Maldene II: Mysteries Of Olde

By Mark Anthony Tierno

The second novel in the Maldene series, it begins with the most important thing to come out of their adventures of the first book: a simple looking map. An indestructible map in an unknown language that starts them on a quest to seek out answers from the fabled Great Sage at the Foot of the World.

And yet, these answers are only the beginning, for it puts them on the road to the most incredible secret anywhere on or off Maldene. A terrifying awe-inspiring revelation that provides the first clue as to the real goal of the villainous Miro. For the time of the silence of the world is at an end.

Yet, during their incredible journey, other events are afoot. For Miro's minions are active, increasing his hordes and readying up for an inevitable war that the King is tasked with trying to counter. And yet, for all the long millennia that Miro has been around– he the cause of many a civilization's collapse and well able to have no doubt conquered the world many times over by now– why hasn't he? What's stopping him and what is he *really* after?

That map will lead our heroes to more answers than they knew they had questions for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Anthony Tierno
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780985942564

Mark Anthony Tierno

A full-time writer with a Masters in Physics, the soul of a poet, and possessed of a unique descriptive voice. The result is an unrivaled talent for the creation of alien vistas, deeply woven plots, characters with distinctive personalities, and dynamic and realistic dialogue. Tierno knows how to put emotions on paper, to draw the reader in and feel the highs and the lows, to cry tears of joy or sadness as if there in the story yourself. He has built entire worlds, their cultures, everything planned down to the smallest detail; even the most fantastic of worlds are still consistent within their own laws, the better to make it seem as real as the Earth upon which we live. Yet all this is but backdrop, the stage to set for incredible plots, and shape the story into something that will draw you in with the force of a black hole.Additionally, Tierno loves crossing genres. High fantasy with some Sci-Fi elements mixed in for one series, cyberpunk with magical realism and high-level conspiracies for another, even one series that blends steampunk with a world of intelligent insects (he calls it “bee-punk”). Let other people write the pure genres, he just loves mixing it up.Describing Mark Anthony Tierno as a full-time writer is probably understating things a bit. 8 to 10 hour session writing well over 12,000 words in a single day is not uncommon. Between the detailed planning and sheer imagination, Mr. Tierno has never known writer’s block, nor yet seen the limit of his creativity.But what really sets him apart is the epic saga, for ‘epic’ is where he starts from. With works that include asingle series that stretches over a dozen books long, 5 million words, and over a couple hundred characters all skillfully juggled, it is not an exaggeration to say that Mark Anthony Tierno goes well beyond what would normally be considered as ‘epic’. He goes beyond epic because he loves the thrill and excitement that comes from the crafting and reading of a grand saga, of creating a world with such detail that one can get lost within it because here is a world that just might really exist... somewhere.

Book preview

MALDENE II

MALDENE II:

Mysteries Of Olde

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Mark Anthony Tierno

VaultOfKnowledge_Logo_WIP02

Vault Of Knowledge

Los Angeles

© 2017, 2021 by Mark Anthony Tierno.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First printing

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover art by Damon Bowie Art

ISBN: 978-1-7372357-0-5

PUBLISHED BY Vault Of Knowledge

Los Angeles

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

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To my Mom. She read about a third of all the books from about four feet behind my shoulder every time she’d step into my room to see how I was doing, and seemed to have more faith in what I was doing than I even had… even from before I knew I’d be a writer.

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The Mystery Map

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MALDENE II:

Mysteries Of Olde

INTRODUCTION

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You’re back! Good, that shows persistence; a very good character trait in a mortal. I knew you’d return, so I already have your drinks ready for you. I told you this was going to be a long one, so just sit back and relax. I know you have many questions, but please keep them to yourselves for now. I have much to tell and must tell it at my own pace and in my own way…

PROLOGUE

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Tall and black of skin, muscles bulging through scale-studded furs, bright blue sun glistening off large ebony arms, bald head reflecting mid morn light entering through stone-lined window. Friendly smile upon the big man’s face, right arm resting lightly upon the magically-runed sword kept safely strapped within the sheath at his side. Careful regarding eyes, gazing down upon the new recruit before him.

Well, we certainly can use the man-power, Baldegron nodded, especially experienced help such as your own. What rank did you say you held in your last employ?

The dark-faced man brushed back a lock of dark hair with a wave of his hand, a humble expression creasing its way across his stubble-covered chin. His eyes showed just slight eagerness, as if ever ready to be of service, as he gave answer.

I was a full captain, sir, came his not-quite-deep not-quite-gravely voice, "but it was in a rather small army. In such an army as that which you lead, I would expect nothing more than lieutenant."

Baldegron looked the man up and down as he stood there at attention in front of him. Baldegron walked slowly back to the iron-wood desk of his small office before swiftly turning around on heel to face the dark-haired man once again.

Lieutenant it shall be then, my good Mister Gormal, Baldegron gave him a good-natured slap on the shoulder, you’ll be assigned under Captain Starke. How soon can you start?

Immediately, if it would please you sir.

Please me it would, Baldegron smiled. Consider yourself in the King’s Army then. The sergeant will show you where to report to.

Thank-you, General Baldegron, the dark-haired man nodded, I shall serve to the best of my abilities.

Sergeant, the large man called out, show this man to Captain Starke’s regiment. Okay, who’s next?

As the next potential officer stepped up to Baldegron, the sergeant led the dark-haired unshaven man away through the barracks and down and out into the open orain-colored skies of Thïr Glomdäitaÿor. They walked across the early spring morning, tall white towers shining around them, the sergeant making small-talk about Captain Starke’s growing abilities as a leader, while other troops bustled about them. The dark-haired man ignored the sergeant’s ramblings as he thought to himself; thought about the master which he loyally served.

Inwardly, he smiled.

Oh, he served a master all right, but not that fool of a King for which he’d just been recruited. No, the lord he served was of a darker, much more sinister heart.

Darker, even, than this assassin’s own.

BOOK I:

The Map

CHAPTER ONE:

Birthday Happenings

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Flash of flaming steel, rapid thump of fist crunching through bone. Cry of triumph, twinkle of silvery-blue eyes, a blur whirling past one opponent after another. Mid-rise sun shining down upon fresh blood as it flies about through the air.

Come on, Eldar called out as he slammed aside a man examining a small blade, "let a person through!"

He raised his flaming sharp Evolin sword at the next one in front of him, a battle-scarred warrior who raised his own sword up in defense, thrusting it up to block Eldar’s own blow. Unfortunately the warrior’s blade was but of normal steel, while Eldar’s sword of flame tore through it, reducing it to a multitude of metal droplets scattered upon the winds. Eldar rushed by, to finally reach his objective.

He leaned up against the booth’s front counter, taking a moment or two to catch his breath as, with a flick of his wrist, his sword vanished from sight.

My good shop-keeper, he smiled with a light toss of his silvery hair, I’ll take that one over there.

The grizzled old man inside the small booth nodded noncommittally, turned on heel, and walked to the back wall and its display of weapons.

"Do you have any idea, Eldar said conversationally, how many crowds you attracted with this one-rise sale of yours? Every mercenary in town must be coming here."

"There are easier ways of getting to the front of the line, you know."

Eldar turned to see Lindel now suddenly standing beside him, the other elf’s hair shining golden in the sunlight, his ever-present bow slung over his shoulder.

Eldar looked down at his own recently blood-stained tunic and compared it to Lindel’s clean one. He then looked back at the line behind him. They were in a large open courtyard of a town’s business-district, a small multitude of open-air cloth and wood shops clustering about the larger wooden structures of the district. The square was full of shoppers and vendors all in the midst of their shopping and selling activities, but now all stopped almost in mid-step as they looked as one over at Eldar. Arrayed in front of the small booth in front of which Eldar and Lindel now stood, was the line, perhaps twenty men deep, which had apparently formed while each awaited his turn as customer at the same booth.

But, perhaps what the crowd actually stared at was the swath that Eldar had left as he’d fought his way to the front of the line. A ragged chorus of groans, cries of pain, and muttered curses were the only sound that greeted the ears as Eldar looked down the line of bodies. Men tossed aside with still-burning slashes across their sides, some fallen to their knees as they tended large purpling bruises, one man in obvious pain nursing a twisted ankle, another one further down gasping for air from a punch to the throat. It was an open scar cut through the crowd, with twenty assorted men tossed to either side, all leading up to the booth with the sign hanging overhead that read ‘Tabor’s Weapons– SALE’, the booth being in front of a more stable larger structure whose sign read ‘Tabor’s Weapon Shop’.

Well, Eldar shrugged, "I just wanted to be the first one to the sale. It’s not like I killed any of them."

"Eldar, do you know what the words responsible or over-kill mean?"

Hmm, Eldar got a thoughtful look on his face. "No, I don’t think so…"

Lindel shook his head as the shop-keeper brought up the chosen weapon. Eldar flashed out a quick smile to the crowd, which then found reason to stop gawking and continue on about their business. Eldar turned to examine the small weapon that the shop-keeper held wrapped in silk.

Besides, I just wanted to make sure I got here in time to buy it, Eldar said as he gazed down, it’s the perfect present.

What makes you think that? Lindel asked.

Simple; I had Sheil-Bor(h) perform a vision about where I could find the best present for the kid, and he told me here. Oh, he’ll love it.

Held within the cloth was a single long dagger, its handle made of curved pearl and carved with stylized designs of great beasts on it, the blade reaching out almost a full foot to its curved white tip, its edge catching the sunlight in a small rainbow.

So, Lindel said, "you had Sheil-Bor(h) pick out the present for you."

No, of course not, Eldar corrected. "I already knew that I wanted to get Kilgar a nice dagger, I just asked Sheil-Bor(h) where I might find the best made one available. Sabu is then going to help me put a few spells on it and I’m going to add a touch of alchemy to it. By the time we’re finished, it’ll not only look beautiful, but it’ll be the best knife he’s ever owned. You know how he and his Destir attitude is: it has to function in battle before he’ll even look at it."

"Well, it does have a certain deadly salÿe to it, Lindel admitted. And you’re right; the first thing he’ll do is test it out in battle."

Good balance, Eldar said, hefting it in one hand. How much?

Seven gold, the old shop-keeper’s grizzled voice came back.

Sold, Eldar fished out a pouch and reached in it for some coins. Wrap it up nice and carefully.

As the shop-keeper carefully wrapped up the blade in its silk, Eldar looked at Lindel, mild puzzlement on his face.

"Say, how did you make it to the front of this line?"

I just came around from the other side of the booth and cut in front, Lindel shrugged, less of a blood bath that way.

Eldar frowned a bit as he thought this over, handing the coins to the old man in exchange for the silk bundle. Then he suddenly broke into a smile.

"Yeah, but my way was more fun!"

They turned and walked back down the double-aisle of wounded, Eldar holding his bundle and smiling to each in turn as they cringed back away from him.

You just don’t like to do things the simple way, do you? Lindel asked.

Now where would the fun be in that?

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Puff of smoke, crackle of electricity, flash of light.

The smell of fresh sea breeze, the bustling sounds of a small port village.

I think you need to work on that spell a bit more, Lindel observed, the static electricity still making his long golden hair stand on end, for one thing we’re way down by the docks.

Eldar, hair likewise standing on end, looked around to discover that they were indeed down by the docks. The small beach alcove held two wooden piers, each jutting out long into the water. Beside one pier was a long sleem, its hemispherical sails folded in, docked and awaiting her next trip. Thirdocian sailors bustled around the place, going about the sleem, the few small buildings that lined the edge of the beach, and the one small tavern in the middle of the small port village. Eldar smiled inwardly as he remembered that it was at his own insistence that they include a tavern by their little docking facility.

Hey, I’m getting better, Eldar insisted as he used his hands to try and brush down his hair, "at least this time I landed us on shore."

True, Lindel admitted, likewise straightening out his own golden locks, as they started walking along the beach-front street, but I still think you need to take a few more lessons from Sabu.

Yeah, Eldar pondered, he seems to be taking to my alchemy lessons faster than I’m taking to his magic lessons. I wonder if I can make up a potion to fix that…

Sailors and elves alike walked by them along the narrow street, each to his own duties, the Thirdocians keeping a dedicated eye on their sea-worthy charges, the elves taking the time to nod at Lindel and Eldar as they passed them by. Overhead the sun was a bright blue within a shining trüb-colored halo, beaming down its early Fall rays. Not many feet away, the sea lapped gently upon the foot-worn sandy shore of the island they’d named Haïkldalnsa.

Eldar quickly left off his pondering and breathed in deeply of the air– a fresh mixture of the nearby sea and the tall pines of the island. He waved back at a passing elf– was it only a few motabs ago that they’d rescued them from their lives at Thïr Tÿorca? Now, they lived about the forest like it had been their home all along.

Ah, it’s rises like this that make me forget about the rest of the world, Eldar said as he nodded to a stern-faced Thirdocian.

Yeah, Lindel agreed, "almost makes you forget that there even is a Miro."

"Oh, why’d you have to bring up his name for?! It’s too good a day for thoughts like that. Let’s not spoil Kilgar’s birthrise with thoughts like that."

The narrow road came to the end of the small line of buildings and curved suddenly inland. They followed along its length as it now carried them on into the woods of their island, along the edge of the island’s small row of ragged hills.

I must say you’ve done wonders with this forest, Eldar remarked, it’s hard to believe that under a rel ago this thick mass of tall trees was nothing more than a sickly bare carpet of sticks.

The trees had the potential within them all along, Lindel answered. "It was all just a matter of convincing the trees of that."

Overhead they saw a large figure spread out its long leathery wings as it rode a thermal up ever higher. The leathery figure was followed along by another of its kind as they played tag in the Fall sun. Fluttering out of range of their gay activities were three other flying figures, but these of a more human-shape and with a thick carpeting of brightly-colored feathers in place of leathery wings, their hawkish eyes staring out down the length of their beaks as they watched their flying charges.

Those dragons sure are growing up fast, Eldar said as he looked up at their frolicking, "pretty soon they will be big enough for Bronto to ride."

"At least they’re growing up in the type of life they were meant to have, not the mockery of a life that the Dragon Lord would have upon them."

Yeah, you’re right on that one, Eldar agreed.

The echo of a distant cry interrupted their exchange. A shout followed by a sudden crash, as if of a giant power-diving into the side of a mountain. This was followed by another roar.

"What was that?" Lindel asked, reflexively reaching for his bow.

"Hold on a tid– I think it may not be as deadly an intention as you think. Eldar slapped the other elf on the shoulder, a grin spreading across his face. Come on."

Eldar broke into a quick jog, Lindel giving a shrug of his shoulders and following along behind. They ran down along the road as it carried them around a jutting leg of the nearby mountain. Around and into a widening clearing formed as a pocket of mutual consent between mountain and forest. They both stopped as they saw the two behemoths that were fighting in the clearing.

One, a large ogre, almost ten feet tall and weighing over a ton, old skulls hanging from his belt, as he picked himself up from the newly-made hole in the side of the mountain, brushing some stray pebbles off his thick hairy hide.

Opposite him was a single large man, grinning broadly, hands on his hips as he watched the ogre pick himself up. His dark hair fell almost to his shoulders as his white-skinned muscles flexed in the sunlight. He let out with a loud chuckle.

I fear, my friend, that your strength is not nearly so great as that large round belly of yours!

The ogre stood up, anger on his face as he looked up to his opponent.

Blag-ak squash small man like bug! Make him stop laughing.

The large ogre then charged straight at the other man, determination on his primitive features. The man just stood there, seeming to await the enormous impact of the ogre.

See, Eldar pointed out, I told you it was nothing serious…

Just as the ogre was about to hit, the man swerved aside, his one hand catching the ogre by a thick fold of hide on his chest, while his other hand levered up the large ogre with a punch to his stomach. Before the ogre knew what was happening, he was being spun round and round overtop of the large man’s head. Whirling the one-ton ogre around like he was but a child’s toy, the large man finally sent him flying through the air, to land with a crash up against the side of the mountain, sliding down in a rain of pebbles and small boulders.

…It’s only Bronto and Blag-ak having fun, Eldar finished as the fight ended.

Bronto walked over to the pile of rocks, a loud chuckle erupting from his large chest. Slowly, the pile stirred as Blag-ak poked his head out from amidst it.

My friend, Bronto smiled as he offered out his hand, "me thinks it’s time we both had a nice stout drink. What do you say?"

Blag-ak shook his head loose of rocks and looked up at Bronto. Finally a smile crossed the ogre’s large face as he slapped an arm against Bronto’s own.

Blag-ak like drink with friend! Blag-ak rose up to his feet, shaking Bronto’s arm, tossing aside the small boulders like they were just pebbles.

Just so long as you two don’t miss the party, Eldar said as he and Lindel walked up to the two, it’ll be the first real celebration the kid’s had put on for him.

Oh don’t worry about that! Bronto said jovially. I already have his present ready. What about you?

Got it right here, Eldar touched the silk-wrapped bundle in his belt, and you don’t want to know what I had to go through to get it.

"I think it’s more like what the townsfolk had to go through for you to get it," Lindel corrected him.

Hey, Eldar lightly admonished, they were in my way.

Sounds like you had your usual brand of fun, Bronto grinned as they all started up along the road.

However you want to call it, Lindel pointed out, we’d better get it up to Sabu to fix up while we still have time.

How come you just didn’t go there directly, Bronto asked, I thought Sabu taught you that teleport spell of his?

Eldar shrugged with a slight twinge of guilt.

I missed, he admitted.

He didn’t land us in the ocean this time though, Lindel added.

Well, you’re improving then! Bronto slapped him on the back.

Hey, be careful with that, Eldar said lightly, my bones aren’t made like Blag-ak’s you know.

Come on, Bronto chuckled, we’ve a party to get ready.

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Excerpt from Sabu’s diary-

R.K.: 9,991, 26 Planeop:

We’ve been working on our little island for several motabs now. It’s hard to believe that it was just at the end of last Fall that we were in Thïr Tÿorca about ready to die, wondering if we had fallen too far into Miro’s trap. Now though, it’s all different. Our island has turned into a community. Fawsil’s people have made of the forest a true home, with their Nature-grown houses in the trees; trees nurtured by Lindel’s own hand. Likewise, Narudwa and his hawkmen, or the Kÿecian as they refer to themselves, have called our small range of mountains home, filling in the niches in the cliffsides as both our neighbors and our guardians, ever respectful of Bronto’s heritage; I think, though, that even without Bronto’s Old-Kingdom blood ties they would still respect him as a true warrior. We have had no trouble with any of them as neighbors, indeed we’ve become quite the little community. Even the dragon hatchlings are well-behaved, what between Lindel’s nurturing and Bronto’s Dragon Sword. I do believe that that big man can hardly wait to mount one of those great beasts in flight.

Of course, to say that all has been entirely peaceful would be to only scratch the surface. True, it has been calm while we’ve built up our stronghold here, and Sindar, Eldar, and myself have had time to study the dimensio-books we got from Devoon, but there are still several underlying facts that keep me awake at times.

The most general one would be the fact that Miro is still out there and we have no idea of his plans. But, even putting that aside as a given background problem, and putting aside the problems of what we may be building our stronghold for, there is still a problem that me and Sindar have been unable to solve.

That of the map. The strange map that we’d found inside Thïr Tÿorca remains unsolved. While we have been able to finally match up some of the land masses drawn on the map with known continents, the symbols and writing on it remain a complete mystery to us. Not to mention the apparent indestructibility of its paper, the durability of its ink, and a thousand other details of why this map shouldn’t exist after so long.

That is, if we could even figure out how old it is.

Perhaps it is nothing, but the more I study that map, the more I’m led to believe that it could be the most important find we made on our trip to Thïr Tÿorca. A true satmo indeed.

Then there is the puzzle of the Hevon Gems. While we’ve been experimenting with their use and function, their true origin and purpose still remain a mystery. The dimensio-books have shed little light on this matter, not to mention how many different types there are in a complete set and what happens when one does obtain a complete set. We know little more about these Gems than when we’d found the first one of Fire. Little more, than that they appear to be attaching themselves to our souls.

And how do those three nameless beings fit into all of this. We’ve seen them but a few times and know virtually nothing about them. What really are they and what do they want of us? I’ve been thinking over what they’d said on our last encounter with them and am truly apprehensive over the conclusions I’ve come to.

Well, enough of theorizing. Today Kilgar turns ten. Still a young boy even by the measure of his people’s own strict standards, and he’s never had a proper birthrise celebration. During his last one we’d been in the middle of making our way to Thïr Tÿorca and only learned of it by a casual comment he’d made. Well, I didn’t forget and this time he’s going to celebrate it properly. Eldar and I have already started working on his present and should have it ready by this mid-rise’s celebration. We’re going to make sure that he has at least one ordinary time in his childhood.

Because, I fear that none of us have any ordinary times left.

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"You’ve got to help me," the man in the richly-dressed robes pleaded.

The town guard gazed his battle-hardened face down at the man crying all over his tunic. He looked to be one of the city’s rich, a chief member of the merchant’s guild if he remembered right. Pillar of the community and all that; a serious man that has been known to do anything for a piece of gold. The kind of man that picks up enemies the way most people pick up dirt on their shoes– and with as little regard for them.

But definitely not the type of man to go pleading at the end of a town-guard’s outer tunic.

"Please!" the rich man was practically sobbing. "He’s after me. You’ve got to help me. I’ll pay anything!"

The guard was puzzled; the merchant looked hysterical! Was this the same man that had so dispassionately foreclosed on that old family-owned leather shop just last kev? The man was unhinged.

Now calm down Mister Saldor, the guard said as he tried removing the man from his tunic, the Law is here to help everyone. Now just calm down and tell me the problem.

"He’s after me! The man’s eyes were wide with terror. Or, maybe it’s a them or an IT– I don’t know. But it’s after me! You’ve got to help me!"

Who, Mister Saldor? The guard was determined to get a proper noun out of him. Who’s after you?

Mister Saldor looked around furtively, like some trapped animal trying to hide from its hunter. If one could smell fright, then this man was reeking of it.

The-, Mister Saldor swallowed and started again. "The Black Dagger!"

Now it was the guard’s turn to go pale. He’d heard of the Black Dagger’s quickly growing reputation. A reputation that ended in certain death if he was after you, and not even a good wizard could tell how it was done. The man, if that’s what the Black Dagger really was, was downright spooky!

And he didn’t sign on for that type of duty.

Uh, listen Mister, the guard removed the rich man’s hand rather abruptly from the hem of his tunic, "I’m sorry for you and all, but I don’t get paid nearly enough for this sort of stuff. If you still have any family members left in this world that care for you, I’ll notify them of your passing, but that’s it!"

The guard had to practically kick the man away from him, the rich man crying and pleading all the while. It’s not that the guard was of the type given easily to fright– he’d survived three wars after all– it was just that there was something unnatural about the Black Dagger. Now matter how one tried, the victim would always end up with that same dagger in his chest that he’d been given earlier, and always at least somewhat public before the same murder weapon would disappear just as mysteriously as it had showed up at the victim’s doorstep. No, this was something the guard would not mess with.

"PLEASE!!!"

Sorry sir, the guard backed quickly away, I truly am.

The guard took one last look at the man, rich robes fluttering about him as he sat there on his haunches, practically crying upon the ground. The guard then hurried away, and mister Saldor suddenly discovered that there were no longer any on-lookers around him.

Please, mister Saldor called out into the air, "I’ll pay you double whatever you’re getting. Triple even! I’ve got the money; I’m good for it, really! Please!"

An almost silent creak drew his attention off in the direction of a nearby alley. There he saw the shadowy outline of a tall lean figure, a pinpoint gleam of red shining out from something long and pointed held within the figure’s hand. The man recognized the sharp obsidian edge of what the figure held.

"No! I destroyed that thing! You can’t have it now. It’s impossible!"

The man staggered quickly to his feet and began backing up, shaking his head in repeated negation.

It can’t– can’t– can’t…

Mister Saldor then turned and bolted, running blinding away from the dark figure. Across the street he went and then down a smaller side street; a side street with no one on it, nothing around.

Except for a single slender foot that reached out and casually tripped the fleeing rich man. He went tumbling forward, fright in his eyes, as he headed down into a pile of trash. He hit with a sudden jerk, his arms and legs flailing out for a brief spasmodic instant, before he stopped. He then quietly rolled off the top of the pile of trash and settled onto his back, eyes fixed in a permanent gaze. The gaze of a dead man.

There was a single-cut black obsidian dagger buried hilt-deep into his chest, slicing down right through his heart. Right where he’d fallen on it.

A small slender figure stepped over beside the dead figure, covered head to toe in a tight-fighting dark suit, even down to the gloved hands. The figure looked down at the handiwork before speaking in a soft feminine whisper.

"I so love this work."

I couldn’t agree more, the dark figure from the alley came up next to her, a full head taller than was she.

All I had to do was trip him, the female said, he was just so frightened.

Our reputation is doing some of our work for us now, the taller figure said.

Bedor’s spells don’t hurt either, she observed, then got a bit thoughtful. You know, he’s sticking to our agreement right now, but I think at least one of us should start learning some magic of our own; we shouldn’t become too dependant on anyone else. Not even Bedor.

You make a good point, my Lady Of The Knife, the dark male figure said with a slight smile in his voice, as usual. Dependency could be a weakness.

"Except between us of course," she said as she put a gloved hand around his waist.

I’ve always seen faithfulness as an admirable trait in a wife, he said, but we have a fee to collect.

Oh, after we do, can we stop by one of the stores? I want to get the kid a present.

I suppose we could, but why bother?

"It’s always good to keep people’s respect, especially in our line of work, she shrugged. After all, he didn’t and look where it got him."

She nudged the body with a booted toe.

I guess we can squeeze it in then, he conceded. We’ll come back for the dagger after the body’s found. Come on.

And with nary a wisp of air the two figures were gone, now just but silent figures leaping from one stone rooftop to another, over the stone maze that is the Harbor Of The World.

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The pentagram glowed as it resisted the small demon locked within it. The three-foot leathery creature looked up at the yellow-skinned wizard on its outside.

Stop resisting and report, Mauklo said calmly, or you’ll end up like my other pets.

He nodded towards several jars arrayed on a table next to him. In each one was a creature; miniaturized figures of demons, wraiths, ghosts, and what was left of one particularly malevolent spirit. All securely held prisoners within their miniature cages.

Okay, okay, squeaked back the small demon, I’ll cooperate. He’s getting all the daemons together into a single massive army.

"What about the demons and their ilk."

The small demon shrugged.

If you control the demons Lords, then you control the demons. And He controls the Lords, the little one answered, and then added quickly, but you didn’t hear that from me!

Of course not, Mauklo said amiably. "And I’m sure that you won’t tell anyone what you just told me."

Why, the small demon danced nervously from one foot to the other, why would I ever do that? Of course I won’t.

Oh, Mauklo said as he reached for an empty jar, of course you won’t.

Uh look, I promise to keep quiet, the imp said with more than a bit of nervousness in its voice. You don’t have to do this.

Oh, have no fear, Mauklo reassured pleasantly. When I am powerful enough that I have little to fear from loose lips, then I will release you to serve me freely.

Mauklo unscrewed the jar and began waving a hand over it as he aimed it towards the demon.

In the meantime I can’t take the chance that you might go running off to Him.

Really, the imp waved his hands in front of him as a grey smoke began to come out of the jar and encircle him, I won’t do that!

"It’s also possible that He might find you and make you talk, Mauklo continued calmly, as the smoke wrapped itself around the imp, muffling his quiet screams of protest, another chance I can’t take."

With a sudden whoosh, the small demon quickly found himself inside the little jar, grey smoke and all. It looked up to see Mauklo screwing shut the lid and sealing it with wax and engraved runes. With a sigh, it sat down in the jar as Mauklo put in up on the shelf with the others.

So, Mauklo said to himself, he’s gathering some Lower Planar help. And apparently a lot of it. That must mean he’s preparing for a rather large war. With what else he seems to have prepared I’d say it’s globe-spanning at the very least.

Knock knock.

Come in, Kilinir, Mauklo said, without even looking up.

The door opened to reveal Kilinir standing just outside, now no longer dressed in her black jumpsuit, the dim room lighting reflecting off her smooth olive-colored skin.

How’d you know? she asked as she walked in, the door closing by itself behind her.

Just another one of several new tricks I’ve been working on, Mauklo smiled. So, how was your last mission?

No problem, she said as she walked over towards a free chair and sat down, just the usual frightened victim too scared to think straight. We even had time to get Kilgar a present. You getting him anything for his Birthrise?

Yes, Mauklo said, with forced pleasantness, "I’m letting him live."

Oh, you’re just so sweet, Kilinir smiled, almost mockingly. You know, if you got them to like you more, they may not care too much what you’re up to.

Ah, but that’s just the thing, Mauklo smiled, I don’t want them to like me too much nor to desire to get too close. I want them to keep just the distance they’ve been keeping. Trusting me just enough to keep me around, but not enough to let me out of their sight.

This has to do with Sindar’s vision, Kilinir observed.

Correct, Mauklo replied. With me as an apparent hinge-point in his vision, I want to be in just the right position to either help or hinder them, depending on how History and Circumstance unfold.

A lovely self-serving attitude if ever I heard one, Kilinir smiled as she stood up. Well, if you want to keep walking the edge, then you might want to at least put in an appearance at the party. It’s just in a little over a nev.

I will endeavour to keep to my fine line, Mauklo said mildly.

Good to hear it, Kilinir walked over to the door, then stopped in the doorway and turned back, "after all, Kor and I wouldn’t want you to stumble in the wrong direction, now would we."

Mauklo chuckled inwardly at such an implied threat coming from the smiling and deceptively-pleasant figure of Kilinir. She and Kor-Lebear were indeed quite a pair. And a rather useful pair at that. Indeed.

You have nothing to worry about, my good lady. And I shall try to put in an appearance at the party.

Kilinir gave a smile and quick nod of her head and then was gone, the door closing slowly after her. Mauklo leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. Oh yes, he would indeed put in an appearance.

toppng

Here, me and Sabu got you this, Eldar passed over the silk-wrapped bundle.

Kilgar’s face was a mix of expressions. The brave Destir part of him tried to remain stoically impassive, while the boy in him that never had a chance to express itself was trying to find a way to jump up in gleeful anticipation.

I’m… not sure what to say, he hesitated. I’ve never had a birthrise party before, much less presents.

There’s my lad, Bronto chuckled, he’s faced unspeakable horrors and beasts that would make most men quake in fear, and he can’t handle the basics of childhood. Just open it my boy! And be happy with what you’ve got or not, as the mood suits you.

They were in their castle’s main room, a large room with a scattering of furniture, carpets, and floating globes of light slowly dancing along the ceiling. They were all there, the ceiling having been made tall enough even for Blag-ak’s large form. They all watched as Kilgar carefully unwrapped the silk bindings and beheld what was within.

Kilgar grabbed hold of the knife by its long pearl handle, carved as it was with great beasts entangled in battle. He looked along the blade’s foot-long edge as it curved up to its sharp point.

It, he hesitated just a bit, looks nice.

"Well, try it before you get all emotional on us," Eldar prompted, with just a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

Kilgar took a couple of test swings with it, feeling for its balance. Only after the first swing did he start to smile.

It feels perfectly balanced, he said as he took another swing.

It is, Sabu explained, and it should be sharp enough to cut through rock.

Still testing it, Kilgar sliced once at the edge of the strong iron-wood table at which they were seated. As easily as it might through butter, it cleaved through the table’s edge, leaving a chunk of dark wood to plunk upon the ground.

Wow, Kilgar finally said, that’s sharp!

"I told you he wouldn’t be happy unless it fought well," Eldar smiled over at Sabu.

And the blade’s nearly as long as my arm, Kilgar’s eyes went wide. Thanks!

Maybe now you can toss away that old knife of yours now, Lorel said, from where he sat. "You don’t need that little thing anymore."

Oh no, Kilgar got suddenly serious, "I can’t ever throw that away."

Why not? Lorel asked as he saw the boy grab defensively onto the much smaller curved knife at his belt.

When Destir are old enough to fight, Sabu explained, which is about the time they’re able to walk, they’re given a knife made from a tooth of one of the great beasts of the desert.

"No one gave it to me, Kilgar said, I plucked it out of the creature’s carcass myself! It is a symbol of my first kill."

"And they do this after they learn how to walk?" Lorel was more than a bit amazed.

You ought to see what I have to do when I come of age in a few rels, Kilgar smiled as he held up his new knife.

Uh, yeah, Lorel said doubtfully, call it a hunch, but have Miro’s forces ever encroached upon the deserts of the Destir?

No, that’s the one place where he’s never successfully gotten a foothold, Sindar answered.

I kind of thought so, Lorel nodded.

Here. The honey-blond slim form of Dwingale stood up and walked over to Kilgar. Holding out her hand, she placed down on the table in front of him a small bundle wrapped in blue-colored paper and tied with a golden ribbon. "A present from the forests of my people. Something to remind you of what you would fight for and of what you should live for."

Kilgar carefully sheathed his new knife in his belt, and took up the small bundle. Carefully, he unwrapped the present and revealed Dwingale’s present.

A flower?

Kilgar looked at the delicate golden petals, reflecting softly the light from the globes floating overhead. Its stem seemed frail and unsupportive, yet neither would it sway under the overburdening weight of its large blossom.

The beauty of that flower shall never fade, never dry out, Dwingale explained, like the beauty of Life, it will never wilt. Crush it as you may, it will always return to the same delicate shape that you see before you now. Let it be a reminder that the simplicity of life is what you should preserve, both within and without yourself.

Thank-you, Kilgar said, with a seriousness unmatched by his age, I will.

Dwingale smiled, her eyes sparkling out through her milk-white skin. She then walked over to sit down beside Eldar.

We’re next, Kilinir spoke up, passing over a bundle to Kilgar. This is from me and Kor.

By all that’s Indra, you two giving the kid a present? Candol asked puzzledly.

"Now, why ever would we not?" Kilinir said with a twinkle in her eyes.

It’s probably poisoned or something, Quickfoot commented from where he sat atop the table.

Kilgar took out his new knife and carefully worked its blade along the edge of the paper bundle. When nothing sprang out at him, he unwrapped it.

A sheath, Kilgar declared.

We’d heard of what Eldar was going to get you, Kor-Lebear said smoothly, "and knew he wouldn’t think to get you something to put it in. Happy birthrise."

Thanks, Kilgar said, after some hesitation.

As the boy strapped his new sheath to his belt, and tested it for size with his new dagger, Eldar turned towards Kilinir and Kor-Lebear.

"You two just love to keep people off balance, he said as Kor-Lebear gave a reasonably unnerving grin, don’t you?"

I believe that I’m next, Mauklo said as he stood up.

This got the immediate reaction of Shong reaching for his sword.

Harm one hair on that boy’s head, and you answer to me!

My dear Shong, Mauklo smiled, you misjudge me. I merely wish to give the boy his present.

Now, now, Eldar cautioned Shong, maybe even Mauklo has his good side. Give him a chance.

Shong slowly put back his sword as he eased back down.

Very well, he said, proceed.

Sabu then leaned over to Eldar and quietly whispered in his ear.

"Eldar, you don’t actually believe that, do you?"

"Of course not, the elf whispered back, I just don’t want to spoil the kid’s party."

My present, Mauklo smiled, taking a rolled-up piece of paper from within his sleeve, is this.

He handed Kilgar the paper and watched as the boy carefully opened it up.

It’s a list of dates and events, Kilgar said frowning.

All the times that I saved your life and made possible your surviving to this birthrise of yours, Mauklo said. "As a Destir ever bound to keep your word and remember your debts, I knew that you wouldn’t want to forget what you owe me."

Kilgar looked up with a mix of puzzlement and suspicion.

Just in case it ever comes up that you owe me, Mauklo smiled. So that neither of us ever forgets.

Why that scheming wizard, Bronto said under his breath, he would use the boy’s honor against him!

It is said, Sheil-Bor(h) put a restraining hand on the big man’s shoulder, that a scheme will often come back upon the schemer. Have patience, at least this rise.

Well…, Bronto began doubtfully as Mauklo started back to his seat.

I do hope that we aren’t late for the party, came a stern voice from out in the hallway beyond, I would hate to have missed the young lord’s birthrise.

All heads turned, as in through the doorway strode a single figure. His yellow-brown skin shone through his metal-studded leather armor, his long thin mustache drooping down to either side of his firmly chiseled chin. His black-brown hair came down to his shoulders, his brown eyes looking out with authority upon those assembled. His thick boots echoed down heavily upon the stone floor as he walked in.

It was Starke.

Well, I’ll be, Bronto said, his mood suddenly shifting for the better as he shot to his feet. What brings you here? Aren’t you just a little bit far from the Kingdom?

Not at all, Starke said as Bronto grabbed him around both shoulders, since you’re all here, it’s considered an outpost of the Kingdom. The King therefore has a reason to get a task-force together to patrol these waters. After all, the Sea Of A Thousand Islands could have several strategic locations should a war break out.

And you just happened to get yourself assigned to this duty so you could make Kilgar’s party, Bronto grinned. Who do you think you’re actually fooling?

"I’ll admit that the timing did seem to work out, Starke grinned. And I’ll have you know that I’m heading that task-force. So I’ll be seeing you all more often from now on. As a matter of fact, my flag-ship is docked down at your pier right now."

Well, whatever the excuse, Bronto began to lead him in, you’re a welcome sight.

I hope that goes for myself as well, came another voice from out in the hallway.

Who– Shong began.

But the figure that walked in seemed to catch everyone by surprise. Clean-shaven, with fair-blond hair, tall and well-muscled, he walked in, armor clean and polished, the double-peaked crest of the Kingdom upon his chest.

Prince, Shong began.

Filmar will do, the figure waved off the title. I was Filmar when we adventured together, before you knew me as the Crown Prince.

Filmar walked in, Starke instinctively taking up position beside him, hand never too far away from the silently humming vortex sword in its special sheath at his side. Filmar walked in with a sort of royal casualness, smile upon his face, until he caught sight of Mauklo.

You, though, he said in Mauklo’s direction, have to call me Prince.

Sounds like you pulled a little rank to get here for Kilgar, Eldar smiled.

Let’s just say I thought up a good excuse to tell my father, Filmar smiled.

Something that you have to talk to us about later, maybe? Sabu observed.

Sharp as ever, I see, Filmar said. "Yes, there is some business to my trip, but that can wait. Right now I’m here to save this gathering from whatever cloud of gloom that Mauklo may have put it under."

Mauklo grimaced at the comment but said nothing.

First, for the guest of honor. Kilgar, Filmar took something out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. This medallion will gain you the attention of any of the King’s forces should you need it; you have but to show it to them and they will listen. And, when you’re fully grown, it will act as admittance into the King’s army should you ever want to join up.

Thank-you, Kilgar took the small medallion and put it in his pocket.

Shong, Filmar then turned around, I have a message from my sisters, Teenya, Tanya, and Tonya.

Shong suddenly felt his legs grow weak with nervousness and a lump to form in his throat.

The triplets? he asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "Whatever could they want with me? I’m sure they’re nice girls and all, but–"

Ha! Bronto slapped Shong on the back with a short laugh. My friend, you’ve got to learn how to deal with the ladies as well as you do the creatures at the end of your sword.

"I’ll admit they are among the more insistent of my siblings, Filmar said, tactfully hiding any humor he may have felt on Shong’s part, but I’m sure that the infatuation is only temporary. In the meantime, they wanted you to have this."

Filmar took out a small box from within his armor and handed it to Shong. Shong took it and carefully opened it up. Inside were three straw-colored flowers and a note. Shong took out the note and read it to himself.

Thank-you, Shong said, with almost too much politeness, I’ll put it with the others,

What’s that make, Eldar asked, about one a motab?

Shong ‘fraid of purty ladies, Blag-ak chuckled loudly.

Yeah, well, Shong began, it’s just that…

Never you mind, Shong, Sabu interrupted as he stood up, it’s none of our business. Besides, we have a party to get back to. Eldar, what’s next with this sort of thing?

My favorite part, Eldar grinned, the food!

Did someone say food? Quickfoot perked up his ears.

Although we’ll probably have to lay off the grog because of the kid, Eldar frowned momentarily, but, it should prove fun nonetheless. Candol, how are the blessings of Indra today?

For such a brave lad? Candol said, rolling back his sleeves. Nothing less than a true feast.

Oh we’ll be having none of that magically-conjured food, Dwingale interrupted, "I’ve had half the women of my people preparing a proper feast down in the village. So you can just stop invoking the power of the ‘all-mighty Indra’ and come on down for some real food."

She can get pretty firm when it comes to hospitality, Eldar smiled, I’m afraid we’ll have to go along with it.

The forest it is then, Sabu said as the others started to get up. We’ll work up a nice appetite on the walk down.

They all started filing out, Dwingale acting the mother hen as they started off towards the promised feast.

toppng

You can tell the women of your village that they are indeed good cooks, Filmar said formally, pushing the empty plate away from himself on the table, a finer feast have I not had in a long time.

Thank-you, Dwingale said a bit demurely, as she swept up the empty plates on the table.

But now there are matters to discuss, Filmar continued, although I would not want to spoil Kilgar’s first birthrise party with the presence of such matters.

It’s okay, Eldar said, pinching Dwingale’s rear as she went by him, "he’s outside having fun with the elven kids and Blag-ak. Or rather, they’re trying to teach him how to have fun and he’s trying to teach them how to kill orkai."

I saw Quickfoot and Lorel out there with them, Sire, Starke added a bit formally, but I haven’t seen Kilinir or Kor-Lebear.

It’s us then, Filmar nodded, good. To begin then.

They were in one of the village’s tree houses, woven straight out of the branches of Lindel’s recently regrown forest, the very walls being made of a thick bark, the floor a soft and warm leafy covering. Through a vine-laced window the sounds of children at play filtered in from the outside, a continual reminder of the gay celebration still going on all around them. They were seated around an oblong table, carved with spiraling leafy patterns, Eldar, Sabu, and Sindar at one end, Filmar and Starke at the other, with Candol, Lindel, Mauklo, Bronto, Shong, and Sheil-Bor(h) scattered along between. Dwingale was shuffling plates off the table, with Eldar eyeing her all the time, dressed as she was with a minimum of covering, just brown-green leather covering her chest and middle, and leather leggings around her shins. Eldar smiled as he watched her feminine assets protrude in all the right places, her honey-blond hair falling lightly down upon her shoulders. When she was finished disposing of the plates, she came in and sat down next to Eldar, just as Filmar was starting.

Several of my father’s scouts have been infiltrating into territories thought heavily influenced by Miro, he started out, including Frecaloth, parts of Cenivar, and most of My-Thov.

I think the young lad would argue with you about certain parts of My-Thov, Candol pointed out.

True, Filmar admitted, the Great Desert is the one part of that continent that Miro has never been able to penetrate, thanks entirely to Kilgar’s people, but the mountains especially are a nest of Miro’s dark forces. No one that we’ve sent out has yet come back from there.

"What do you know? Mauklo asked with smug politeness. In the way of useful information, I mean."

Filmar ignored Mauklo’s tone and continued.

We know that the Summit Mountains of Frecaloth, the highest range in the entire world, are a-bristle with Traugh and his dragons. Captain Starke’s scouts have taken much risk to spy out their activities.

We think, Starke picked up the explanation, that he’s getting outside help in increasing the numbers of his dragons.

The Dragon Lord, Sindar nodded.

Exactly, Starke agreed, they appear to be coming in through dimensional portals, adding to the already vast numbers of Traugh’s own brood.

Well, now we know what the Dragon Lord’s part in all this is, Lindel commented. Sabu, is it possible to hide that many dimensional portals? I would think that the presence of so many would create such a concentration of magic as to stand out like a beacon.

Well, Sabu explained, dragons are very magical creatures. So much so, that if you keep these portals well spaced from each other in both location and time, that the dragons’ own magical presence could be made to block that of the portals.

In other words, Eldar translated, yes. Miro can hide them.

Which means that there’s no telling how long he’s been importing dragons, Bronto summarized, nor how many he might already have.

I think we have a vague idea, Eldar said, his hand finding its discreet way over towards Dwingale’s exposed upper leg. "Some of us were over there on Devoon when we were hunting out our Hevon Gems of Wind. And let me tell you, the sight I saw from atop that peak was rather unnerving. A valley full of dragons– thousands of them– all waiting. And we don’t know how many other valleys that the Dragon Lord had brewing over there."

Thousands of dragons, Filmar pondered, "and if the other reports are to be believed, perhaps hundreds of thousands or even millions of orkai as well."

"Did you say millions?!" Shong was shocked, How?

A multitude of tiny wars, Filmar answered, several local skirmishes all over the world. And with each such skirmish, another town that no one ever heard of disappears, and the numbers of the orkai increase.

Then what we saw in the mountains of Catho was not unique, Sabu observed. A pit where they convert captured prisoners into more of their kind– it was only one among many.

There may be hundreds of such places around the world, Starke said. My scouts managed to destroy two of them, at great cost to their own numbers, but I have reports of several others. All hidden away deep within mountains, in dark forests– we even found evidence of one on a small island just off a major shipping lane.

All strategically placed, no doubt, Sindar agreed, and in places where one might least suspect it.

Is that an opinion, or a vision? Eldar asked suspiciously.

Partly both, Sindar answered. I have a vague feeling of such an orkai-genesis pool near the Great Northern Kingdom.

My father’s advisors have suspected the presence of such in the mountains to the north, Filmar nodded in agreement, but neither his scouts, nor the dwarves that live in those mountains, have been able to find any sign of them.

They’re readying for a strike, Bronto said, a big one.

It is Mystigir’s contention that he will strike on the coming Donjflou, Filmar put in.

But that’s not for another nine rels, Shong exclaimed, of what type of war would he take so long to build up his forces for?!

The machinations of Miro are long in the making, Sheil-Bor(h) said calmly, so too then must his goals be as lofty.

He’s right, Sindar agreed, until we truly know what Miro’s goals are, we can’t really know the reasons behind his preparations.

I would give my eye-teeth to know of what those reasons are, Filmar said, suddenly putting a fist down hard on the table. "He’s after something big and we don’t even know what it is. It has to be more than just mere conquest of territory."

I think we may have a clue as to what he’s after, Sabu said, reaching inside his robes, something that I’ve been suspecting more and more is connected.

All eyes on him, Sabu drew the map out from his robes as he started to explain.

We found this map in the depths of Thïr Tÿorca, Sabu began as he unrolled the map, and it’s been a puzzle to us ever since. We can’t tell how old it is, and fire and acid have no effect upon it.

I tried every alchemical process I know, Eldar put in, there’s no way of analyzing it, nor of harming it.

And that’s not even the puzzling part, Sabu continued, the numerous symbols drawn on this map are completely unknown to us. Even the dimensio-books we found on Devoon offer no clue. Only Sindar has been able to get any sense of any impression about any of them.

Impression? Filmar asked, leaning forward in interest. Explain.

That symbol there, Sindar pointed, the one that looks sort of like a cowled face. Everytime I study it, I get an immediate impression of death and gloom. From some of the other symbols I get an impression of location. It’s almost as if the writing itself has a psychic component to it. That the very symbols were drawn as much with the mind as with the pen. But I can’t make out more than that.

What manner of person could draw with his mind as one would with a quill? Filmar asked.

"Not person, Mauklo smiled, I would say more like people."

Uh oh, Eldar quipped, our dark friend’s figured something out.

Of course, Mauklo said civilly, indeed, where would you be without me.

I don’t know, but I’d sure like to try, Shong said under his breath.

A map always leads to a location, Mauklo said, "and from the prominence of that one small cluster of symbols there, I’d say that they point the location."

The string of symbols he pointed to was a right-facing stylized bracket, followed by a triangle containing a smaller triangle, the smaller one’s corners each bisecting a side of the larger triangle, with lines drawn out from each of the larger one’s corners, each bisecting the angle it was within as it went over to touch the side opposite. After the strange triangle was some sort of interlocking angular bracket, facing both left and right. This was followed by a double-looped figure lying on its side, and then finally by a stylized left-facing bracket. Mauklo was pointing to the area on the map that this string of symbols seemed to point to.

We’ve matched up this map against known continents, Sabu shook his head, and if that land mass below is the northern part of Catho, then the point which you now indicate would be right in the middle of the Northern Wastelands.

Some of my father’s ships have been by that area, Filmar put in, and, aside from the cold and the constant ice-cap, there’s a range of mountains up there that is completely impassible. It’s a small range, but one that makes the mountains on Frecaloth look like a footpath by comparison. There’s nothing up there but more mountains.

Perfect! Mauklo smiled. "Then there’s got to be something up there! Or why else make a map to a place that doesn’t exist if not to point the way?"

There was a brief moment of silence as everyone thought this over.