Shadows of Siernod

By J. Wade Harrell

"Shadows of Siernod" is a compilation of the first five novelettes concerning the life of Fist La'brau, swordsman extraordinaire and brawler supreme. Follow the treacherous adventures he undertakes to rid the world of Shadow's grip while only wanting to live a common life. Fist is a bit of a loner who desires to live a private life and not be bothered by the realm's pain. However, his heroic past and his legendary skill make him a most desirable candidate for a gritty hero that can swing a mean sword. These stories comprise the complete set of tales in the series "Shadows of Siernod". Visit back streets and smoky taverns of dirty cities, lonely landscapes, haunted catacombs, deserts, frozen passes, eerie forests, and mysterious castles in these sword and sorcery adventures. This book contains a forward by the author, The Anvil of Discord, The World's Rim, The Sewers of Thuron, Barbarians of the Forgotten Pass, and Castle of Shadows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Wade Harrell
• Release date: Feb 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466064881

J. Wade Harrell

J. Wade Harrell was born in 1965 on the plains of southwest Oklahoma. His father was a popular bank vice president who also did some farming and ranching for a few years. He grew up in small towns, attended a small university, and has worked for several large corporations such as Texas Instruments, Halliburton, and McKesson. He has also worked for the government in a laboratory. His studies were in the fields of drafting, mathematics, and engineering design technology. For entertainment, he is an avid college football fan following the Oklahoma Sooners and the NBA’s Oklahoma City Thunder. Now days, Wade most of all enjoys writing while spending quality time with his lovely companion, Kathy. Wade was inspired by many of the master of writing in the fields of pure fantasy and sword and sorcery commonly found in pulp fiction and serial publications. His writing reflects this and he steadfastly works to continue penning tales concerning his brave brawler and swordsman, Fist La’brau as he wanders fatefully across the world seeking his way to his goal of simply being a common man in control of his own life. You can find out more about J. Wade Harrell on his weblog. There he blogs about things that interest him and he documents a wealth of information about his books where fans can keep up with the stories and upcoming releases and events. Weblog: http://www.jwadeharrell.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/J-Wade-Harrell-Fantasy/116212868461783 Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jwadeharrell J. Wade Harrell. Shadows of Siernod (Kindle Locations 3341-3357). J. Wade Harrell.

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Shadows of Siernod

The Complete Set

J. Wade Harrell

Content copyright by J. Wade Harrell. All rights reserved

Published in the United States of America by J. Wade Harrell Fantasy at Smashwords

First Publishing Date February, 2012

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.

For more information concerning J. Wade Harrell Fantasy and other work by J. Wade Harrell visit http://www.jwadeharrell.com

Table of Contents

Forward

Volume 1: The Anvil of Discord

Volume 2: The World’s Rim

Volume 3: The Sewers of Thuron

Volume 4: Barbarians of the Forgotten Pass

Volume 5: A Castle of Shadows

Forward

by J. Wade Harrell

Some years ago when I began penning some work concerning the realm of Siernod and after writing a novel titled, The Northman, I created a fellow that was simply meant to be a support character. Little did I know at that time this man would actually become the main object of my writing som day. As I developed him he seemed to spring to life on the pages and soon I realized that this man was worthy of his own work. Thus, I began to write about this bold wanderer, Fist La'brau.

At the same time that Fist La'brau began taking upon a life of his own, I changed my writing strategy. I had been doing some reading of some of the old masters who had their beginnings in pulp fiction back in the earlier half of the twentieth century. This style of writing was short and to the point. The stories were made so that they could fit into monthly publications. I began to value these treasures that readers today sometimes ignore. With massive trilogies and epic chronicles of major fantasy works that took hold in the 1970's and continue to dominate the shelves today, I wanted to do something different. I wanted to give readers stories that could be read in an afternoon, stories that could be enjoyed in an instant.

I have been inspired by many different forms of fantasy and have an appreciation for them all. But, the form that comes most natural for me is creating stories that could be told in any age concerning the plight of the common man. Couple this with some good old fashioned sword and sorcery, and you have yourself an easy to read tale of adventure taking place in lands of fantastic imagery that only fantasy can provide.

So, with the marriage of this new character that impressed me so and this new novelette medium, Shadows of Siernod was born. I first started with what turned out to be volume 2, The World's Rim. I got the idea from a game some friends and I were playing back in the eighties about having to deliver a box from one point to another and I never forgot the anxiety of wanting to know what in the world was in the box. I added my environment, a sea voyage, and sprinkled in some mystery and this tale was born. At the time, I didn't have the series in mind but I knew I had created a character that had many tales and adventures to come. Volume 1, The Anvil of Discord was written second. I expanded upon the personality of Fist La'brau and the dirty city he resided in and by the time it was done, I felt it had to be the first volume of the series because I had done a better job of fleshing out Fist. That is not to say it is a better story, I think they are both fine novelettes. I wanted readers to get the image and feel of him that I captured in Anvi before they read anything else concerning him. This was the point where Shadows of Siernod was born.

I honestly did not know where the series was going to end up. I had a vapor of a back-story in place concerning the powers of Shadow and Light and their effects on Siernod but not a whole lot else. Every writer has a method and I have tried them all. But the method that works best for me is to start out with an idea, much like a seed, knowing the basic species of my story but it grows as I write and like an organic life form my stories take shape after I begin writing. About halfway through, I get more of an idea where the branches will lead. Shadows of Siernod actually began to grow when I wrote The Sewers of Thuron. This is where an arch villain arises and keeps the interest of Fist through several volumes. Barbarians of the Forgotten Pass (before it had a title) was being etched and I could not fit it all into one volume thus it actually had to be ended to allow Castle of Shadows to complete the story. When I was writing Barbarians I figured out the basic plot of the series and tied it back into volume 1 for a tidy story arc that the readers may not have seen coming. Then I had to make the ending dramatic which has caused some people to give me some distraught feedback. However, none of them say they didn't like the stories and I think the hard to take climax is what makes the stories have so much impact and sends the main message home. It teaches us that all of our decisions have consequences if not properly thought out. I hope that readers can also find redeeming value in the life of Fist La'brau and the consequences of his actions.

After Shadows of Siernod there are many more tales to be told. I hope you find these stories as intriguing as I did when I wrote them as Flames of Palamarr picks up where Shadows of Siernod leaves off. We see the impact that the conclusion of Shadows has on Fist just like the actions that people we may all know may impact their own lives and leave them in conditions they find themselves in.

I want to thank all my readers and I hope you enjoy this edition of the life of Fist La'brau.

Volume 1: The Anvil of Discord

Song of the Shadow Priest

As the knell of the ancients flows in the still air,

The fog of the dark lords tinges the realm,

Bones of the crypts rise in languished despair,

And the vile wardens of darkness will overwhelm.

While the legion of dead desire implements of wrack,

The bane of the realm writhe out evil dance,

Devilish swords are hammered upon an anvil black,

While naive clerics above titter in gleeful trance.

Now the fog lingers bleak like a deathly mist,

The onerousness of Light by Shadow shall wail,

Weary souls are exonerated for they cannot resist,

And the sovereign of Discord will deliver travail.

A wall of airborne grit swept across the remote desert known by the people of Siernod as The Redlands. This designation was because of its red gravely floor and rust tinted buttes that often tinted the skies with similar hues. In the center of the red desert was the thriving independent city of Thuron standing dirty and filled with deceit. Its tall leaning buildings and towers were blasted with a common sandstorm laying an inch of dust and dirt on everything in sight. When it was all over, the devious inhabitants crawled from their hovels and the taverns then returned to their shady professions and smelting of the pure silver ore hammered out of the nearby hills. The controlling oligarchy known as The Silver Princes ruled with absolute power over the city and over the silver economy from their lofty tower that looked down upon the chaotic streets of Thuron. The great tower was relatively narrow at the center and opened like a huge blooming plant into a massive domed pinnacle with a needle-like steeple reaching into the sky. To the west, the great orange orb sank behind the distant saw-toothed rim of the Firebrew Mountains and the sky was cast into a myriad of hues ranging from fire orange to copperish brown.

Fist La’brau was an exile from his island kingdom of the south, a man not afraid of work or to engage in a good honest fight from any man he had quarrel with. He was tall and broad shouldered and upon those shoulders was perched a handsome head full of rusty red locks. His face commonly had a full brushy beard over which peered two emerald eyes. His rough ruddy complexion showed his love of the outdoors and of hard work as did the calluses on his over sized hands. When away from labor in the dusty mines of Thuron, he commonly wore a brown tunic with a pair of matching tall leather boots and long gloves. A light outer cloak of woven brown cloth, sheeted in fine dust, was also common to many denizens of the region to protect them from the stinging sun and biting wind. It also concealed the heavy broadsword which he wore at his side so as to not draw undue attention.

A wide gap between his front teeth emerged from his bushy mustache when he smiled at the caravan coming up the long ramp that ascended toward Thuron. He stood on the long access bridge overlooking the open expanse below. He puckered and emitted brown spittle over the bridge and watched it fall, blown sideways by the wind, until it disappeared far below. Behind him, Lake Thuron dumped a broad sheet of water over a fall into the waiting Silver River. The bridge connected the ramp to the front gates of Thuron and created a choke point making it very difficult for the barbarians of the Redlands and the northern plains to launch an assault on the far-flung city.

Fist smiled sensing what the caravan was hauling. He knew that the river carried Thuron’s precious goods, chiefly silver, downstream into the Iron River to the cities of Riverkeep and Hironhirjn. When caravans arrived, they carried supplies to keep the city running, mainly food and beverage. This particular caravan was operated by a man he knew and whom he occasionally received personal packages by. Today, he expected a delivery that had long been in the making for he received a letter on this same day every year from an old man he met some seven years past.

A cloud of dust erupted behind the wagons and clung to the air for miles behind them on the hard baked trail following the flow of the river. They reached the ramp that was chiseled into the face of a steep cliff that curved in and out gradually rising until they reached the rock bridge in front of the water fall. The lone bridge seemed to be hewn from the natural stone of the bluff on which Thuron lay.

Fist leaned on a heavy balustrade waiting for the caravan to approach. The front driver let out a shrill whistle then the clatter of many hooves subsided as the caravan came to a halt.

Fist, my friend, the lead driver called. I have something for you.

The driver reached back into the wagon and grabbed a short bone cylinder and handed it to the red haired fellow. Fist nodded and tipped the man a few silver coins and thanked him for the delivery. Fist saluted him as the caravan continued across the bridge and through the gates of Thuron.

Fist tucked the bone cylinder into his breeches and covered it with his cloak then sauntered back into the wild city of leaning towers.

The sun sank fast and a veil of blackness crept over the city which transitioned almost immediately with sinister citizens and flamboyant ladies trickling into the streets. Silver Street was by far the most active and drunken men paraded up and down it to find the best beverages and women their earnings could afford. The lofty buildings had many windows overlooking the bustling street and eerie shadows abounded within. Disturbing and obscene noises resounded from above while every man who appeared to have a single coin on the street was approached by the swindlers, vendors, and painted ladies (often referred to as pillows in Thuron).

Fist ignored them all until he passed a vendor where several up-to-no-good men were sitting among a stack of crates. One look told Fist they were not working men but rather members of one of the devious guilds of Thuron. He was inclined to ignore them until one of them spit toward him striking his cloak with his foul slaver. Fist stopped, barely annoyed, and looked at the small stain. He shifted his eyes toward the man that spit on him. His companions had slight smirks upon their greasy unshaven faces and the one who committed the act sat stone faced chewing on a smoldering cigar and looked directly into Fist’s eyes.

I suppose that was an accident, Fist said slowly looking into each pair of eyes and with a hint of an annoying grin.

The two companions held back their laughter though they wanted to belt out in drunken cackles. The spitting scoundrel remained stone-faced and did not answer but nonchalantly pushed his cloak back revealing a shiny dagger which he prided himself in.

Fist gave a grin and a short scoffing chortle then walked toward him. The man’s face looked a little more serious not expecting Fist to react to the attempted act of intimidation.

You don’t want to-- the man said before his conversation was cut short by the fist of the Daggenite that crushed his nose and knocked him backward off the crate.

Fist put his clenched fists upon his hips and stared down at the man whose nose was laying to one side and pouring a stream of crimson down his dazed face. His two friends stooped beside him stunned by the quick and powerful strike by the tall red headed man.

Fist leaned over and picked up the man’s half smoked cigar, put it under his nose, nodded in approval, and inserted the chewed end into his own mouth. He reached inside the scoundrel’s cloak and pulled forth a handful more of the leaf wrapped tobacco sticks.

Fist savored the flavor, grinned at the men, and said, That was well worth the effort.

He turned pleasantly then continued walking down the crowded street tucking the cigars away.

He turned off of Silver Street onto another street called Slavor Way which twisted and turned around the randomly placed buildings like most of the other streets of Thuron. He came to an end with a swinging sign that creaked in the night breeze painted with a picture of a fat pig and the words, The Swanky Boar. Stepping through the open door into the smoky tavern, it was all but swanky. It was dirty and grimy with stained game tables where men gathered to gamble away their hard earned silver coins. A half dozen or more painted ladies were always available and a long bar was fixed at the back of the room where men filled their mugs with ale and shared tall boasty tales with the innkeeper. A steep staircase led upstairs to the rooms where the inn’s customers stayed and there Fist climbed to his second story room.

He inserted his heavy key into the old lock and turned it. The lock clicked and he pushed the door open. Inside, he struck up a spark and lit a wick then laid the bone cylinder on his table. Removing his cloak, he sniffed then squinted one eye trying to sense something that seemed odd. He noticed the window was ajar and after a quick inspection, he deduced a burglar had paid him a quick visit. He pulled upward on a loose floor board to see that his cache of game chips was still safely resting in their spot. He glanced back toward the window and figured he had scared the thief away when he returned.

Sitting at the table he broke the seal off the old tube of bone then removed the end plug revealing a roll of heavy parchment. He removed the roll of documents and spread them on the table. There was one scroll with writing, written in an odd long hand style, nearly it's own dialect. The other scroll was an odd cryptic diagram with circles connected by lines. In each circle was a unique bizarre rune.

Fist shifted his eyes back to the scroll with the long hand writing and he began to read the words penned in black ink.

Dearest Mr. La'brau,

I take this time to write you possibly the last letter I might have the opportunity to pen here. It has been seven years since the Shadowfall was driven from Siernod. The Vanguard has returned to his throne of enlightenment thus there are few men I trust as much as you to this most important endeavor. Far to the east a great evil still abides. Remnants of Discord lie in dark alcoves of the realm waiting to spring back and make this a dreary world for all.

I implore you to take this quest and rid the realm of one of the most threatening remaining bastions of Shadow. As you well know, the great city of Hironhirjn was overthrown during the Shadowfall. After our eventual victory at Meridius, Hironhijn was retaken and it has been returned to it's former glory, for the most part. However, there are dark shades within it's bowels seeking to reforge the Shadow Blades. I can trust no other but you to eradicate this most dangerous intrusion of Shadow.

Should this letter be enough to convince you, watch for our old friend, Fenghar, who shall be arriving at Thuron soon. Take flight with him to Hironhirjn then speak with a priest by the name of Chortiarre and he will help you decipher the code to locate the anvil of Discord.

I am sorry I cannot give you more details.

Yours truly,

Raladur

Fist rolled up the scrolls and put them back into the tube with haste and walked to the window and gazed at the leaning buildings and towers. The letter brought back old memories that he never wanted to re-live. He recalled the time he fled from The Daggens with a nameless man with no memory, to seek better fortunes but was drawn into a war, a conflict with powers outside the realm itself. Fist was a man who never backed away from a fight, but fighting for his personal cause was different