Shards of S'Darin (In the Shadow of the Black Sun, Book 2)

By William Kenney

Picking up where A Dream of Storms (In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One) left off:

Harquinn has fallen.

Malhain and the forces of Mournenhile now occupy the west's most important stronghold. After narrowly escaping the battle, Davaris, possibly now the last living mage, pulls the others along on a seemingly impossible quest; to gather the remnants of S'Darin's staff, destroyed on the battlefield years ago. The only person that knows the location of S'Darin's staff is a madman, now locked away in Harrow Isle, an island asylum only accessible through Pahn Pirik, the underground kingdom of the Dwarves. The true nature of Shindire's visit to the mainland becomes apparent as they set off on their long journey into the barren south.

The forest of Elfwhere has nearly been destroyed. Vasparian and Gorin return to the forest of the Elves in the hopes of defending its capital and rescuing Vasparian's family. Can the Elves convince the mysterious Addrefae to fight, unleashing their ancient sorcery against their common enemy?

Thousands strong, a shambling column of diseased people travel mindlessly toward the north. What is Trune's role in Mournenhile's evil plan and will the true nature of the plague finally be revealed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Kenney
• Release date: Aug 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476375922

William Kenney

William Kenney is an American writer of fantasy fiction. He writes mainly dark epic fantasy and has also written in the horror genre. Kenney began writing while in high school, trying his hand at novels in the science fiction and fantasy genre. After reading The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien, he began to focus on epic fantasy. In the year 2000 Kenney wrote A Dream of Storms, the first book of the In the Shadow of the Black Sun trilogy. This book was eventually published in July of 2011, with its sequel Shards of S'Darin being released a year later. 2014 saw the release of the final book in the trilogy called Mournenhile.William Kenney has also written 2 books in his Tales of Embremere series aimed at younger readers. Book one is entitled Embremere, with Return to Embremere being its sequel.Kenney has also published a horror novella called Undergrowth as an homage to H. P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe, a horror novel called Ingheist and Die Dead Enough, a story of the zombie apocalypse.With co-author Stefain, William has created Maidenjade, a dark fantasy anthology series featuring thieves and assassins in a desperate city. Two books have been released so far.William Kenney is also an accomplished artist, having painted the covers to his own books as well as many by independent authors. He currently lives in the St. Louis area, is married and has two children.Twitter- @WilliamJKenneyBlog- AuthorWilliamKenney.blogspot.comWriters Circle- SkulldustCircle.blogspot.comVisit the Facebook page for A Dream of Storms at http://www.facebook.com/ADreamofStorms

Book preview

In the Shadow of the Black Sun

Book Two:

Shards of S’Darin

by

William Kenney

Copyright 2012 William Kenney

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For

Mun, Riley and Lok

Acknowledgements

To my Mother

To my sister and her family

To Kathy Rager, for the proofreading/editing assistance

To my fellow authors, Stefain, David Woods, Gary Vanucci and Benedict Martin for the support

To Jason Compton. We had some great conversations, didn't we?

To Tom Buecker, Joe Thomas and Greg Mehlhose. You guys helped shaped the person I became, whether you realize it or not

[e-mail]

AuthorWilliamKenney.blogspot.com

CHAPTER ONE

I’m not carrying you when you get tired. If you complain, I’m gonna choke you. Agreed?

The road out there is tough, brother.

Most of all … you have to promise not to get yourself killed …

Hagan awoke as if emerging from a river’s swift undertow. He had a hard time forcing his eyes open, but a sense of urgency clawed at his consciousness. Through his heavy eyelids he made out the shape of Vasparian Grael, as the Elf kneeled down near him.

Hagan? How are you feeling, my friend? he said, his eyes seemingly avoiding those of his wounded companion. Instead he traced the seams of the tent that Hagan now rested in.

Hagan began to speak, but his throat was so dry he had to swallow several times before the words came out. Vasp ... I …

The sudden realization hit him, then. All thought of his injuries went ignored and his thoughts fixed on one thing.

D’Pharin. he said quietly, more to himself than to Vasparian. Wind. He’s gone. The emotion began to overtake him. He looked past his Elven friend, several paces beyond the tent and saw D’Pharin’s body lying motionless, his cloak now covering his face. Hagan put his face in his hands.

Hagan. We were all there. You did everything that you could to save him. Vasp said placing a hand on his shoulder and offering a waterskin. I am so sorry, my friend. Would that I could go back in time and change things …

Hagan looked up, his eyes now wet with tears and shook his head. This can’t be real. It didn’t happen. My brother is not dead. No.

He noticed Gorin, then, sitting alone with his back to the others. Shindire stood near D’Pharin’s body, her eyes studying the clouds above. To him, she seemed very different after the events in Harquinn. Her arching brows and posture betrayed a deep sorrow, a heaviness that weighed upon her. He nearly emptied the waterskin, coughed a bit and then his expression became one of confusion.

Vasp, where’s Davaris? Hagan asked.

The same place that you were mere moments ago. the Wood Elf said with a slight smile. He lies asleep just a few paces away. He turned and sat, facing the outside. Hagan, the battle with Khienen took much from him. I did not think he would make it through the night. His breathing was so shallow and he didn’t move at all while he slept.

Have I been asleep for long?

Vasp met his eyes, momentarily. It has been two days since the battle at Harquinn. Shindire gave you something for the pain. Medicine from across the Sleeping Sea. It seems to have worked.

"I don’t feel the pain in my leg. In fact, I can’t feel my leg at all. My side, however, is on fire."

Vasp nodded. She thinks there was poison on Malhain’s spear and she had to treat it differently than your leg. She just put a new dressing on you an hour ago and believes she has forced the poison from your body. She told me she didn’t dare give you more medicine for pain lest you never wake again.

Gorin had heard their voices and walked to the tent, his feet sending slight tremors through the ground as he approached.

Hmmm … it is good to have you back with us, Hagan. That wicked demon nearly sent you into the Wind.

Thank you, Gorin. Uh, where are we, by the way?

Vasp interjected. Once we were certain that Malhain’s soldiers had given up pursuit, we set up camp. We are near the banks of the Illdredge river, perhaps ten leagues northwest of Harquinn now.

Hagan shifted his body as if to stand. The Elf gently pushed him back into a seated position.

Just rest for now. We’ll be on our way soon enough. Hagan … Vasp paused in thought. We waited for you to come to. Your brother …

I know Vasp. We need to bury him.

Hagan, Gorin began. You choose the spot and I will prepare it. Hmmm … It will take no time at all. Near the river, just down there - The Troll motioned over his shoulder. There is a great oak tree with many large stones among its roots. A very suitable resting place for him, if I may be so bold. Forever in the shadow of its branches and surrounded by the ancient strength of the stones. he added. His grey flesh still looked very battered and blackened, his red – rimmed eyes seeming so dark now.

I’m sure you’ve chosen a beautiful spot, Gorin. Please, you would honor him. Hagan said, staring out at his brother’s lifeless shape. As soon as I can stand, we will lay him to rest.

He looked back to the Troll. I can’t believe I pulled him into this. Heed my words, Malhain will die at the end of my blade. By the Wind, I swear it. His teeth ground and he tightly closed his eyes.

I pray that I am there to witness that sight, Hagan. He must pay for taking young D’Pharin from us. Hmmm… Hagan, my quest is complete now. My orders carried out. The elders of Rathnok expect me to return. I must go home.

Hagan felt a sudden sadness. Even in this short time, he had come to count on the fatherly Troll and to enjoy his company.

Gorin, what am I called? he asked with a slight smile.

My friend? What do you mean?

My name.

Why, you are Lord Hagan Marindel, Hero of the Black Sun. Gorin stated firmly.

"So you have reminded me so many times since first we met. Then, Gorin, my friend… as Lord Hagan I command you to stay in my service." He managed a broad smile and a slight nod.

But…I…Hmmmm…

Vasparian took a step closer. And I, as a General, command it as well. You have no choice. The elders will understand.

The Stone Troll looked puzzled at first, then shook his great head from side to side. He smiled and let out a deep chuckle. Clapping a hand on both of their shoulders.

You are both truly honorable warriors. Very well. he said with an immense feeling of happiness. In his mind, what was there to go back for?

Gorin, before you go to the river, will you ask Shindire to speak with me? I need to thank her for nursing me back to health.

Of course, my friend. He lumbered off in the High Elf’s direction with renewed purpose. It would be an honorable task to prepare D’Pharin’s grave and Hagan had let him choose the site.

Vasp, what can we do now? Harquinn belongs to Mournenhile. So many mages destroyed and their library now ashes. What hope do we have of stopping this?

The Elf furrowed his brow and stepped outside. I’ve been waiting for Davaris to awaken to ask those very questions. I am at a loss. In the past, we have always turned to the Council. They have always had the answers. They knew how to turn back the forces of darkness. Now …most of them dwell in the chambers of Paren-Rothe, shades. He paused for a moment in silence. How many mages do you think made it out alive?

Hagan did not respond. He wasn’t sure how to answer, but he didn’t think the number was very high. At this time, he only knew of one surviving council member and he lay seriously wounded just a few steps away. He had never known much about sorcery, but he knew of the toll it took on one’s body. The strength of the mind had to carry on once the physical self had faltered. Davaris had always been as strong – willed as they come, but even a mage such as he had limits. He had already lived longer than most and Hagan wondered how much time the old man had left. How soon before only his ghost remained in the ruins of Paren-Rothe?

You are looking much better. announced Shindire as she approached the tent. She knelt in front of him, examining his leg. She gently peeled back the bandage there and studied the wound underneath. This has healed nicely. You will most likely limp for a time, but soon you will be as good as new. Now, let’s have a look at the other injury.

Hagan winced as her hands lightly pushed down on the flesh around the stab wound. She seemed satisfied with what she saw and began to re-dress the wound. Her mannerisms seemed much more gentle than before, as if she had taken down the emotional wall that had surrounded her. He liked her a great deal more at the moment than he had when they had first met. She had been so cold and unapproachable. He had not known High Elves in the past, but had heard that most of them had a very high opinion of themselves. Most would never dream of visiting the mainland of Kirkaldin, not among the peasants. All other peoples were lowly and uneducated in their eyes. He was very curious about her past. How was it that she came to be Graelund? Her voice startled him, bringing him away from his thoughts.

"Hagan … I’m sorry … Lord Hagan …" she began.

He cut her off immediately. Just Hagan, Shindire. Please, no more ‘Lord’ nonsense. I will not have friends call me ‘Lord’.

Very well, Hagan. I - I need to say something. I’ve been going over all that has happened since our quest began. Over and over in my head. You have treated me fairly, even with my disdain and … atop the walls at Harquinn … She paused and looked him squarely in the eyes. Her eyes seemed to swim with a silvery blue color, so intense that he had to force himself to match her gaze.

Shindire, you don’t have to ...

"I do! Hagan, you nearly died to save me. The way I treated you, all of you … she glanced in Vasparian’s direction. You had every right to let me fall. My thoughts on those of the mainland have changed and I will note that in my journals. Perhaps some of the ways of my culture are wrong." She turned to go, but turned suddenly to face him once more.

Thank you, Hagan.

Then she left the tent, walking in the same direction that Gorin had taken. Vasp stared after her in astonishment. That was certainly unexpected.

Do not take that lightly, friend. he murmured. In all of my years, I have never heard a High Elf apologize. Not once.

She nearly died. That can definitely cause one to re-think one’s choices. Hagan said. "I admit, I like this Shindire much better." He and Vasp smiled.

He watched her then as she once again took out her journal. It was a massive volume, bound in some type of animal skin, most likely from across the sea. It had been decorated with the same graceful, swirling patterns that adorned the sailing vessels, occasionally seen from afar by the fishermen that trolled the west. Shindire began hastily scribbling upon the parchment once more. She wrote for a moment and then her head turned suddenly. She closed the book and reached for her blade.

Hagan tried to sit up with much difficulty. Vasp, someone’s coming.

Vasparian ran from the tent and out of Hagan’s sight.

Vasp? What’s going on?

He then heard the steady pounding of hooves, as several riders approached from the direction of the river. Vasp called out, It’s alright, Hagan. The Red Lion comes and a few of his men.

Hagan relaxed and let out a sigh of both relief and happiness that the Red Lion had escaped the gates of Harquinn. He had thought him most assuredly dead.

Just then, the dirty and blood-streaked face of the Red Lion came into view. He reached out a hand in greeting.

Lord Hagan. It is good to see you again. Are you well?

Much better now. The wounds are healing quickly thanks to the High Elf. he replied, shaking the commander’s hand. Do you have any news?

The Red Lion let out a long breath, leaning his head back, eyes closed. None that you will want to hear, my Lord. I have witnessed things most evil. Malhain did not even let the children flee. As many as he could run down, he did, slaughtering them in the fields outside the city. Women as well. His men have no souls, Lord Hagan. He is some sort of Demon, I have no doubt.

Hagan nodded. It is he who has killed my brother, D’Pharin. He glanced outside to the supine body, there upon the grass. The light wind occasionally whipped the cloth that covered it, exposing D’Pharin’s now lifeless hand. The sleeve of his shirt was dark with the stain of his blood.

Wind. I am sorry. Know that I am in your service. Anything you ask of me and my men, will be done.

Thank you, commander. What of the mages? Did any make it out alive? Hagan asked, dreading the answer.

I saw none. the Red Lion stated with sadness. Magefire raged for some time after you had gone, but suddenly stopped and was no more. The keep is now nothing more than scattered stones and ash. Such a loss. Malhain and his forces hold the city now and from what I can gather, he is savagely eliminating the population.

War should be fought among soldiers. Hagan said, shaking his head. Women, children, civilians … they should not be a part of it.

I agree. the Red Lion stated, his matted hair sticking to his face as he nodded. His clothing and armor were now battered and crusted with blood. Hagan could see that his right eye was somewhat swollen and a gash was evident there upon his cheek. He had seen more than his fair share of battle. If Kirkaldin could be saved from the coming evil of Mournenhile, it was men such as he that would save it. I am still uncertain how Malhain moved his men to Harquinn unnoticed. It does not seem possible. My scouts should have seen them. We should have had warning.

Perhaps sorcery of some sort. Hagan said, puzzled. It was well known that at intervals all along the Edge, towers had been built, manned by sentries ever watchful for evil’s approach. Certainly an army of such size could not sneak across unseen. I need to speak with Davaris. The moment he wakes I –

The mage’s rough voice interrupted him from outside. "He is awake! How could one sleep with all this chatter?" He let out a small chuckle and coughed.

Hearing Davaris speaking, the others quickly returned to the tents. Gorin came and gently helped Hagan to his feet. The Troll had to support him completely, Shindire’s medicine still rendering his lower half useless. Gorin nearly carried Hagan over to the tent in which Davaris rested. Inside, the old man lay flat on his back, one arm on his chest, the other still clutching his staff as it rested upon the ground. There was blood caked in his white beard and his face seemed to have aged greatly, evidence of the grueling sorcerous struggle in Councilkeep. Hagan could not believe he was still alive.

There he is. the weakened mage said, just lifting his head enough to meet Hagan’s eyes. You seem to have fared better than I, young man.

It seems I owe it all to Shindire. Without her culture’s remedies, I don’t think I would be here, Davaris. Hagan explained. The High Elf smiled and nodded in their direction. The fact that you are still with us amazes me. There is no doubt that you are the Crest of Councilcrane.

The council has been devastated. I reach out with my mind Hagan and … I feel no one. Not even the lesser mages, those still in training. I fear that they are all gone. The mage’s lips tightened into a thin line and his eyes closed briefly.

Vasparian knelt down beside the mage. "All of them?"

Davaris nodded. For a time, after we escaped, I could still feel the presence of some of my brethren. Then, snuffed out like a candle. Wind, I hope I am mistaken.

The mage, Ayanor, made a truly honorable sacrifice. Hmmm …his courage can never be forgotten. Gorin added. The Red Lion nodded his strong agreement.

I have been thinking of Ayanor since we fled Harquinn. He always doubted himself, always thought he was lowly in our eyes. He was so wrong. I am not certain how he brought the entire keep down. He had never demonstrated that amount of power. Davaris said, running his hand across his forehead. I will miss him.

Davaris painfully rolled to his side to better see the group. My Troll friend, I have still not thanked you for what you did back there and to be honest, I am still not sure how you did it. Can you explain?

Gorin dropped to one knee with a heavy thud, his bald head scraping the roof of the tent.

Crest, below the keep, in the dungeons I found the cell that held my dear friend, Windenn. It was empty, but her blood was there upon the wall. In my sadness, I touched it. Then, in the midst of your battle with Khienen, I realized how I could use the blood on my fingers. I remembered the tales of mage’s blood and how the power runs through it.

Ahhh! Davaris remarked. And grabbing my staff, you infused me with her magic. Wind, is she strong. I felt the presence of S’Darin when Khienen was destroyed. He paused for a moment in thought. "Khienen. He gained my trust and the trust of Councilcrane so easily. Why didn’t we see? My greatest fear is that he discovered some of the long-kept secrets of the council. There are things – were things in the keep that the servants of Mournenhile should never be made aware of. Things that could bring about the fall of our world."

What things? asked Hagan as he gripped Gorin’s tattooed arm.

The battered mage thought in silence for a moment and then motioned them closer. Please, be seated everyone. It is time that I share the council’s most treasured secrets.

They all moved into the tent, Gorin and Hagan to the mage’s left, Vasparian and the Red Lion to his right. Shindire sat in the entryway, her face rigid as if she feared that which Davaris would declare. It was as if she knew what he was going to say.

Davaris Crest, are you sure this is the time to release that information? she asked, gaining many puzzled looks from those gathered there.

She did know.

I understand your concern, Shindire. I don’t think there is much choice, given the circumstances. The council is gone. I may be the only one left with this knowledge. Knowledge that may help wrest our world from Mournenhile’s grasp.

Very well, Crest. You speak wisely as always. she answered.

"Over three hundred years ago, the master mage S’Darin commanded powers theretofore unseen. From my studies within our library, I think I have gathered what he must have been like. Very strong of mind, amazingly strong. It is said that, as a child, people feared him. The imperceptible fire that radiated from his being was such that it put people on edge. No one wished to be around the lad. Even then he was very aware of himself. His magic. When he entered into training, at the tender age of nine, he excelled. It was as if the knowledge was born into him. Many things he could deduce before they were fully explained to him."

Even the masters there, at Haimengrost, were said to be afraid of young S’Darin. He had something in his eyes. An awareness far beyond his years and beyond most mage’s abilities. At age thirteen, they bestowed upon him the official title of mage, his studies complete.

Vasparian interrupted. Thirteen? Initiates do not leave the academies until age twenty.

Not S’Darin. Davaris stated with pride. He was released from Haimengrost, for they had nothing more to teach him. While attending the school, he had learned of Shindire’s people, the mysterious High Elves and their secretive sorcery. This was an area that he knew very little about and it aroused his curiosity. When he returned to his parents, he implored them take him to the sea port at Aka Brindor, book him passage across the Sleeping Sea to Velinyss.

It was the first time a human had set foot on High Elven soil. Shindire added as she pulled a small journal from her belt. She found a quill that she was satisfied with and started writing in the elegant, flowing script she used.

Yes. An unheard of event. Evidently the magic that exuded from him – a sort of charm – convinced the High Elven lords to allow him to come ashore. S’Darin stayed there on the islands for several years. We cannot be certain what knowledge he gained there, but it must have been vast. explained the mage, clearing his throat to begin again.

"The history tomes tell of his rise to power. He returned to the mainland and approached the council in Harquinn. He did not request the rank of Crest. They offered it to him. His charm was such as to mesmerize them all, a near-divine air of leadership."

While among the Elves in Velinyss, he designed a new robe for himself. Each mage wears a unique garment that represents who they are, their individuality. His robe had been embroidered with the graceful images of Elven cranes, common across the sea.

Shindire once again added to the mage’s tale. They are the Dulyne cranes, revered by my people. Their calls echo across the lakes at dusk. So beautiful is the sound of their cry, that my ancestors fashioned flutes that mimic them. They are majestic and proud creatures.

So it is said. agreed Davaris. "This is why the mages were renamed as Councilcrane. In S’Darin’s honor.

None had ever seen a power such as his. It was so far beyond what others were capable of, it was frightening. It was written that S’Darin himself grew to almost fear his magic, so potent had it become. He also realized what the servants of the dark would do to gain his power. He directed all council members to swear an oath. Upon his death, his final wishes were to be strictly adhered to. The last ten years of his life, he had designed and created a way to prevent Mournenhile from ever using his power. Through his great sorcery, he had fashioned an elaborate prison. His body was to be laid to rest inside this unearthly structure. Should someone discover a way to wrest his power from him, even in the afterlife, he would secret himself in an impenetrable tomb.

The mages all agreed. When death came for S’Darin, they would encase him forever in this prison and it would be placed somewhere impossible to reach.

Where would that be? Hagan asked. Nowhere is impossible to reach. Eventually, someone would find it.

With S’Darin’s help, the council selected a site for the tomb. Together, they traveled north past Elfwhere, through the mountains. Nearly as far as Tine. A large cove is there on the coast. Calm water with gentle lapping waves, sheltered from the northern sea. Here they constructed his gravesite. Far out in the center of the cove, there is a small island surrounded by tall towers of stone. On that island is the tomb of S’Darin.

Crest, The Red Lion asked. It seems simple to find. A cove to the north? A small island surrounded by stones? How hard would it be to find the tomb?

Oh, it is not hard to find, commander. Davaris answered. However, the council cast such a spell on the cove. The waters therein are forever cursed. No living thing can touch it. Were you to set foot off of the shore, you would instantly die. The soil of the island is in the same way cursed. Since S’Darin was placed there all those years ago, no one dares venture there. No sea life is there, no plant life is there, nothing.

S’Darin’s body is now long gone. So many years have passed; perhaps even the bones have gone to dust. However, just as Paren-Rothe houses the ghosts of mages long dead, so too does the tomb.

S’Darin’s ghost? Hagan asked.

Yes. Davaris said, looking from face to face. A mage swears an allegiance to the world. Even in death, he will remain to protect it, if only to offer advice and guidance. A mage is forever tied to this earthly plane of existence with no hope of joining the Wind.

All of these years... Shindire began. Trapped there inside his tomb. A noble sacrifice to protect us all.

Hagan frowned. "Strange that he is protecting us from him."

I’ll keep on walkin’. Yes, yes. Trune muttered, placing one gangrenous foot in front of the other. The terrain was currently downhill, so the journey had become somewhat easier. "Walkin’ because the voice tells me to. Do you … hear the voice? I hear it. I-"

The old man stopped suddenly, his back straightening. He spun around and looked behind him, up the slope. At the top, silhouetted by the sun were two figures, walking toward him.

Who are ye? he shouted. What d’ye want?

The figures kept moving down the hill, paying him no heed. They seemed to shamble when they walked, much as he did. Trune began to back away. What was this? Someone found out about the children? It wasn’t his fault! The voice. It was always the voice.

He held his ground and soon he could make out details of his two pursuers. One man. One woman. Both in tatters. He could easily make out the dark splotches there upon their calves, oozing with a foul liquid. The Rot. They both had the Rot. They stopped there just an arm’s length away and simply stared, faraway and blank expressions upon their faces. Their jaws hung slack and they seemed unaware of their surroundings.

Well, what d’ye want? Ye followin’ me? he questioned, looking them over.

Neither responded in any way.

Eh? Spit on ye, then! I got no time fer this.

The voice in his head was ever urgent. Were he to ignore it, the pain in his temples would grow so severe as to be unbearable. He turned and hobbled down the hill. A few steps later and he realized the two were right behind him.

What in hell? What’re ye doin’? Ye can’t be followin’ me like that! Now, go on! He motioned for them to move away, again with no response.

Damn. he muttered. Trune walked off again, slightly dragging his left foot, with two new companions in tow.

Gorin carried him gently, not unlike one would a small child, as they made their way to the river and to the final resting place of the younger Marindel. The somber procession, including the weakened Davaris, took only a short time, but to Hagan it seemed like ages, his thoughts racing through his mind. Was it his fault that D’pharin had met his end at Malhain’s spear? Why hadn’t he been faster and gotten to his brother in time? Did the others think he was to blame? This multitude of thoughts swirled in his head, faster and faster, joining together to form a single emotion.

Hate.

Not a single doubt dwelled inside. He would find Malhain, no matter how long it took. He would tear out his heart, smiling all the while. He grit his teeth as he trod along behind Gorin. Hate was easier to hold onto than sadness. He could live with the anger and hostility, just not the grief. Once his brother was buried, he would do his best to ignore the pain, pretend it wasn’t there, just beneath the skin.

The Stone Troll had indeed picked a suitable site to bury D’Pharin and Hagan managed a slight smile as they passed under the great tree’s knotted limbs. The leaves were thick now, casting a deep shadow over the area. Just as Gorin had said, there were sizeable grey stones protruding from the grass-covered soil all about the exposed roots. The tree was still quite a distance from the Illdredge, but the constant sound of water reached them as they lowered D’Pharin into the ground.

Hagan and Shindire declined to speak, the others took their turns, all well-spoken and honorable eulogies. As Vasparian finished the last speech, Hagan kneeled with difficulty and took a clump of dirt in his hand. He stood at the edge of the grave for a moment, looking down at the form of his dead brother, knowing he would never see him again. A tear rolled down his cheek and he tossed the dirt in.

I will be that hero, brother. For you, I will be Lord Hagan. he quietly spoke. The others each tossed in a handful of dirt and joined Hagan who had moved a few steps away.

You should all return to the tents. Gorin called out. I will bury young D’Pharin. I would be proud to do this. Hmmm.

Hagan nodded. Very well, Gorin. Thank you for all that you have done today.

The group turned then and slowly returned to their campsite, Hagan glancing over his shoulder now and then.

It is done. All else I put to the side, my only goal is Malhain’s death.

It is only pain that I feel. Pain and confusion. Then, there is the burning. Not as a fire, but a burning within the soul. It feels as if the flesh of this body will burst from the vicious, churning power within.

I cannot slow my breathing.

Am I dying?

My clothes drenched with sweat, I lie here and toss with fever. The taste of blood is still in my mouth.

So alone.

Where are you now?

They had now gathered outside of the tents, sitting in a close circle. Davaris seemed to be improving somewhat, with only the occasional moan and cough. The old man seemed immortal. Shindire had sat directly to Hagan’s left and as he looked at her, she met his eyes with a smile. He noticed once more the color of her eyes, the silvery blue, like the moonlit sea. He smiled back and then looked around the circle to the other faces there. Faces beaten and battered, dirtied by battles seemingly unending. He recognized the empty look behind their stares, as of someone that had seen far too much death.

Davaris addressed the group.

Friends, with the fall of Councilcrane, there is little hope in defeating the darkness that has come into our home. If I am the only mage left, we do not have the strength to drive them back. But we had seen this coming. It was foretold by one of my brothers. We had some time to ready ourselves. Shindire did not volunteer to come to the mainland, she was summoned. An agreement between her people and the mages has been made.

You see, S’Darin’s ghost was not the only thing left on the battlefield all those years ago. His staff, though shattered, had fallen there. The pieces still held the potent energy of his magic.

I’ve heard the stories of his staff. One of the soldiers added. But no one is sure what happened to the pieces.

Not true. said Shindire, her heaviest volume resting on her knees.

The High Elf speaks truthfully. the mage began. After the battle of Tree Towers, no one was allowed near the site of S’Darin’s fall. It was considered sacred ground and a stone wall built around it. Perhaps twenty years ago, in cooperation with Shindire’s people, we began to excavate the area, finding small shards of what could only be S’Darin’s staff.

You found them? Hagan asked of her.

No, researchers from my land found them and returned them across the Sleeping Sea. My charge was to reassemble the pieces and it took me all these twenty two years to do so.

Twenty two years, Graelund? Gorin asked. How many pieces were there?

One thousand, three hundred and twenty four.

Davaris spoke again. Please bear in mind, it is not the entire staff, of course. It is the center, where the great mage’s hands grasped it. The most concentrated portion of energy.

Because of the intensity of the battle and the inevitable explosion, the pieces resisted being put back together. Each new piece was a struggle. the High Elf went on. Many peoples in many lands have sensed the growing presence in the east, the powers unimaginable. Even the members of Councilcrane feared the extent of those powers and devised a plan to thwart it.

Yes, Davaris said. to gather the remnants of S’Darin’s staff. We know the location of one of the pieces and have heard rumors of another. We plan to join the pieces again and attempt to use its power to defeat Mournenhile.

But who could wield it? Isn’t that impossible, one mage using another mage’s staff? Even I know that much about sorcery. said Hagan trying to grasp this new plan.

Davaris nodded, brushing the hair out of his eyes. The Tinkerers of Aka Brindor believe that the Runeglobe exists for this very purpose. They have now deciphered enough of the symbols upon its surface to deduce its meaning, they say. With the Runeglobe in hand, one mage could wield another’s staff.

What if they are mistaken, Crest? What if the Runeglobe is designed for some other purpose altogether? As far as we know, you are the only mage left alive. It was the Red Lion who spoke, he who had sworn his sword to serve the council. Were you to try to use S’Darin’s staff…it seems all too risky.

The others nodded in agreement. The Runeglobe had been a mystery since its discovery, the ancient glyphs upon it so foreign as to be indecipherable to even the most schooled of Tinkerers. Suddenly they have all of the answers? It seemed unlikely.

"There is one other, but she has left us. She is far out of my reach. I do not sense her at all. Were she present, she could wield the staff. I am certain of it."

Gorin shifted where he sat. Hearing of the Woodwarden made him extremely uncomfortable. He tried to keep his composure and hide his grief at her loss. Hmmm… You still believe she is alive, Crest? he asked.

"I know it. Her magic is so strong, so frightening. I believe in my heart that she still lives. Somewhere out there she still lives."

Gorin managed a weak smile, not quite convinced. I pray to the Wind that you are right.

Vasparian joined the conversation. Where do we find the other pieces? How reliable are these rumors that you have heard?

"Several leagues across the Edge, in the city known as Brynn Abyss, lived a man called Berle Dorn. In most aspects