of woven plant stems from her hair.  It did not come loose easily, but she disregarded the pain, tearing hair from her scalp without flinching.

“I waited a for her.”  Tears began coursing down her cheeks, “I wanted so badly to believe that a Goddess was truly immortal.  She showed me the power of putting others before yourself and inspired me like only one other has.  Then she died.  Because of me.  Just like Glarian did.  Just like Tryst did.  Because I’m too weak.”

“Stop the whining, since when did my sister become a sniveling little girl?”  Cronos said, “I don’t remember you asking anyone for help.  You are cheapening the sacrifices of those who CHOSE to make them because THEY believed you would pick up the torch of their cause.”

“This has gone on long enough Callindra.” Vilhylm said, “It’s time to let go of your sorrow and move forward.  There is work to be done.”

“I don’t care.”  She said, picking up her glass again.  Vilhylm knocked it from her hand with a lightning fast maneuver that she hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m not going to let you do this to yourself anymore.  It has been months since I saw you practice.”  He towered over her, rage burning behind his eyes.  “You’re less than useless like this, you disgrace the memory of your master!”

“You want to trust me?”  Callindra’s voice rose, “You want to rely on ME?  After what’s happened you want ME watching your back?”  Unnoticed by her, the winds began to blow about the room for the first time in a year.  “I am not strong enough to watch your back brother, find someone else.”

“There is no one else.”  Vilhylm looked at the floor, a grimace on his face.  “Even if there was, I they couldn’t replace you.”

“What are you going to do?  Beat it out of me?”  She grabbed the bottle and took a drink.

“If I must.”  Vilhylm took her by surprise, grabbing her by the shirt and bodily throwing her out the door of the tavern.  Shadowsliver’s chain rattled after, finally reaching its limit and jerking the sword through the air toward her.

Callindra tumbled into the street, staggering to her feet just in time for Shadowsliver’s edge to cut deep into her shoulder.  A whirlwind began to form around her as the pent-up rage at her loved ones for dying, at her inability to do anything to stop it and the world for allowing her to survive was released in an uncontrolled torrent as she pulled the sword from the deep wound it had carved into her body.

“What do you want from me?”  She shouted at the sky, at the world, “WHAT MORE CAN YOU ASK OF ME?” Thunder rumbled in the distance, her hair began to stand on end from the static charge in the air.  “What more can I POSSIBLY give to you?”

The hair that once had Brightstar flowers twining through it showing the blessings of Jorda now tangled around her as the wind began to pick up.  “Gods curse it!”  Callindra had been so proud of that hair, but now like everything else it was getting in her way.  She held her hair in a lose bundle with one hand and cut it off with one smooth stroke of her sword.

Outside of town, coruscating bolts of lightning struck the earth and overhead dark clouds billowed.  Wind whirled around her, rattling the shutters of nearby buildings and picking up plumes of dust.  Cronos stepped outside, Vilhylm close behind him.

“Callindra you need to stop this, it’s dangerous!” Cronos said, looking nervously at the sky.

“YOU are the ones who wanted this.  YOU trusted me, this is on YOUR heads!”  Callindra said, “I wanted to GIVE UP but you are forcing me, FORCING ME back into the world.  You want me to use the power again?”  She raised Shadowsliver above her head.  “FINE I’ll turn it loose.”

A bolt of incandescent electricity lanced from the heavens, slammed into the tip of her sword and ran through her into the ground.  The crack of thunder shattered windows and knocked her brothers off their feet.  Callindra stood in the center of the madness, lightning swarming around her like a mass of serpents while a whirlwind kicked up dust and debris.

“You want to trust THIS to watch your back?”  She shouted in a voice that made the lightning strike sound like a whisper.

Vilhylm had picked himself up and walked unsteadily through the chaos towards her.  Without hesitation, he folded his sister into a crushing embrace, disregarding the electricity that scorched his flesh.    “Callindra, I’ve already lost one of my brothers.  I refuse to lose my sister too.  Yes.  More than anything else I want you to be by my side for this fight.”

The lightning scattered and she burst into tears, leaning on his shoulder and crying like a child who had lost everything.  With those tears, rain began to fall.  The first rain that had fallen here in almost a year.  Even after the storm had passed, breezes once again began to blow.  Something had changed.  It was something small, but nothing comes into the world large.

On the outskirts of town, a dry brittle circlet of vines fell from the whirling winds above.  A seed pod fell, the rain beating it into the soil.  A bright green sprout sprang up as though it had been waiting for this moment.  Curiously enough, the plant that began to grow looked more like a tree than a vine; its small trefoil leaves waved defiantly against the wind.  Despite all the destruction that had been visited on the land, life refused to be defeated.

The Callindra Chronicles Book 3: A Fall of Stars – Chapter 1

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The winds struggled against stagnant heat.  Great rents in the ground spouted acrid smoke that stopped the natural flow of the air.  Wind from the Abyss wasn’t wind at all; it brought with it the charnel reek of fresh blood mixed with brimstone and rotting flesh.  Anything it touched died.  Worse than that, when the things died, they were animated by the Abyss and so the infection spread.  Some seemed to be resistant to the plague, and they set up as much resistance as they could, living in small enclaves or fighting building to building in large cities.

Rumors abounded.  All the gods were dead.  Jorda was dead.  The Grandfather Tree was burning.  Luftin had lost his mind.  Ild had sided with his treacherous brother at long last and they were conspiring to burn the world.  The only living people who knew the truth weren’t likely to tell it.

A dry sulfurous wind blew through the nearly empty streets of a once prosperous trading town.  Although it was near Hellgate Keep and between that cursed edifice and the High Forest where a haze of smoke still clung to the tree tops, Varild had somehow managed to survive.

The ones who had been taken by the Abyss had answered some strange summons and left as a group.  The others who had been living for almost a year on stored provisions, rain water and the occasional wild game that still eked out a living in the lost land around them.

Other than the obvious problems of a land cursed by the infection of the Abyss, Varild was in a lot better shape than other places.  The storehouses had more than enough food for the surviving townsfolk and the well was still good.

A pair of figures wearing dark cloaks with the hoods pulled low approached the front gate.  Finding it barred, they hammered on it with the butts of their daggers.  “Hello the Town!”  One shouted.

“Keep your skirt on.”  The guard on the wall grumbled.  He’d had a long night and had drawn the short straw, meaning he had first watch as well.  “None may enter hooded.  Throw back your hoods and show me your eyes or you will not be allowed inside.

“A wise precaution.”  The taller of the two said, pushing his hood back to reveal blonde hair in a cluster of braids.  The other likewise uncovered his face to reveal a face with dark skin and a bald pate.  A latticework of scars covered his head and the guard could see it was in an intentional pattern.  He shuddered involuntarily.

“What’s your business?”  He demanded.

“We seek some folk.  Rumor has led us here.”  The shorter man said.  “The ones we seek were last purported to be seen around this area.  We have our own provisions and carry our own water.  We will not be a burden upon your settlement.”

“No need to skimp here strangers.”  The guard said, “Survivors are welcome, and news of the world is as valuable as clean water here.”  He climbed down, inspected their eyes through a slot in the gate and then opened a small steel door to one side, barely large enough for them to squeeze through.

–

“You think that’s her?”  Callindra heard the voice from across the tavern and intentionally paid it no mind.

“Barkeep.”  Her voice rasped in her own ears, “Where’s that bottle I ordered?”

“You wanted…?” The man behind the expanse of the oak bar asked, nervously dry-washing his hands.

“Whisky.  You know damn well what I asked for.”

“I just thought…  It’s only nine bells…”

“Gods be damned, I care not for the cursed time of day!”

“Pardon, but are you Callindra Sol’Estin?” The man didn’t look like a warrior or a mage, but she had long since learned that looks could be deceptive.

“What.  Do you want?”  She turned a baleful eye towards the two men standing a few feet away.  “If you are from The Order, Glarian is dead.  My Master is dead.”  Her voice sounded flat and dead, even in her own ears.  In her mind she whispered, ‘Luftin, God of Wind is dead.’

“Here’s your whiskey lass.  Your sword, could you sheath it please?”  The barkeep glanced nervously at Shadowsliver lying flat on the bar, his chain piled on the floor next to her before stretching back to the Mithril cuff on her right wrist.

“He doesn’t want to be sheathed, so he doesn’t have one.”  Callindra said, pouring some of the dark amber liquid into the glass he had provided.

“Ah…” The two men were nervously standing on her left.

“You’re still here?”  Callindra drained the glass in one long swallow, “What in the nine hells do you WANT?”

“We aren’t from … we’re here to ask … are you Callindra?”  The man cleared his throat, “We are looking for The Brotherhood of Steel.”

“The brotherhood is broken.”  Her voice fell to a whisper, “Leave me here with my sorrow and my memories.  You’ve chosen an ill day to mention brothers.”

The door to the common room opened wide and Vilhylm strode into the room.  “Barkeep, ale and meat!”  He paused when he saw Callindra sitting at the bar, “You’re still here sister?”

“Nay, they made me leave for a few hours.  You’re up early brother.”  She poured another glass of whisky.

“It is a day we should be observing together Callindra, and one we should be marginally sober for.”

“Sir, are you Vilhylm the Just?” One of the men asked.

“I am Vilhylm.” He said, “What can I do for you?”

“They are looking for the Brotherhood of Steel.”  Callindra said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I fear good sirs that this is an inauspicious day to bring up that name.” Vil said, “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow.”

“But Sir, we have traveled for moons to beg your assistance.”

“We aren’t in the hero business anymore, especially not today.”  Vilhylm said, looking at the man with a suspicious eye.

“Listen.  If you want to talk you have to drink.”  Callindra gestured to the barkeep and he handed her another pair of glasses.  She filled them with whisky and topped off her own.  “To Tryst.  May his soul rest in peace until the end of days.”

“I apologize I did not realize we were interrupting- “ One of the men began.

“Shut up and drink!” Callindra said, putting her left hand on Shadowsliver’s hilt.  “You had the impertinence to come and find us on this day, I fear that means you share in our remembrance of the death of my brother.”

The men exchanged glances and picked up the glasses.

The Callindra Chronicles Book 3: A Fall of Stars – Prologue

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Callindra could not believe it.  The battle that raged around her was nearly beyond comprehension.  Glarian; no Luftin danced the Korumn with Sakar a living extension of his limbs.  The winds themselves answered his call.  Storms sang his fury.  Lightning struck where he pointed.  His siblings were no less amazing as they commanded the very elements to destroy their enemies.

What was unbelievable is that it was not enough.  It was nowhere near enough.  The hordes of Abyssal spawn seemed unending and worse yet, the great Black Dragon seemed impervious to all their attacks.  The green fog that dripped from its mouth corroded anything it touched, whether that be flesh or stone or the Weave itself.

Despite everything, Callindra laughed in exultation.  She was fighting by her Master’s side at last and they moved perfectly together.  When he struck a sweeping blow, she knew exactly how far to lower her head and her follow up thrust would inevitably finish off the dying monster before it could counterattack.  They leaped and spun, twisted and slid only to spring back to their feet borne by the lightness of the winds themselves.

When they had carved a space for themselves on the battlefield, Callindra paused to look for her brothers.  Vil was doing surprisingly well paired with Ild and Cronos seemed to be watching Vandis’s back.  The sting of a dozen or more cuts made her wince, she hadn’t noticed them while the fight was raging.

“Callindra, you fight well.”  Luftin said with a madcap grin.  “I’m afraid you can’t follow me this time though.  I have an old score to settle and that bedamned beast is too much even for your new talents.”

“You can’t be trying to face it on your own?”  She panted, looking high above where the Black Dragon still circled.  It seemed to be waiting for them to be worn down by legions of Spawn before it attacked.

“No, Ild and Vandis will give me a head start.”  He said, “You get out of here, I’ll catch you up.”

“I won’t leave you!”  She said fiercely, reaching out for him.  “I searched for so long.  I lost so much.”

He wasn’t paying attention to her. Crouching low, he summoned a spell from Sakar and sprang into the sky.  As he rose, ice began raining down in jagged shards, cutting into the dragon’s wings while a wave of flame roared up from below, obscuring him until the last minute.  His sword hacked into the dragon’s throat and black blood poured from the wound.

Callindra’s shout of victory died in her throat as the monster swiped Luftin out of the air with a clawed hand and swallowed him whole.  The Dragon roared in triumph and breathed acidic fog down upon them.  While Ild and Vandis were momentarily distracted deflecting the caustic substance with a wave of flame and a deluge of water the Dragon traced a series of runes in the air.  The symbols flashed, and Cerioth the Black, Destroyer of Farenholm, Bane of Ignitum dove through the portal that opened between them.

Shirasiau Sai’Li Has Had Enough

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Author’s Note.  It has been over a year since we last heard from Sai’Li and things have changed substantially.  This is a bit of fallout from a failed assassination attempt.

“I am disappointed.”  Sai’Li snapped her fan closed, and fixed Ignis with a glare.  He had never seen her express this much emotion outside of a nearly unhinged frenzy brought on by a battle where his mistress had expended her absolute utmost effort to literally and completely destroy her enemies.  It was mildly terrifying to see that barely restrained fury on her face while he was in a room alone with her.

“Your father did seem to act outside of the normal bounds of good faith.”  He said guardedly.  His great scythe sized claws carefully gripped the cask of whisky so as not to crush it and lifted it to take a drink.  Why did he still feel vulnerable in front of this tiny humanoid?  His true tiger form was ten times her size, but he had seen her let down the barriers of propriety that she wore like armor and what he had seen was what nightmares were made of.

“He insulted me.”  She all but hissed, “Summoning me here only to pretend I have gotten soft?  To threaten my followers?  To DARE to suggest he could use them against me?  As though my loyalty was in question?  As though I couldn’t defend what is MINE?”

Ignis noted that her canines were much more prominent than they had been moments before.  Instead of their usual seafoam green, her eyes seemed to be darkening to gray.  Instead of responding, he gathered his legs beneath him in a position more suited for a leap to one side or another and took another drink.

“If he dares to offer such an insult again we will END him my Tiger.”  She flicked her battle fan open and looked at him over the razor sharp tips that were almost concealed by the delicate looking silk.  A shiver ran through him; she had never given him a look that demanded such obedience.

“I tried to be what he wanted.  I built an empire.”  She continued, and Ignis noticed that the flowers on the table beside her had died.  “I am the trading mistress of an entire city in a kingdom that has never given any credence to an outsider before.  A sovereign nation in the very heart of one of the most exclusive and xenophobic kingdoms on the Prime.  I have left nothing behind but vanquished foes and loyal allies and he acts as though I am expendable.”

The potted plants in the room didn’t just wilt, they crumbled to dust.  Sai’Li noticed him looking at them and took a deep breath in.  She didn’t let it out.  Minutes passed before he set his cask down and nodded slowly.  This seemed to be what she was seeking.

When she let her breath out, he could smell graveyard soil.  “I do not doubt your loyalty my Tiger.  I know you began as my father’s hireling, but by this point you must realize he is not going to give you what he swore, what you need.”

This hadn’t occurred to Ignis, he narrowed his eyes but didn’t speak.  His Mistress knew him.  She saw his expression and she knew his mind.  He shuddered even as she smiled.

“I have seen thousands die.  I have killed dozens of members of my own family.  I have even murdered the innocent without the slightest hesitation.”  She inspected the nails of her right hand, taking out a tiny knife and trimming them until they were even.  “I am not a good person.  I am not, to be brutally honest, even a person at all my Tiger.  But I am an entity and I do wish to continue to live.  Do you wish to stay by my side?”

Ignis considered her for a few moments.  The more he looked, the more his instincts told him she was a true predator.  The awestruck way in which she had been referring to her father before had given him pause but this fierce defiance was what he had been waiting for.

“There will be none who can stand against us and live mistress.”

Sthax of Longtail Sharptooth

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Sthrax leaned on his shield and searched the undergrowth with a critical eye.  Despite being separated from the others, this place was good hunting.  Watching one of the Older Brothers walk by.  He stood still, not seeing any reason to antagonize the beast.  There was no need to fight but no need to flee either; the massive shape moved off, leaving a trail of broken trees in its wake.

This jungle was different from his home jungle.  The smells were different.  The insects tasted different.  There were many more of the Older Brothers.  Islands surrounded by the salt water were strange places.  There was treasure here apparently.  The soft ones needed the shiny bits and the sparkle stones for status and power.

He fingered the multiple rings in his ears and the shiny studs in his frill.  They marked him as one of the successful and wealthy.  Or at least he had seen the soft ones do similar things to demark their status.  If nothing else, the red stones and golden rings glittered a fetching contrast to his scales with their mottled green, white and black patterns.

Sthrax wasn’t here for treasure though.  There were things here that needed to be destroyed.  Or there were rumors in the villages of the soft ones that there were ancient ruins that contained some of the things from the ancient evils he sought out.

“For the good of the tribe, This One goes forth to do the needful.”  He rumbled in his native tongue.  As they usually did, repeating these words sent him back to the first time he had heard them in that order.

–

“You think differently than we.” The Elders said in unison.  They had been sitting and speaking for so long that their voices blended together, their minds were the same.  “We have lived long and soon will depart.  We have decided the time has come to send One out to the lands of the soft ones.  This One must go forth and find The Accursed Thing.  This One may not return until it has found and destroyed The Accursed Thing.”

“Why?”  Sthrax asked, shocked into questioning them.  Nobody left for any extended time.  Hunting trips, trade missions where some of their folk went to exchange the hide and bone weapons and armor they created and the occasional forays against the Orc or Goblin kin that bordered their hunting ranges happened, but nobody left without a definite plan to return.

“Your mind is young and bends like reeds.  Ours is old and stiff as the oak.”  They answered, “A Darkness comes for the Longtail Fang people.  It will come after we end, This One must return to the tribe after we end to report to the Elders who have replaced us.  To let them know the way.”

“It has to be me?”  Sthrax was horrified.  He had never considered leaving the Tribe.

“A soft one who wears the shining skin will come.  You will help her.  She will show you the ways of the soft ones.”  The Elders said.  Sthrax noted that only two of the three were speaking now.  The third was staring off into the distance.

“She comes.”  The third whispered.  “This One is no longer of the Longtail Fang until This One finds The Accursed Thing of the Screaming Face and makes it into dust.”  As one, all three of the Elders turned their backs on Sthrax.

“For the good of the tribe, This One goes forth to do the needful.  This One must fight the greater evil.  This one must show no mercy for the wicked.  This one must prevail by any means necessary.  For This One to fail will mean the downfall of the Longtail Fang.”

He backed up in disbelief, walking backwards until he passed out of the tent, watching the three that he had based his entire life on act as though he no longer existed.  Outside, none of the others seemed to see him either.  The Longtail Fang as one had turned their tails towards him.

Sthrax ran blindly from the village, not even noticing when the branches tore at his tough hide.  When the fear had finally run itself out and he realized he was running from something that couldn’t possibly harm him and couldn’t be fought he stopped.  The pounding of his heart allowed him to hear the bright ringing of the weapons of the soft ones used and the cries of combat.

He unlimbered his sling from where it wrapped around his waist on instinct and dropped a stone into the pouch.  Rounding one of the Great Trees, he saw a figure made tiny by the contrast between it and one of the Two Heads that was swinging a club nearly as big as Sthrax himself.

It went against every instinct he had, but the words of the Elders held sway even if they had cast him out.  Sthrax whirled his sling over his head, releasing the stone with a shriek of reptilian challenge.  The stone struck the Two Heads on the arm with a sharp crack of splintering bone and the club swung wide, missing the soft one in the shining skin by a claw width.

A sweep of her large shining stick the soft one cut one of the Two Heads arms off.  Sthrax’s second stone landed squarely in the Two Heads chest, striking hard enough to break the skin.  The soft one used the moment of confusion to slice through its opponent’s belly.  As tough as Two Heads were, this was more than it could handle.  It took two ponderous steps backward before falling to the ground with a thud that he felt as well as heard even from this distance.

The soft one sank to one knee, the shining stick planted on the ground before it.  It began making the strange hooting noises that passed for its speech.  Sthrax knew some of the words but none of them seemed to make sense for the situation.  Was it thanking the Two Heads?  It was thanking someone.  Perhaps it was thanking him.

He strode down the side of the hill to see if it would share the flesh of its kill with him in the thanking ritual but before he reached it the soft one fell sideways and did not move.  The shining skin on its head fell off and a shock of black hair almost like a crest spilled out.  There was blood on the soft one’s face and leaking from its shining skin.

Hoping that it reacted to the same kind of herbs and remedies that his kind did, Sthrax set about finding the bindweed, thistle down and saproot that would help stop the bleeding and save its life.  Provided he could remove the shining skin of course.

–

In the end, he had been able to save Kinrik’s life and she had spent four years teaching him to fight with sword and shield as repayment.  Discovering that his shield could be used as a weapon changed everything about how he thought of combat.  Kinrik was stronger than he, but his advantage in speed eventually made the difference.

Gradually, he gained a better understanding of her language and during their travels Kinrik showed him how to navigate the outside world.  By far the most important thing she gave him was understanding though.  One evening while sitting around a campfire she had asked him why he had arrived when he did on the day he saved her from the Two Heads.

“This One was cast out.”  He said, still feeling the anguish of the rejection years later as he described the events in detail.

“You were not cast aside Sthrax.”  She said, working a chip out of her sword blade with a whetstone.  “You were given a task.  No other in the Longtail Fang could do what was needed, and although you were sent away you only need complete the quest before you are allowed to return.  Your people need you.  That’s something most cannot say.”

For the first time since he had run from the Elders, Sthrax felt the burden on his shoulders shift.  Instead of the punishing stone given to those who broke the tribe’s laws, it felt more like a kill he was bringing back to feed the hatchlings.  In that moment he felt the claws of the Great Old Ones fill him with Purpose.

–

Sthrax shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs of memory.  Far below a ribbon of water cut a deep valley into the mountainside.  It was time to find his way back to the others or back to the ocean.  Preferably without attracting the attention of any of the Older Brothers.

Where there was water, often there were people of one type or another.  Fanning his crest in decision, he made his way carefully down the slope.  This river would, he was sure, lead him to his goal.

The Callindra Chronicles Book 2: The Rise of Evil – Chapter 65

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The ground beneath their feet shuddered as Morde stood and stretched and they ran.  Callindra had thought herself dead, but once restored she knew only terror.  Cronos was still trying to incant a spell, but she and Vilhylm took him by the arms and dragged him bodily from the chamber and Morde’s laughter followed them as they fled.

Outside the remains of the Keep, all the Abyssal spawn were gathered rank upon rank.  Overhead the great black scaled dragon they had seen over Starvale slowly circled, emerald green vapor flowing from its fanged jaws.

“Gods and demons.” Callindra breathed, “How are we going to face this?”

“Together.”  Vilhylm and Cronos said at the same time.

Callindra looked around, trying to find an escape and saw a simple Greatsword thrust into the ground.  The moment she saw the blade she knew it.

“Master!”  She said, grabbing the hilt.  As she touched it, Callindra could feel Glarian’s presence.

“Callindra.  You need to break the sword.”  Glarian said, his voice perfectly calm.

“If I break your sword won’t it set your magic loose?”  She asked, “Won’t it make you unable to control it?”

“You’re half right.”  He said, “Now break it fool girl, before it’s too late.”

Callindra grabbed his sword with both hands and slammed it into a boulder.  The sword sliced cleanly through the stone without showing a single mark on its flawless edge.  Stabbing it into the ground again, she drew her own sword.  Running her hand down Shadowsliver, she released a spell, her hand vibrating in the same way Beliach’s had.  She flicked the flat of her master’s blade and whispered “Shatter.” It exploded into a cloud of steel shards.

Glarian stepped out of the explosion of metal with a grin on his narrow face and the hilt of his sword in his hand.  “You never do anything halfway apprentice.”

The dragon roared and Glarian laughed.  “Time for me to take care of this.”  He waved the hilt of his sword and the fragments of metal reformed into a perfect blade.

“How did you do that?”  Callindra asked, her own sword trembling in her hand.

“I need your help.”  Glarian said, “I need you to get your siblings out of here while mine handle these spawn of the abyss.”

“No.”  She said through clenched teeth.  “I’m not leaving your side.  Not ever again.  If I’m not good enough to fight with you then I’ll die here.”

“You need to stay close then.”  He said tersely.  “I cannot watch out for you once the real fighting begins and I would feel your loss more keenly than the stab of a blade to the gut.”

“Cronos!  Vilhylm!  Stay with me!”  She cried, watching as her Master wrought a spell, cutting a rent in the air with his huge sword.

A beautiful woman stepped lightly through the portal, carrying a gourd and wearing a gown made from coral.  A man with hair and beard made of fire walked beside her, eyes blazing like the sun.  They surveyed the scene with implacable faces.

“Our cousin has perished at the hands of the cursed one.”  The woman said, her voice like the crash of waves on a cliff.

“He must be chastised for his impudence.”  The man said, a forest fire crackling behind his words.

“Vandis.  Ild.  Glad you could join us.”  Glarian said, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Luftin, the ilk of the cursed one seems frisky.”  Ild said with a harsh laugh, “I believe we should join the dance.”  Flames licked out from his left hand and burned the entire first rank of Abyssal creatures to ashes.

“Things are always interesting when you call us brother.”  Vandis said, waving a hand and sending a scattering of water that turned to scalding steam as it passed through Ild’s flames and scoured the flesh from the bones of the next rank of monsters.

Callindra stared in disbelief at the gods who stood before her, calling her Master their brother.  “Luftin?”  She whispered, “You’re Luftin?  You’re a bloody GOD?”

“You two think too small.”  Luftin said, ignoring Callindra’s outburst.  “These tiny ones are hardly worth the effort.”  He raised his sword above his head, spinning it in a circle and a cyclone burst from the cloud covered sky, descending down on the vast black shape of the dragon that circled above.  “I have a mind to pick a fight with an old enemy.”

~fin~

Author’s note:
Thanks for following along, I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  Sorry for the cliff hanger… but hopefully it’ll make you itch to read the next book!  I’m 34 pages into Book 3; tentatively titled “A Fall of Stars” and I’ll begin posting more of this series as soon as I have the damn thing done!  See ya next time Space Cowboy,

-Ben

The Callindra Chronicles Book 2: The Rise of Evil – Chapter 64

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While her brothers winced at her words, they also nodded in grim determination.  They had followed her here for the same reason she had led them here.  Tryst was dead, killed helping them escape from Count Adbar’s citadel and he had been working with Dergeras.  All the pieces had fallen into place; Adbar had been collecting the Artifacts of the Original as well.  He had been bent on thwarting them from the beginning and when he lured them in they had taken the bait.  It had cost them Tryst, their mission and likely the world.

If the world was going to burn anyway, at least she would take Dergeras down in the flames.  She set out at a steady trot, her brothers flanking her, and in a few minutes they had arrived at the back of the keep wall.  Here it was still mostly sound and reached nearly thirty feet into the air.  Callindra incanted another spell and leaped into the air with the Winds gathering beneath her.  Landing on the top of the wall in a crouch, she made certain she hadn’t been spotted and then took a rope from her pack and secured it to a crenellation that was still solid before tossing the other end down for them to climb.

They brought the rope up after them and tossed it down the inside of the wall, each scrape of boot on stone muffled by the spell Callindra had wrought around them.  Cronos pointed to a broken window in the crumbling keep and they crept through it without attracting the attention of any of the monsters outside.

The building was thick with dust and decay, but the sound of unceasing chanting came faintly to their ears as they made their way into the depths of the keep.  A feeling of foreboding settled over them a feeling accentuated the Winds fled as they got closer.  The sound of their footsteps began to echo off the moldering stone walls as Callindra’s magic faded, muffled only slightly by the dust that coated everything.

“This feels wrong.  Worse than I thought it would.  Worse than I thought possible.”  Callindra said, shivering.  “The air is dead here.”

“Everything feels dead here.”  Vilhylm said, looking at the dust choked walls and floor.

They found a doorway with stairs leading down.  More importantly, there were many tracks here.  The dust had been mashed nearly into nothing from the passage of many feet.  The chanting came from below.  It stopped the second Callindra’s foot touched the top stair.

“I don’t like this.”  She and Cronos said simultaneously.  For once they didn’t glare at each other.  Clutching their weapons, the three made their way down the stairs.  Callindra idly thought that being a leader unfortunately also meant going first into certain death.  Of course, she didn’t care if she died now, as long as she got her revenge.  As long as they got their revenge.

At the bottom of the stairs the hallway widened into a single large room.  Two dozen or more corpses lay on the floor, bloody knives in their hands.  Callindra shuddered in revulsion, they had killed themselves and spilled their lifeblood on symbols roughly carved on the floor in some dreadful ritual.

Stepping around the corpses they moved into the room itself and saw a dark figure cloaked in rags standing before an altar with a figure assembled from clay pieces laying upon it.  The mold of the original mortal.

“Dergeras!”  Callindra called out, her voice ringing throughout the room, “You have taken my brother from me, you have betrayed the living and made dark contracts with the Abyss.  You will die for your crimes here and now on my blade.”

She sprang forward, Shadowsliver a living extension of her arm and sank his twin tips into the figure’s heart, pinning him to the clay figure on the altar.  Dark blood flowed from his body and dripped onto the Mold.

“You have … completed.”  He gasped, a beatific smile on his face as his life flowed out onto the altar.

A rent tore in reality and something forced its way into the world using the Mold of the Original Mortal as its vessel.  It sat up, moving smoothly and easily; flexing limbs that shed the clay of the shell that allowed it to take mortal form.

“THIS IS A STRANGE WAY TO ENTER THE PRIME.” It said in a voice with the power of a glacier.  “I, MORDE FIND MYSELF FEELING BENEVOLENT.”

Callindra hacked at it with desperate force, her sword slicing through one of its arms at the wrist as it stretched and sat up.  Vilhylm thrust his spear through its torso and Cronos unleashed a torrent of flame that nearly blinded them all with its intensity.

It pointed at Cronos with a finger that flickered with blackness.  “DIE.” It said, and he fell to the ground motionless.

Callindra swung her sword in a vicious arc, hacking deep into the Morde’s chest but he simply grabbed the chain, pulled her forward and slammed her into a wall with bone shattering force.  She tumbled to the floor in a broken bleeding mass.

“Great Goddess of life I call upon thee in my time of need!  Jorda, I invoke the boon you bestowed upon us, come now and save us from this unholy monster!”

Vines and growing plants arose from the ground at his feet, some wrapped around Callindra and Cronos but most of them grew into the figure rising from the altar, ripping into its substance and pulling it apart; the work of a hundred years of growth happening in a few moments.

Jorda rose from the mass of vines, her eyes glinting in sunlit rage as she attacked, “You are not of this world!”  Her voice was the clarion call of the charging bull and the scream of a red tailed hawk.  “Your kind is not welcome here!”

“AND YET NEICE I AM HERE AND I SHALL NOT BE DENIED” Morde responded, the terrible grating of his words unmaking her where she stood.  “I WILL LEAVE YOUR PUNY MORTALS HERE TO BEAR WITNESS TO YOUR DESTRUCTION.”

Jorda looked at Vilhylm and her face contorted in pain as blackness ran up the vines that grew through the man shaped thing that stepped from the altar.  “Run.” She whispered, and her body burst into blisters of dissolving ash.

The Callindra Chronicles Book 2: The Rise of Evil – Chapter 63

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Callindra looked up at the broken black walls of Hellgate Keep.  They had been pushing hard for days and finally were within reach of their goal.  Her goal really.  Her brothers had protested at first, but when she pointed out that their mission was completely destroyed because Tryst had the Hand as well as the rest of the pieces of the Mold they had shut up.

She felt bad about their expressions of defeat, but all she could feel was the burning desire to make Dergeras pay for all his crimes.  Everything else was going to burn anyway; the High Forest, the ravaged villages she had seen with burned bodies piled high, the greed of the swamp folk, the wanton destruction of the Abyss seemed unstoppable.  The only thing she cared about was killing the one responsible.  Dergeras would feel the black steel of Shadowsliver pierce his heart or she would die trying.

“We’re here.”  She said, looking at her brothers.  “You don’t have to come in with me.  I bullied and shamed you into this and I’m not proud of that.  This fight is one I cannot back away from.”

“I’m with you sister.”  Cronos said, lifting his tired face and looking at her with determination.  “I wouldn’t have let you talk me into this if I didn’t know it was the right thing to do.  You are convincing when you’re right.”

“The only way to stop this from happening seems to be to cut the diseased plant off at the root.”  Vilhylm said, “As we have traveled these last five days I have seen the wisdom of your words, even if they were spoken with pain and passion instead of reason.”

“We can’t win.”  She said, “But we might make him lose.”

“This is our only chance.”  Vilhylm said, looking at the unmanned, broken walls.  “They can’t possibly think we would be this reckless.”

“Our sister’s inclination to rush headlong into danger is finally working out to our advantage.” Cronos said with a sardonic smile.

Normally his teasing would have made her smile or at least respond with a jibe of her own.  Callindra couldn’t bring herself to do either.  Instead she focused all of her attention on the goal, looking at the defenses and possible threats.  This keep was ancient and crumbling, the walls barely offering resistance at all now that nature had been slowly defeating them over centuries.  Beyond the walls, fires were burning, greasy black smoke reaching skyward in tall pillars undisturbed by any breeze.

“I’m going to check it out.  You wait here for my signal.”  She said, treading lightly up the slope without waiting for their assent.  Once she had reached her target; a place where a large section of the wall had fallen down, she slipped between large square blocks of basalt to peer beyond.

There were thousands of humanoid forms standing in a parody of a military camp.  None of them moved, there were no apparent guards posted and from what she could see the smoke was merely from fissures in the ground.  Out of those gaping wounds in the earth more bipedal figures emerged, each one with glittering emerald fire shining from eyes and mouth.  If they alerted these creatures to their presence it would be mere moments before they were overwhelmed, even if the abyssal creatures were as weak as newborn kittens.  Beyond the throngs stood a tumbled down structure that likely had been a keep or a cathedral; its sole remaining tower tilted drunkenly to one side.

Cursing silently under her breath, Callindra returned to where her brothers had waited.  She felt a momentary surge of pride that she was leading and they were following.  It was akin to the books she had treasured reading in Glarian’s tiny house while recovering from her shattered leg.  These were times when heroes would be made or destroyed.  She had no intention of being destroyed.

“I think I know where he will be.”  She said, experience had taught her that a whisper carried much further than simply lowering her voice.  Quickly, she described the scene she had witnessed.  “Beyond a few thousand thralls in what I believe is the ruins of Hellgate Keep itself.  In this case we can’t just charge in, but I think if we skirt around to the far side we can get access to the place while avoiding their notice.  They haven’t even posted guards.”

“I think they may be relying on senses other than their sight then.”  Vilhylm said, his voice tired.  “Who knows what kind of fiends are crawling into this world or what their abilities might be?”

“If they were that powerful, Dergeras would just use them as an army and destroy everything.”  Cronos said.  “We should be careful but not panic.  Not yet.”

“I’m going to circle around and try to get in without them seeing me.”  Callindra said, “Once we’re inside, we can bar the door if there is one.”  She stopped and looked at her brothers, taking a deep breath and letting it out.  “I don’t expect to get out alive.  This isn’t about stopping them all.  It isn’t about our mission or saving the world.  For me this is only about revenge.  Dergeras took the ones I love from me and I will not allow that to go unpunished.”

Focusing her mind, she brought a spell from the flat black blade of Shadowsliver.  Around her sound became muffled and indistinct.  “This will keep them from hearing us.”  She said, “Possibly from smelling us too; I have asked the Winds here to do my bidding.  If you are with me, keep close.”