The Sunduster Cycle: Book One: Rise of the Blackened Hand

By Ted Geoghegan

Once a noble warrior, Pa’set Vaanaton now spends his days wallowing in spirits and thievery. The glory days of his youth as a battle-forged Mahar - the most coveted of all titles on Phenos - are no more than a fleeting memory.

A memory, that is, until tonight - when hellfire burns away his reality, and a planet's life will hinge on the actions of this world-weary warrior and his companions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ted Geoghegan
• Release date: Dec 27, 2010

Ted Geoghegan

A native of Montana, Ted Geoghegan has been writing and producing horror, science fiction, and fantasy films since 2001.Currently residing in New York City, he works in the film industry and writes for various online and print publications, focusing primarily on genre cinema.

Book preview

The Sunduster Cycle - Book One: Rise of the Blacked Hand

Ted Geoghegan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2010 Ted Geoghegan

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Cover artwork and logo design by Jason Beam

For my family and friends.

Thank you for keeping me going.

- 1 -

The smell of fresh blood is unmistakable. Be it man or beast, the odor is unlike any other.

Pa’set first noticed the dank aroma on his way down a crumbling stairwell. The thick wooden door to The Crimson Gauntlet was chipped and splintered from years of heavy use. Entry to the subterranean tavern was reserved for only the most accomplished, but he was a Mahar - a proud title the adventurer held close to his weathered heart. He knew of the locale from reputation only, never before venturing inside. More than one of his brethren had expressed their intent to share a tankard with the denizens of this place and then, never returned.

The bottom of the stairwell was faintly lit. A single lantern, filled with a glowing substance that never seemed to dim, cast his shadow across the door’s frame. How many bodies have they found heaped in front of this door over the years? he mused, examining the unidentifiable stains that marked its unfinished wood. Any number of them could have been the blood he smelled, if not for the fact that they were long dried.

Times were hard. He’d been sent here by an elderly woman. No one in particular, just another client. She claimed to have owned the place decades ago, but after hundreds of similar lies, Pa’set knew the truth was always more sinister. Still, job like this was little more than an evening's work for someone of his skill. She wanted a change purse, hidden behind the far wall, and she paid in advance.

Buy a pint... Strike up a conversation to keep suspicions low, he told himself. When you’ve gained their trust, slip into the back. The old in-out... You’ve got appointments to keep.

As the aged adventurer planned out the situation in his head, the heavy door suddenly burst inward. A battered young thug, held tightly by the scruff of his collar, was forcibly escorted out. The giant who gripped him in his enormous hands paid little attention to the traveler. Pa’set cautiously backed against the stone wall as the ruffian was thrown headlong onto the steps. With an audible crack, followed by a low moan, the bloodied youth quickly passed out. The giant’s gaze quickly turned to Pa’set, who paid little mind to the encounter. Keep to your own, he thought to himself. The motto had allowed him to cheat death more times than he could remember.

The large man eyed Pa’set warily - taking his time inspecting his ancient armor - and then nodded in respect. The brute wiped his bloodied hands against his shirt and stepped back inside, leaving the entryway wide open. It was an invitation he would not pass up.

Taking a sidelong glance at the bloodied thug, now sliding slowly down the stairs, Pa’set stepped inside. As he crossed the threshold, the odor he first noticed in the stairwell now completely filled his nostrils. It reminded him of a battlefield he had once come across while exploring the war-torn East. Luckily, the skirmish had ended by the time he’d arrived, but the ghastly aroma would stay with him forever - more potent a memory than a hundred gruesome sights. Sweat, ale, and smoke mingled with the unmistakable, iron-infused scent of blood. To those less worldly, the effect would have been nauseating.

Pa’set kept his gaze low, but surveyed all. Since his time with the Mahar, thievery had become his new trade. Even though he had come to commit a crime he had accomplished dozens of times before, the slightest misstep could quickly spell his doom. In a place like this, that risk was heightened tenfold.

Strangely enough, very few noticed him as he strode into the establishment. On any other day, Pa’set would attribute it to his longsword and armor, emblazoned with the seal of his highly respected guild.

Tonight, however, a different spectacle was diverting their attention: an elderly man, face down on his table. A thick puddle of blood was pooling between his legs, spilling down on the filthy floor. The gore kept widening as a young healer placed his hands on him, trying to save the old chap’s life.

Pa’set walked up to the bar and motioned toward the large man whom he had seen at the door. Eight feet tall and solid muscle, the numerous bloodstains on his shirt were a telltale sign that he was in charge of the place. Seeing Pa’set, the brutish fellow, scarred from head to toe, ambled over to him.

Your business here?

No business, Pa’set replied. Pleasure.

We don’t see much of that anymore.

I can tell, he mumbled, motioning toward the commotion behind him. The healer was stepping back from the elderly man, disappointed by his lack of success. The body lay motionless on the table as the blood beneath him continued to spread.

Scum, down here from Hollows, the giant nodded. One minute, he’s fast friends with the guy. The next, that poor old bugger’s got a blade in his gullet.

The Mahar calmly nodded, slid the giant a coin, and motioned toward a large cedar keg. As the inkeeper obliged, Pa’set turned around to casually inspect his surroundings. One of his first rules was never to look too eager. Once you’ve made yourself part of the environment, it’s safe to start the inspection.

The man at the table was quite dead. Patrons noticed the corpse, but no one in the tavern seemed to mind - except for a tired young woman with a frayed mop. She eyed the coagulating mess on the floor with contempt. The tepid water in her bucket told that Pa’set the current situation was not that uncommon.

The healer walked back to his table and produced a small change purse that he had undoubtedly lifted from the dying man as he performed his faux incantations. He sat down with two partners, smiling wryly, and motioned for another round of drinks.

The giant tapped Pa’set on the shoulder, drawing his attention back to the bar. Sitting in front of him was a full tankard. Next to it, his coin.

I ain’t doin’ no favors, the large man said sternly, motioning toward the crest on the adventurer’s time-worn armor. We just don’t get many Mahar down here anymore. It’s good to see ya.

Pa’set nodded in appreciation and picked up the tankard. He let the coin lie on the bar, allowing the brute enough time to reclaim it if he felt the need. After several long moments, the man began tending to another patron. The adventurer nonchalantly slid his hand across the bar, placed his outstretched palm over the rusted coin, and pulled it back.

Letting a mouthful of the sweet ale slide down his throat, Pa’set quickly scanned the establishment. A table was planted against the far wall, where the purse was supposedly stowed. Unlike the rest of the bar, this lone table was still clean. Several circular scratches and adorned its top. This was clearly a campaign table.

As times worsened, it was a rare sight to find one of these tables without someone already seated at it. There was always work to be found at a campaign table – yet this one sat, empty. Pa’set took another drink and loosened his sash, allowing his cloak to hang comfortably. What a sight.

You missed him, the mop girl whispered to Pa’set as she set about her gruesome task. Gripping the end of her mop head, she wrung out the filth. A putrid mixture of fluids oozed from it, running over her fair-skinned hands and splattering into the bucket below. Before placing her tool back to the floor, she looked back at the adventurer. The man you were looking for, she continued. The one who looked like you… He left ten minutes past.

I’m sorry, love. I’m not here to meet anyone.

She smiled wryly, looking back to the floor. Her mop pushed its way through the crimson pool, soaking itself to its limit almost instantly. Then take a seat. The way you’re staring at the wall might make Othin think you’re here for something… other than pleasure.

She motioned toward the bar. Pa’set turned, glancing at the enormous old brute behind it. Othin, he thought, must be my new best friend pouring drinks.

The giant was in the midst of pouring another drink for a short, dwarfish fellow. Upon second glance, Othin’s age became more pronounced. The stubble on his face was white as snow. His receding hairline allowed several smaller scars along the top of his head to become visible. His left arm showed signs of massive trauma. Aside from the ghastly wound that ran the length of his hefty bicep, his left thumb and forefinger were missing.

Not that any of it mattered, of course. Old Othin could probably destroy any man or beast in the bar without giving it a second thought. The ruffian who was so kindly introduced to the front stairs could attest to that. Given the giant’s reverence toward the crest of the Mahar, there was a good chance that he was once a gilded warrior himself. A seaman, probably an Argo, Pa’set decided. He’d known countless seafarers over the years – wild, fearless men from the North. Most of them fought so hard, the eldest were no more than thirty. Othin’s scars, height, and penchant for brew were more than enough to convince Pa’set his guess was right.

It was time to play. He raised his tankard toward the giant, trying to secure his attention. Through the din and commotion of the bar, Pa’set called out:

Argo tectus, aqua mar!

Othin looked up from the keg, wide-eyed. Foam billowed from the glass he was filling, but he paid it no mind. Ignoring the thirsty dwarf, he stepped around the bar. The halfling reached out in vain toward his tankard, but Othin’s arms towered above him.

He set the brew in front of Pa’set and whistled loudly toward the kitchen. A young man with stunning yellow skin peered out, curiously. Othin motioned toward the unattended bar. The sickly boy began tending the establishment as the giant took a seat at his campaign table, staring down the adventurer across from him.

The giant pulled aside the collar of his shirt, exposing a blackened scar across the bottom of his throat. Pa’set had seen it hundreds of times before. Shaped like a fish, leaping from the sea, it was the ancient seal of Argos. Othin released his collar, again covering the mark, with a slight smile.

Argo tectus, aqua mar… Heart at home, though journey far.

Pa’set nodded. Although he avoided becoming too casual with most, he had something to gain here… He would continue this game.

The yellow-skinned man rushed another ale to their table, nearly spilling it as he teetered along. Nodding in appreciation, Othin grabbed the cup in his gargantuan hand and immediately began to drink. As half the glass emptied itself into his stomach, he paused, wiping his mouth and staring at Pa’set. Call of Argos… he said, letting out a belch under his breath. How’d you know?

I’ve traveled for almost thirty years now, Pa’set shot back. Four years in the East, Chi-Ada… Followed it up with two in the North.

Where at?

Icewaith, for six months. Then I took to the sea on a merchant ship. I was only looking for work.

Othin took another drink. Not much work up there.

Pa’set smiled. Didn’t say it was easy.

By now, the old man’s body had probably gone cold. Pa’set couldn’t figure why no one had moved it. The mop girl had finished her job long ago, but returned once more to wipe down the remaining spots on the floor. She watched Othin, teetering in his chair, as he told a tale of losing his traitorous crew and nearly his whole hand, while sailing the high seas. He motioned toward the horrid scar that ran the length of his arm, reenacting for Pa’set the near-fatal duel that sent him sprawling into the frigid ocean and ended his career with the Argos.

Fio! Othin called to her happily. Can you grab us another round?

She smiled at him. It was a rare occasion Othin had good company, and regardless of the stranger’s business here, she hoped it would end well. The man looked honest enough to her. He wore the crest of the Mahar. His long brown hair was clean and well-kept. His beard, with thin strands of silver, was trimmed.

I pray, she thought, he’s not here to cause trouble.

As Fio scrubbed, she also noticed the three young men seated nearby. One of them had attempted to heal the elderly man but failed. She admired his devotion – and his ability to continue on, even after losing the battle to save his life. He drank quite merrily with his associates, seemingly overburdened with coins.

As she wiped down the floor, the front door of the Gauntlet opened once more. She rarely looked up when someone entered, but this time she felt compelled. It was a sight she would never forget.

A young red-haired woman stood in the doorway. Her gaze was transfixed on the dead body of the old man. From the look of her slack jaw, Fio sensed that she had never witnessed such a thing. She stood in a roomful of men, accompanied by creatures of all sort, drinking together - as a bloodied corpse sat in for the evening.

This was The Crimson Gauntlet, however. Here, such a sight wasn’t even that uncommon.

Fio approached the woman. She obviously didn’t belong here. She was whispering something to herself, over and over. Unfortunately, before Fio could offer a comforting word, the woman at the door was interrupted by a large drunk in fine linens. He dropped his ale as he lumbered up to her. This guy had caused trouble earlier, and Fiona feared the worst.

You lost, little lady?

The woman in the door continued staring at the corpse. His words fell on deaf ears.

I said, ‘You lost?’

The handsome drunkard didn’t get another chance to repeat himself. Emotionless, the woman in the doorway grabbed him by the neck. With a whisper-like chant, her fingertips began to glow like the noonday sun. His vision blurred as he felt a numbing sensation rush through his body. With the sound of a blazing fire rushing from her arms, the man’s throat was reduced to black ash. As the bar looked on in silence, his head tumbled from his smoldering shoulders – still wearing his stunned expression.

Fio gasped. Although he was a perpetual nuisance, the headless gent that collapsed to the floor was a nephew of the Royal Family. A murder of a nobody in The Gauntlet was one thing – but this, the city would look on as assassination.

Fio backed toward Othin. She hadn’t expected a fire mage. No one could have.

The cloaked woman grabbed two men as they angrily approached her. Her thin arms instantly cremated them both, sending their ashes and scorched robes fluttering like dry leaves to the floor. Her long red robes flowed behind her like fire, practically igniting all that she touched. Shocked, Othin quickly pulled himself to his feet. He had a few too many drinks, but he steadied himself against the table and prepared to cross words with the woman.

She stopped beside the body of the old man. She touched the back of his head with her small hand, running her fingers through his disheveled hair. A single tear ran down her face, scorching her pale skin.

She knew him.

Someone, the woman cried in a trembling voice, will pay for this.

He already did, Othin replied, pointing toward the open doorway. The body of the murderer still lay in the stairwell. I don’t know where you come from, but no one brings fire into The Gauntlet. Now, what am I supposed to do with a dead noblema –

In a fury, she reached out. To Othin, it was like stepping into a warm spring that enveloped every fiber of his being. It was as if he’d fallen into the Northern Sea one final time… yet wasn’t cold. The old barkeep felt lovingly embraced by the sudden heat. His frustrations melted away. Everything went white. He took a very deep breath… possibly too deep.

And he was gone.

Othin! Fio cried out… But it was too late. The cloaked woman turned, focusing her attention on the bar. It erupted in flames, incinerating the dwarf as he tried to leap from his lofty stool. The timbers splintered - their proud owner now reduced to a smoldering heap of ash.

Pa’set grabbed the horrified mop girl and pulled her to the ground. The enraged woman in red spun around, glaring at a table of fearful strangers, frozen in the midst of their card game. They burst into flames with such ferocity that the coins hadn’t a second to fall from their charred hands.

How do we get out of here?! Pa’set screamed into Fio’s face. Unable to form the words, she pointed toward the back – a door near the bar. It probably led to the location he was hired to find, but the adventurer had no interest in an on old woman’s purse now.

He waved to the bogus healer, who fought with flames that lapped at his cloak, and another young man – presumably a hunter. As he pointed toward the rear exit, the well-armed youth withdrew an arrow and fired at the woman. She paid it no mind as it burst into flames, spattering charred cinders across her chest. She turned her menacing glare on the young man. In another moment, he felt his body erupt from the inside out.

The frail yellow boy huddled behind the charred bar, saved from the intense heat by Othin’s splintered kegs of ale. He watched the maelstrom with an eerie complacency. Reaching around the flames, Pa’set grabbed him, dragging him into the back. Fio gripped the doorframe, still staring at the ashen remains of the man she once called father. As she pondered joining his fate, the terrified healer ran headlong into them, sending them all tumbling into the darkness of the now-closed kitchen.

Fio screamed. Pa’set scrambled for his longsword. The yellow-skinned man let out a nervous whimper. In the bar, only the sound of the flames could be heard. Flames… and footsteps.

The smell, however, was far more powerful. The putrid stench of burning flesh, mingled with boiling ale and charred wood, filled Pa’set’s nostrils.

Pa’set Vaanaton, jack-of-all-trades, master swordsman and now thief - had stumbled onto something larger than even he:

The birth of a war.

- 2 -

Phenos was a lush planet, with many extremes.

While the world housed many wondrous places, a hundred million souls called The Great Land - an enormous span of plains, mountaintops, and deserts - their home. Commerce was plentiful, as an untold numbers of seafarers, traders, mages, and rogues conducted daily business from one shore to the other. From massive subterranean caverns to deep expanses of forests, it was a beautiful, prosperous place that all other lands of the world strived to become.

But as amazing as the natural terrain was, it was The Great Land’s majestic cities that truly reigned supreme.

Reko Wyn, the city of lights, towered over the Eastern seaboard – a beacon to all within a hundred miles, shining through what seemed like perpetual darkness. Built atop a prehistoric man-made island, the metropolis was surrounded by the crashing ocean on all sides. A miracle of ancient technology, it was the jewel of the territory. Dozens of antique bridges connected it to the mainland. In fact, so many expanses had been built, many had long since forgotten Reko Wyn was an island at all.

No other city in The Great Land rivaled Reko Wyn’s impressive size, although some did come close. In the far West, Lesso Galen was a sprawling, crime-ridden metropolis where the ancient Mahar first unveiled the art of magic to man. In between the two enormous cities lay a thousand villages and townships of varying degree – from the smallest Northern burgs to the vibrant, bustling cities of the South.

Although its current history began with The Mahar, The Great Land was founded thousands of years ago. Still, for all its beauty, foreigners rarely traveled through the expansive country. Most of the planet’s population remained on Afeuas - an overflowing continent peppered with war and disease. Once it had been the cradle of Phenos’ civilization, but as years went by, peaceful nations turned on one another, each desiring supreme control.

During this troubled time The Mahar had first appeared on Phenos. They were a new breed of warrior, born of nothingness, and carried with them a power unlike any ever witnessed. Within mere weeks The Great Land bowed before their might. The people of Afeuas tried to fight back, but quickly realized their weapons were no match. The world had never seen such control. Within months even the mightiest of empires were forced to succumb.

They were not, however, born unto the world to destroy it. Fully aware of their superiority, The Mahar desired to rule Phenos as their own. They would make it into a perfect world.

The warriors’ power came from a source they called magic, an unimaginable source of energy that fiercely bonded water, land, wind, and fire. With it they transformed the world. The greatest cities were swallowed whole and new ones rose from their rubble. Faced with such staggering odds, man’s power struggles with each other ceased. As The Mahar had hoped, a new land was born.

The Mahar’s intelligence eclipsed that of the normal man. As they bestowed their knowledge on humanity, mankind was swiftly enlightened and expanded.

From man, the magic of the Mahar brought forth the long-forgotten peoples of Phenos. Once only myths, the races of elves, dwarves, and others began to walk the world as they once did. Within mere years of their resurgence, they became part of Phenos once again. As they had done in ages long forgotten, these people lived in newfound harmony with man.

The Mahar used their magic to bring back a world that had vanished for longer than memories could recall. Dragons took to the skies. Mammoth serpents burst from the ocean depths. These wonders, many believed, would never cease.

For a time, the people rejoiced.

Yet while The Mahar’s brute strength stopped the prior wars, it failed to rid Phenos of the disease and pestilence the battles had brought with them. For decades The Mahar ruled the world. Their magic and intelligence had given them everything they’d hoped for… yet the sickness mounted. The creatures of Phenos begged for cures to their ailments, but The Mahar could offer nothing.

With all of their might, they simply could not heal the world.

Fearful of revolt, the warriors called upon the very same magic they’d first used to overpower all of Phenos. They dubbed it Sundusting.

Summoning the dangerous power of fire, The Mahar had the ability to journey anywhere, anytime, within the blink of an eye. Believing they had seen everything The Mahar were capable of creating, the people of Phenos were in total awe of this newly revealed ability.

And with their Sundusting, The Mahar disappeared – leaving the world they had created to fend for itself.

The planet they left behind, however, was far from the place it had once been. The beings they had created could not simply be undone. The people had learned their magic and now, in the absence of The Mahar, were free to use it. The power they had once feared above all else became an everyday occurrence. What was once thought a miracle fast became a parlor trick. The world soon realized that magic was now part of Phenos.

A great many could wield air magic, which gave them the ability to levitate or send messages on the wind. Even more found it possible to control the land, summoning the earth itself to do their bidding. Water was found to be very difficult to control, but with skill and determination, some would master the art. Fire, however, baffled – and ultimately destroyed – nearly all who tried to tackle it. Magic, The Mahar had taught them, had to come from within… and very few mages held the unbelievable strength to clog their bodies with flame.

Fire, they all knew, allowed The Mahar to Sundust. Unfortunately, the secret to this ability was lost with their sudden, strange disappearance.

And so, magic flourished… The wise would use it for good, while others who craved power would choose evil. Some embraced its advent and others decried it. As the decades became centuries, magic became, to most, far less magical.

As these same years passed, The Mahar became legend. In time, tales of the great and wise Mahar inspired new factions throughout the world, each hoping for similar fame and glory. None would amass the power or respect of The Mahar, but all of them believed that their mission was to shelter Phenos from harm, no matter what the cost.

Sigurs, prophets from the barren desert, taught their way to those who could not find their own salvation. Deeply religious, they thought of magic as a faith unto itself. The Argos, seafarers from the Northern waste, became the protectors of the water, and Draku, light-wielding wanderers, began to vehemently guard the night – their passion for magic unequaled by any other.

These factions, together with The Mahar, began to re-instill a sense of oneness in Phenos. No longer were the people ruled over, forced to compliance and submission. They were, once more, their own masters.

Generations after they first arrived, The Mahar returned to Phenos. The smaller, man-made factions, once inspired by these god-like beings, now feared the return of their mighty rule. Confused, and full of mistrust, armies of men and elves banded together. They prepared for the worst.

This time, much to the surprise of all, The Mahar had a far different agenda.

They had been watching in secret for centuries and, proud of the decisions man chose to make, came to empathize with them. Rather than forcing their rule upon the land once more, The Mahar decided to return