Berand Torler

By K. J. Hargan

Berand must fight for every last soul in Lanis against his greatest rival, his dearest friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. J. Hargan
• Release date: Apr 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370251124

K. J. Hargan

Author of the novel series: The Wealdland Stories: The Last Elf of Lanis, The Archer From Kipleth, The Lord of Lightning, and Legends of Haergill and Conniker's Tale The Chronicles of the Elf Human Wars: Berand Fool and the soon to be released Mathematics and Magic: Ancient Science

Book preview

Chapter One

Prepan

Hovn

(The Harbor)

He didn’t understand. The angry shouting faces blurred before his eyes. His little body was pushed back and forth. The only thing he could focus on was his mother. Her terrified visage seemed blank, as if he she held back a world-flooding torrent of emotion. She stoically clung to her husband, his father, who also had a blank expression as insults, threats, and rocks and mud were hurled at him. His father was struck several times, but barely flinched.

He tried to go to his parents, but his little cousin held him back. Only a youth himself, the cousin had a firm grip on his little shoulder.

His mother unpinned something from her cloak and tried to hand it to him. He saw a flash of gold, and then grasping and pushing hands and bodies. He quickly glanced down on the boards of the dock to see if he could see what she was trying to give him. He found nothing.

His parents were finally allowed to board the boat. The two elderly leeth that were already aboard the vessel, struggled out of their seats and onto the docks in disgust, muttering their indignation at having to wait for the next trip into the West.

The sails filled and the mooring was untied. The small ship pulled away from the pier with no one at the tiller, as if invisible hands were mercifully, gently taking the husband and wife away from the churning mob of outrage and hatred.

He wanted to jump into the water and swim after them. He almost got out of his cousin’s grasp. He saw his mother, in the slowly moving boat, start towards him as he wiggled to get free. She held up one hand to let him know to be calm. His father buried his face into his wife’s shoulder as the boat pulled out into the harbor.

The angry, taunting leeth threw rocks and debris at the boat as it pulled away. Nothing hit the vessel as it skimmed out onto the placid waters of the Mere Lanis.

Berand waited until the boat was a dark speck on the horizon. His cousin led him to one of the ferries that would take them back across the harbor to Lanis. He stood in a crush of adults, as many as the ferry could safely carry.

No one looked at him or spoke to him. It was as if he was invisible. It seemed as if all of the furious spite that poured out onto his parents was spent and there was none left for him. He wished they would shout at him. He wished they would beat him and throw him into the darkening waters of the bay. It was entirely his fault. They hated his parents because of him.

He was born a moonth too early. He understood the accusations and denials. He was born early because his parents had been together before they were married. He was a bastard and that was the only name with which he was addressed.

But, now he was the invisible bastard. He wasn’t to blame for his parent’s indiscretion, or so he heard again and again, not that any would speak directly to him. His parents fought the accusations again and again. Only a child, he knew, by heart now, the arguments and counter-arguments, although he didn’t really understand what any of it meant.

The only thing he did understand was that his parents had to flee. They had to go into the West. They had given up their lives because the leethan of Lanis had made living intolerable. It was a kind of suicide.

On the ride back on the ferry, he heard them talk. It was as good as an admission, they said. They left because they were guilty, they said. It was all settled now.

They disembarked at the Hye landing and the crush of adults swarmed towards the city. His cousin let go of his tunic and melted into the crowd. The surly, satisfied mob strode home with the mystified orphan moving amongst them like floating debris.

When Berand got to the city, he went back to his family’s house. He was astounded to find a large family of leeth moving into the mansion.

Go find somewhere else to live, one of the largest and meanest of the leeth snarled at Berand, who was too frightened to speak. He wandered the city until it was very late. Finally, he curled under a shrub and cried himself to sleep.

In the morning he awoke hungry and terrified. Normally, his mother, who would have made him something to eat, would have awakened him. He would have washed, changed his clothes, and attended to his lessons.

He didn’t know what to do since he couldn’t go back to his house. He knew his cousin’s family wouldn’t admit him. HHHe never went there because of his parent’s shame. He made his way to the hall where the children of the leethan were taught.

Go away! One of the teachers hissed. Don’t come back!

Berand was lost.

Everything he thought he knew and the whole structure of his life had vanished overnight even though he was still in the same place. He wandered about the city, an abandoned child. The adults completely ignored him as if he didn’t exist. The few children he knew were not allowed to speak to him or even look at him.

His hunger became an insistent presence. He had to eat or die. Perhaps that was what they were counting on. He would wither and perish if they waited long enough.

He knew that the leethan of Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam got their food from the mande’an that lived outside the city. He knew there were farms. He knew also that one could find food in the forest, if one had been trained in what was safe to eat. But, he had not been so trained. He was very young. He was only eighty years of age. To a human he would have appeared to be about six years old.

Most of his life had been daydreaming over books he should have been studying, and sleepless nights filled with anxiety from the constant, increasing barrage of abuse his parents endured.

He wandered through the city, past the open plaza where the old leeth played games, and the strapping young adults practiced fighting maneuvers. He went to sit in the shade of the World Tree that spread over the western edge of the plaza, but the elderly leeth spat at him and kicked rocks in his direction until he was filled with fear and left.

His hunger had become a gnawing pain in his gut. He had never known real hunger before, and he hoped that if he survived he would never have to endure such deprivation ever again.

The day was fading and he felt faint. He knew he would probably fall asleep and not wake. Maybe it would be for the best, he grimly thought without any self-pity.

He slowly walked through the hundreds of leeth on the way to their warm and comfortable homes, as night was about to fall. A commotion in the street caught his attention.

He came upon a leeth child about his age fighting with an adult. He knew this leeth. He had seen him before, but Berand’s parents had warned him away.

The young leeth had a hold of a loaf of bread that a regal leeth was trying to keep him from taking.

Get your hands off it, you little maggot! the adult leeth shouted, struggling against the surprising strength of the child.

You let go, or I will tell the council! the young leeth growled, kicking at the adult’s shins.

No, you little—

The struggling young leeth bit into the adult’s hand and wrenched the bread away.

Berand was shocked. He had never seen such behavior before. The thieving leeth stared at Berand and then grabbed him by the hand. Come with me! he shouted and pulled Berand along.

They ran as the adult leeth promised punishment and beatings. They turned down an embankment and huddled under a bridge as the angry adult went stomping past.

He tore a piece of bread from the loaf and gave it to Berand. I’ve seen what they did to you, he said as he bit into the loaf with his whole mouth. I guess we have to stick together now, he said around a mouthful of bread.

Berand sunk his teeth into his piece of bread and tears welled in his eyes. This simple bread was delicious, and had probably saved his life. He could feel a burning satisfaction in his stomach as his overwhelming hunger was finally sated.

Eh, the young leeth said. No crying. That’s how they get you. They wear you down until you give up. Never give up. Right?

Berand wiped his eyes, knowing that his face was probably smeared with dirt. He smiled and nodded. Thank you, he said. My name is Berand.

I know who you are, the other said. I’m Dirkdyths.

Chapter Two

Arstegryst Lankót

(The Battle for the South)

They came hours before dawn. The Hour of the Wolf they called it, while blackness still smothered the early morning sky. They came in their finest armor, silently trailing banners. They came like a great crashing wave of death onto the human camps still waking from their beds, set up at the edge of the forests of Lanis on the furthest reaches of the Great Southern Meadowlands.

Only days before, the leethan army, over one hundred thousand strong, returning from an urgent mission to destroy a progenitor dragon’s massive clutch of eggs, arrived home to find the human siege of their capitol broken by the release of an ice demon. The exhausting task of cremating the seeming unending piles of human bodies killed by Ferasht, the ice devil, had to be postponed once the larger army on the leethan frontier had been discovered.

There was no telling the size of the human forces. There had been no time to organize bird spies. Berand knew he had to attack them at once, and descend on them with no mercy. If the combined human tribes moved into the forests of Lanis there would be no removing them until the last leeth and last human drew breath.

Berand could feel the leeth army’s eyes upon him in the black darkness. He knew he was still thin from his year of ordeal as a castaway on an unnamed island. He knew his face was grim and lined anew with cruelty and anger. He knew his own eyes were dim and unreadable. He knew pity and compassion were now rare in his own breast.

His First General, Hundelle, organized the leethan troops with superb skill. His fierce exploits at the Battle of the Red Bower had impressed every soldier and noble alike. He was deeply respected and a little feared as well. Berand looked over at his old Forge Master. Hundelle’s huge arms fairly burst out of the fine armor selected for him. There had been no time to create bespoke plates, pauldrons, or guards befitting his high office. But, his soldiers felt it necessary that he wore the trappings of rank.

And so, the tight, fine metallic cladding only made his large frame seem even bigger. Berand smiled. He knew his First General was tender hearted and concerned chiefly with his wife and newly born child. Berand’s smile turned vicious, and he barred his teeth as he reasoned that the desire to protect his family made Hundelle even more ferocious than he would have been under any other circumstance.

There had been no discussion, no debate. After the siege of the capitol while the main part of the army was away, every leeth knew that this great human force had come to wipe the leethan race off the land. The old leeth saying occurred to Berand, the lion does not come to your door to see if you are sad. So, the leethan army was quickly gathered and moved out the night the human encampment was discovered.

They moved silently across the floor of the forest. Berand remembered looking about at his soldiers, moving with solemn determination, an unending army of ghosts. The glow of the setting moon dimly reflected off of thousands of helmets.

As they crossed the River Miriam, Berand thought of the long line of mourners that snaked around the Temple of the Lhalíi. He had wanted to go and pay his respects, in the leethan tradition when no body is recovered, for Jo’Anelle who had sacrificed her life holding back the progenitor dragon. Some of those waiting indicated for Berand to go to the front of the line, but he shook his head and waited his turn. Being Prince had its privileges. Berand sneered to himself. The title ‘Prince’ made a knot in his stomach. How could he feel any different after the torment he had suffered at the hands of the previous Prince?

He only let Prince Faulonthe StrongHand Rogalene occupy an instant of his memories. His contempt ran too deep. And, he still puzzled over the weird behavior of the Prince just before he, too, died in the flames of the progenitor dragon, Fnellahgach. He had seemed someone else. He had spoken an unfamiliar tongue. He seemed surprised and frightened when the dragon turned on him. ‘The wooden join doesn’t fit’ as another leethan saying went, and he vowed to explore the question later when the whole of his race wasn’t threatened with extinction.

The female leeth had insisted on coming to the fight. The ShieldWives would make his army nearly invincible. Their children and families were at risk as well as any male leeth and Berand did not hesitate to grant their demand. Alee’Anelle walked beside Berand, close enough to be mistaken for his ShieldWife. He thought with bitterness how he had found the love he so desperately needed in Alee’Anelle too late, after both their lives had been shattered. She was silent the whole time the army traveled the length of the forest to the meadowlands where the human armies camped.

His soldiers were beautiful and strange. They moved like images from a book of bizarre tales. Their faces, male and female, beautiful and immobile, fixed on the coming violence. The ShieldWives silently strode next to their warrior husbands, their armor never sounding or clanking, beautiful visages, stoic and filled with poise, easily hefting massive shields large enough to cover both husband and wife.

Appointed by Hundelle at their insistence, the workers from Berand’s Forge flanked him as a regal guard. Tarrikette, Markelle, Benlenne, and Elethenne wore black cladding, heavy and layered, they had devised themselves. They looked like elegant beetles, broad and fearsome. The insistence of their motion was undeniable. No one stood in their way, or spoke to them.

He wondered how he must appear to his forces, tall and thin. They looked away whenever he caught anyone’s eye. Was it shame for not heeding his warnings concerning the previous Prince? They knew what they had in Prince Faulonthe, cruelty, brutal punishment, and exacting obedience. That Prince had threatened all life with his mad quest to release a progenitor dragon on the humans. What would this new, grim Prince threaten, their very souls?

All of the young, unmarried females wanted to come, but Berand convinced them that he needed a battalion to remain in the city to protect the elderly and the very young from the possibility of the humans attacking their flank from the sea. The more ferocious of the young, unmarried girls would not hear of remaining behind, and Berand did not prevent them from coming with the attacking forces.

Berand thought of the old ones and the children. They might be able to fight. There would be no surrender to the humans. They would take no prisoners. He knew this in his heart. Would he take prisoners? He could not let his soul be dragged down to the lower standards of the humans.

And then, he thought about the Thods. The leethan leaders were given specific instructions to immediately identify them and report to Hundelle who had brought his paricale along to fight them. Berand, Hundelle, and Grendaire, the First Shaman, had reasoned from Hundelle’s fight against the Whisperer that the Thods could only be cut by silver. Lakinnthe, the First Historian, later confirmed this from decrepit texts she had recovered from the Second Age. The paricale, being edged with the precious metal on a whim by Hundelle, had severed the Whisperer’s arm as neatly as a scythe mowing ripe wheat. In all other cases steel and iron had no effect on these age-old enemies, not even a scratch.

Berand wondered what Dirkdyths would look like. Had he changed? He knew where the Thods had taken him, the Throat of Fire, that primordial place of raw magic. What had they done to him there? He could only guess, but he had told one and all to leave Dirkdyths for him. He secretly hoped that he would have a chance to reason with his best friend, but resolved to kill him if the necessity was inevitable.

There was no need to command the attack. When the leeth soldiers saw the vast human encampment, the rising fury in their breasts spurred them to unstoppable carnage. Berand would remember the screams for the rest of his life. Most of the humans still slumbered. His leethan warriors cut into tents and flesh with a cyclone of steel. The younger soldiers pressed into the first attack. The married males and ShieldWives held back. Their form of fighting was for slower progress and the confronting of organized ranks. The humans fell in sickening numbers. And yet, Berand did not hold his troops back.

The first thing that caught his eye as he rushed with his warriors into the thick of the battle was a carefully arraigned pile of cut timbers. He instantly knew what these were; ready for assembly once the human forces were close enough to the capitol.

Destroy the catapults! Berand commanded. The bitter memory of helplessly watching huge stone missiles crashing into house and flesh was still fresh in his heart, and above all else he desired to smash these human machines of wanton destruction.

The humans who had not yet been set upon awoke from their sleep and began an awful cry mixed with the ancient racial slur. The elves! The elves are upon us! Awake! To arms! The elves!

With the advantage of surprise now over, the leethan army, quietly at first, began the martial chant. Úd! Ortek! Úd! Any of the humans who understood would have recognized the growing war cry, Blood! War! Blood!

The sheer size of the human army slowed the leethan soldiers, even though the humans instantly suffered staggering losses. The alarm sounded now across the Meadowland, and the human soldiers far from the attack rushed to put on their armor and grab their weapons.

But, the momentum was with the leethan warriors. Berand saw that there was no organization or command amongst the humans, only panic and terror. This is not a battle, he thought, this is butchery.

He looked back. The leethan soldiers with their ShieldWives could barely keep up with the surge of the front line. One leeth left his ShieldWife to run ahead, and she immediately turned her shield around and stood with her back to the field. The taunts and calls of shame brought the warrior back to his ShieldWife to grovel an apology.

Berand made his way to Hundelle who paused between killing strokes to give commands to messengers who fled to deliver the orders to leaders spread out across the arena of war.

First General! Berand called to Hundelle as he made his way to his position. Let the ShieldWives rest with honor and let their Husbands join the young at the front lines!

Hundelle immediately saw the logic in holding back the ShieldWives so that all the soldiers could rush to the frontline and nodded to messengers who sprinted back to relay the order to the group struggling to stay up.

Berand’s personal guard spread out around Hundelle and Berand, and the two rested a moment. There doesn’t seem to be any leadership amongst the humans, Hundelle said.

I also noted this, Berand said. Have your flanks drive the humans to the middle. The Wylfling and Skylds will begin to fight each other as they did at the Battle of the Reavers over a year ago.

I am also pulling troops from our right flank to bolster our left flank, Hundelle said.

Berand instantly understood his General’s strategy. You want to keep them away from the River. They will almost certainly have ships that will allow large portions of their forces to flee.

Tythorde strode up to the Prince and the General. You are letting them escape to the Weald! he bellowed.

Watch your tongue! Benlenne of the personal guard shouted at Tythorde.

"How dare you speak to me thusly, mande’an!"

Benlenne bristled at the forbidden word and stepped forward.

Tythorde! Berand boomed, stepping between them. Don’t you have a division to command? Shall I send you home if you have no time for your orders?

Tythorde caught himself. Despite his hatred for Berand, he knew it would be politically disastrous to repudiate the leethan Prince. He snarled and turned to catch up to the fighting at the quickly receding frontline.

Berand and Hundelle purposefully walked ahead with the Regal Guard encircling them. The human armies still had not gathered together any coordinated resistance to the onslaught of the leethan warriors.

There has been no word of the Thods? Berand asked. Hundelle shook his head. Berand looked over at the bulging pack on the back of one of Hundelle’s personal guards. Berand guessed that the pack contained the paricale. If the Thods had been discovered then surely the only thing that could kill them would not still be bundled up.

Dirkdyths? Berand asked trying not to let his voice break.

Hundelle solemnly shook his head again.

There! Hundelle said pointing as something caught his eye. Berand followed his indication and saw the crease down the middle of the human soldiers where the Wylfling had fallen to fighting with the Skylds.

A messenger sprinted up to the General and the Prince. There were many ships waiting at Alfhich, the human sea town. When they saw that we had cut off the human army’s escape, they put out to sea. Shall I give orders to follow and destroy the ships?

Hundelle looked over at Berand. It is your decision, General, Berand softly said, barely audible above the ringing clash of sword and shield.

Let them go, Hundelle said. It would be a mistake to spread our forces too thin.

Berand smiled. Very wise, he said. And this battle?

It has been won, Hundelle declared. Pull back all leethan soldiers! he ordered his waiting messengers.

I know now for a certainty, Berand said, that I selected the right leeth for the office of First General.

The leaders of the various divisions and companies began to gather to the First General and the Prince. Tythorde was the first to speak. Why do we halt our fighting? They are in retreat! We can wipe them from the earth!

Be silent, said Donallund, the Second General, his armor dripping with blood.

They will regroup and turn on us!

Did you see any leading them with any skill? Did you see an enemy that can stand against us?

I saw an enemy with numbers as vast as the grass of the meadowland, Tythorde hotly said. If we do not cut them down now, then we will have to do it with a much greater loss of our own forces later!

That may be, Berand said. But I do not sanction unmitigated extermination. They must be allowed to come to their senses and ask for peace.

They will not! Tythorde rudely said. You are a fool!

Watch your tongue! Donallund said moving to Tythorde to strike him.

You are a fool if you follow him!

Donallund raised his heavily armored gauntlet. Tythorde readied his sword.

Stop! Hundelle commanded. My Prince, Hundelle turned to Berand. Perhaps you should censure Tythorde. The whole company fell silent.

Berand knew that to censure a leeth meant the worst dishonor short of banishment. Tythorde would not be allowed in the place of law, the Yel Rakinne. Any leeth would be able trespass against him with impunity. Any leeth could speak with the vilest insults against him and there could be no redress.

Let us return to our capitol and plan our defenses, Berand quietly said and then turned to walk away.

He did not wait for the other captains and nobles. His own Regal Guard had to scramble to catch up to him. Berand had no desire to censure Tythorde, no matter how rashly he had spoken. Berand knew how awful it was to be censured, for he had seen it done to his father.

Chapter Three

Hótei

(The Returner)

The cold, black, late spring sky was pocked with taunting stars. The Ripper and the Beheader vigorously poled the flat-bottomed boat against the sluggish current. The Whisperer sat at the back tending the tiller, while the fourth passenger, swaddled in stolen blankets, huddled at the front, head bowed, facing the Whisperer at the stern.

The Beheader and the Whisperer both kept a wary eye on the large barrel next to the fourth passenger.

The Ripper lifted his pole and cocked his head, Did you hear that? The two other Thods paused and held still to listen. The sulking hulk at the bow remained immobile.

The clash of sword on shield, Hoggva said as though tasting a finely spiced dish.

Those idiots have gone to war with the elves, Roun rasped.

Impossible! Rekk spat and then turned to the Whisperer. Should we go back? Should we make haste to the battle?

No, the shrouded colossus quietly said with a deeply vibrating voice that shook the whole boat.

They need our guidance, Roun whimpered.

They do not.

The Thods looked one to the other. This is the army you desired, Roun softly said. The Whisperer’s anxious exuberance slightly rocked the boat. All three Thods quickly looked at the barrel and when it settled without incident, all three breathed a sigh of relief.

Continue up the river, their hooded master instructed.

Rekk and Hoggva bent to their poles, pushing the boat against the languid insistence of the river. The flat-bottomed skiff rocked, close to tipping with the immense weight of their passenger. The cloaked figure was easily twice the size of even Hoggva, the Beheader, who was twice the weight of any human.

I know you fear nothing, Hoggva quietly mouthed to Rekk. And, Malmrith died from foolishness, but we cannot die! We should join the fight!

I remember the prophecies and omens, the Ripper answered, stealing a look at their new master. We killed the last of the legendary one-horned beasts that could have fulfilled the mystic foretelling of our deaths.

Yes! the Beheader hissed. Are we cowards?

Be silent and see to your task, the massive thing at the back of the boat impatiently growled. Rekk and Hoggva stiffened with the rebuke and doubled their efforts.

Rekk, known to the other Thods as the Ripper because of his huge hands and talon-like nails, started at a faint, wavering ball of light dancing in the air at the prow of the boat. It’s back, he growled. The sickly glowing, green ball impatiently bobbed up and down, keeping pace with the skiff.

He has less form, the Whisperer observed.

His body was destroyed, the cloaked figure rumbled. But his powerful hate and malice lives on. Pay him no mind. The Thods looked one to the other, fearfully avoiding debating with their master.

Tell us of the strengths of evil, Hoggva suddenly, cheerfully said. But then his stunned face conveyed his alarm at suddenly realizing that Malmrith, once their leader, was dead and no longer able to guide them through the litanies they had recited to each other down the millennia when faced with tedium. Rekk made a disrespectful sound of contempt, deep from the back of his throat.

The Whisperer looked to his master to see if he wished them to stay quiet, but the hulking black thing made a slight motion of his hand that indicated that they should speak.

Evil is thought to be folly by the weak, Roun whispered, taking up Malmrith’s old part of the beginning of this particular doctrine. But we know that it is not.

Rekk looked over at their passenger, but the shrouded giant was mute and quiescent. List the evils and explain why we cherish them, Rekk cautiously spoke his memorized part, one eye on the hooded figure, the other on the large barrel next to him.

First there is silence, Roun spoke his dead leader’s part. In silence is deception and lies. With falsehood comes power over one’s enemies.

What comes next? Roun continued, speaking the part that he would have answered to Malmrith.

Our next great evil is fear, Roun said. From fear flows the submission and sloth of your rivals. Embrace fear as a powerful tool to prevail over those within your reach.

What evil comes next? Hoggva recited his part.

Pride, Roun spoke Malmrith’s lines. From pride grows revenge, and delight in your destruction of your enemy.

What evil should we honor next? Rekk asked, subtly watching the cloaked one.

Greed, Roun answered. In greed we learn to cherish possessions and wealth. As we gather more to us, we grow more powerful and fearsome, and so the other evils make our strength greater and greater. In this we can find satisfaction, for this gluttony and indulgence is the reward for our domination of others.

Is lust a part of greed? Roun asked himself as part of the memorized dialogue.

Yes! he answered himself. Lust is the motivation of desire that leads to fulfillment. When others see our success they are filled with envy and they succumb to further submission. And, our own envy feeds our own lust making us masters of ourselves. So evil compounds evil to greater and greater might.

And what is the greatest evil? Hoggva asked.

The first and greatest evil is hate, Roun said. For hate is the foundation of all the other evils and gives birth to evil’s most effective tool.

What is that? Roun asked himself.

Wrath, Roun answered himself. Wrath is the energy behind all the other evils. In wrath is the seed of violence.

And violence conquers all! Hoggva cheerfully said, interrupting Roun and stealing Malmrith’s final line. Rekk and Roun looked at the Beheader with disgust. Roun’s face screwed up with anger, but before he could reprimand or challenge Hoggva, the passenger began to laugh.

His deep, reverberating laugh shook the boat and caused ragged ripples to emanate from the skiff out onto the water. The Thods held very still, watching the tilting barrel and waiting with fear-filled eyes.

I taught that to your first ancestors, the passenger said. He pulled down his cloak to reveal his black face. His eyes glowed red with potent corruption.

Did we say it right, Dirkdyths? Hoggva asked like a stupid child.

The passenger turned to fix him with an arrogant stare. Hoggva quickly looked down and hunched his huge shoulders in fear.

I am no longer Dirkdyths, the passenger said. I need a new name. The passenger suddenly held still as if he had been shocked. He then looked about with soft eyes devoid of the scarlet glow. Where am I? the passenger asked in a gentler voice. Who are you? The passenger bowed his head and clenched his fists as he struggled with internal turmoil.

The Thods waited with terrified anticipation. The passenger lifted his head, his eyes once again glowing red. As I said, I need a new name. Let me think. I know. I’ll use an old word from your language. The very thing you were just speaking of. I shall be Dulzhek.

The Thods looked at one another as if one of them should know the meaning of the word and were desperate for the others to relieve them of the fear of not knowing. Hoggva pled to Roun with his eyes. Roun slightly shook his head, prompting the Beheader to stay silent.

Shall we continue up the river, Great Dulzhek? Roun carefully asked.

We are almost at our destination, Dulzhek said surveying the riverbank. There. That will do.

The Thods pulled the skiff up onto the shore. Rekk and Hoggva had to wade in the water to their immense disgust, as the Thods detested getting wet, but their terror of Dulzhek was a greater motivator.

I know where we are, Roun said looking at the trees filled with red leaves.

This is where we lost—

Roun hissed at Rekk to be silent.

Get the barrel out of the boat, Dulzhek commanded with a deep, bored voice.

The Thods all looked at each other. Do it, the Whisperer hissed to Hoggva and Rekk. All three carefully moved the barrel out onto the river’s bank. Roun was little help as he had only one arm, the other severed by Hundelle’s wondrous paricale.

He’s over there, Dulzhek said pointing. I can feel the putrefaction oozing from what is left of the blackness of his soul.

Hoggva and Rekk scrambled forward. Roun hobbled behind because of his crippled leg that had been crushed by the dwarf Tarsuum’s War Hammer. The Whisperer was pathetically comical beside the other three monsters. Hoggva and Rekk began tearing at the mounds of decaying bodies that had been left unburied from the Battle at Red Bower.

Look! Roun exclaimed. Rekk and Hoggva looked up to see once again the nauseating green ball of light shimmering with excitement.

Quickly, Dulzhek said with a wicked grin revealing that all his enormous teeth had become dreadful fangs. The wrathful Wizard Know lusts for your Malmrith’s corpse.

Chapter Four

Torlfa Wylkweldrau

(The Peace of the Woods)

The triumphant cheers as the exultant army marched back to the capitol, Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam, set his teeth on edge.

Alee’Anelle walked beside him, neither looking left or right. When it became clear that Berand’s Regal Guard would not let him wade into the fight, rather than wait by his side like a ShieldWife, Alee’Anelle had plunged into the battle with the fierceness of her great grief as a spur to vent her anger in carnage. When Hundelle had called the troops back from the routed human lines, she had returned to his side, her hems splattered with blood.

Most of the higher caste leeth jostled and congratulated First General Hundelle as if he had never been a mande’an, one of the servant class. They saw in him the valor and strength of old. The romance of the warrior-leeth, so feared by humans and others long ago, was awoken in their recognition of his unstoppable fury and brilliant military tactics.

Tythorde and