The Doom Guardian: Chronicles of Cambrea

By Julie Ann Dawson

Cursed in life.
Damned in death.
The only person who can stop a terrible prophecy is the one born to fulfill it.

For centuries, the Spirit Wall has protected the world from the terrible powers of the undead god Vagruth. But now the Spirit Wall has begun to crumble, and with it the only thing preventing the world from becoming overrun by undead hordes. 

Nadia Gareth knows all too well the evils that lurk in the hearts of the Vagruth's minions, the Necromancers. Nadia walks the land as a dhampir, a cursed thing trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead as a result of the Necromancers' vile experiments. Yet her curse also gives her the strength she needs to combat the forces that seek to turn everything around her into an undead waste. But this is one fight that may be too much for her to handle alone.

Darseidon Stonecleaver survived the War of Reckoning and now journeys to the Mouth of Chaos to retrieve the Chaos Diamond, the one thing powerful enough to save the Spirit Wall from destruction. As he enters his Twilight, the aging dwarf knows it isn't a matter of if he will die, but when. He can only hope to complete his last mission before it is too late. 

Nigel Stormthorn just wants to escape town with his stolen gems but finds himself caught up in events that may determine the fate of the world. As his survival instincts wage war against his meddlesome empathy, he discovers that perhaps his gems are of less value than the secret that resides within him.

Revised Second Edition.

Also available:
Blood Debts (Chronicles of Cambrea: Book Two)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bards and Sages Publishing
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540175298

Julie Ann Dawson

Julie Ann Dawson is an author, editor, publisher, RPG designer, and advocate for writers who may occasionally require the services of someone with access to Force Lightning (and in case it was not obvious, a bit of a geek). Her work has appeared in a variety of print and digital media, including such diverse publications as the New Jersey Review of Literature, Lucidity, Black Bough, Poetry Magazine, Gareth Blackmore’s Unusual Tales, Demonground, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and others. In 2002 she started her own publishing company, Bards and Sages. The company has gone from having two titles to over one hundred titles between their print and digital products. In 2009, she launched the Bards and Sages Quarterly, a literary journal of speculative fiction. Since 2012, she has served as a judge for the IBPA's Benjamin Franklin Awards.

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or undead is coincidental, and, truthfully, quite odd.

Part I: Alliances

Chapter I: The Doom Guardian

Athick grey haze blurred her vision, but Nadia could still vaguely make out the woman’s form. She was tied down to the massive stone altar, screaming the scream of a woman about to give birth to some hellspawn from the deepest pits of the lower planes. Four figures in dark red robes surrounded her, not offering assistance or assurances, but chanting some dread incantations to further add to the expectant mother’s torment.

The smell of uterine blood and incense invaded Nadia’s nostrils, leaving a foul feeling in her gut. Every ounce of her being wanted to rush over and stop the chanting. Her muscled ached to push forward and cut the creature from the woman’s womb before it had a chance to breath. But instead she remained paralyzed as the helpless woman let out one last howl of pain. Through the haze, Nadia saw a small, clawed fist burst up through the stomach, splattering blood over the dying woman and her captors.

Nadia awoke with a jolt.

She looked down at her own hands and willed them to stop shaking. She picked at non-existent dirt under her nails for a moment to distract her mind. She examined her nails and decided she needed to trim them again. They were starting to obtain the length where the discoloring set in and they would begin to thicken. That just would not do.

She peeked out the window. On the horizon, the night sky was just beginning to give way to the deep purple colors of the coming dawn. She reached for the water pitcher next to her bed but stopped short of pouring herself a drink as the sound of someone tampering with the door’s lock grabbed her attention. She sighed quietly and lay back down, pretending to sleep.

The door opened silently. A mortal’s ears would not have even heard the assassins enter the room. But Nadia could count the number of assailants by the sound of their footsteps. Galenen’s Temple must have received a large donation to send three after her this time.

The assailants moved like ghosts toward her bed. Nadia heard their daggers unsheathe. She felt the breath of one of the assassins on her cheek.

With unnatural speed, Nadia grabbed the first assassin by the throat with her left hand and threw him head first into the wall. The force cracked both his skull and the wooden panels. She swung her right leg across her body and kicked the second assassin squarely in the chest, sending him slamming into the small dresser on the other side of the room. The third assassin, standing at the foot of the bed, aimed his small hand crossbow at her and fired. Nadia rolled off the bed as the bolt connected with the headboard. The impact caused the tip of the bolt to explode into a sulfur cloud.

Well, that’s a new trick, said Nadia as she pulled her bastard sword, Doom’s Touch, out from under the bed. It is nice to see Galenen has inspired you with some ingenuity.

The second assassin pulled himself up and drew his short sword, an enchanted weapon that sparked with small bolts of electricity. He lunged forward, swinging in an upward motion. Nadia parried his attack with her own blade. The third assassin fired again, this time at the back of Nadia’s knee. She jumped to dodge the bolt, but the cramped quarters provided inadequate space to move. The bolt grazed the side of her leg instead, and the exploding sulfur burned her flesh.

Nadia grabbed the hilt of Doom’s Touch in both hands, and with a loud growl swung it around her in a single fluid motion. She caught both assassins across the chest with the move, cutting straight through their thin leather armor until blade hit bone. They both collapsed before her.

Nadia sat on the bed, waiting for the heavy footsteps in the hallway to reach the room. She looked up at the stunned guardsmen who entered, swords drawn and ready for...something. From the confused looks on their faces, she wasn’t exactly sure what they were ready for.

As they stood there for a moment with their jaws agape, Nadia began to search the bodies. She found a small coin pouch on the body of the first assassin, and without looking inside threw it to the guards. Give that to the innkeeper, she mumbled as she used the now bloody comforter from the bed to clean her blade. It should cover the damages these fools caused.

What happened here? asked one of the guardsmen as he tried desperately to appear in control of the situation.

"What do you think happened here?" replied Nadia as she continued searching the dead bodies.

Now see here, miss, began the second guardsman. Stop rifling through the dead’s possessions and answer the question.

Nadia stood slowly and turned to the guards. She unbuttoned the first two buttons of her nightshirt, forcing the two guardsmen to fight back the urge to smile. The potential smiles vanished, however, when Nadia pulled back the nightshirt enough to reveal the silver and dioptase Medallion of Nadru, God of the Dead. I shall rifle through the belongings of the dead as I see fit, she said.

The guardsmen looked at each other, silently considering what to do next. Nadia pulled a ring off the finger of the first assassin. The ring bore the etchings of a skull and dagger, the symbol of Galenen, God of Assassins. She tossed it at the bewildered guards. One of the guards caught it, but upon realizing what it was quickly placed it on the small table next to him.

These men were assassins of the Order. They failed in their duties. Now leave me be so I may say the prayers over them that Galenen will receive their souls and pass his judgment on them.

Our apologies, Madame...we did not...

Enough. Just go. Nadia waved them off. The guardsmen turned to leave.

Wait, said Nadia. The guardsmen froze. Send a message to the Crypt Keepers. When I am through, they shall need to claim the bodies.

The guardsmen nodded and quickly exited the room, closing the door behind them.

Nadia shook her head. Even city guards and hardened soldiers were slow to question the work of Nadru’s Doom Guardians for fear of the God of the Dead somehow seeking retribution. Nadia stripped the bodies of everything but their undergarments and shoved it all into her backpack. The armor was bloodied and useless now, but perhaps she could sell it as scrap leather. The Crypt Keepers attended to her basic living needs, but she had special dietary requirements that required actual coin. The Crypt Keepers were loath to provide her with too many live pigs or goats. There were those that considered the whole practice unseemly.

She removed a small dish, a vial of holy water, and a pinch of ash from a rowan tree from her belt pouch. She blended the ash and water together, then dipped the tips of her fingers into it. The concoction burned her fingers, and she grinded her teeth to suffer through the rite.

May your journey to your final judgment be safe, she said as she painted Nadru’s symbol on each forehead. And may the defilements of the damned lay no hand upon your body or soul. Pass on to your reward, never to return.

She sat on the ground among the dead, contemplating the absurdity of the whole situation as she bandaged her burnt leg. The commoners would marvel at her faith and dedication, insuring that even her own would-be assassins were not subjected to the work of the Necromancers or accosted by demons on their journey into the afterlife. But Simon would scold her again; because she knew full well that Galenen’s Temple would have paid for their resurrection as they died in the Order’s service. And the Last Rites prevented possession by demons, defilement by the Necromancers, and honest resurrection.

But she needed to amuse herself somehow.

She reached into the backpack and pulled out one of the assassin’s coin purses. She opened it to see a few gold coins and a silver and ruby necklace. She left it on the chest of one of the bodies, along with a note to the Crypt Keepers to handle the burial with the funds. She packed up the rest of her belongings quickly. As she exited the room, she turned to the small table and retrieved the ring. Simon would want it back.

WHY DO YOU COME HERE? asked Simon. His blue eyes always seemed more steel grey in the low lighting of the temple, and the lines on his face more pronounced. He looked tired. But then again, he always did whenever he saw her enter Galenen’s Temple.

Nadia handed him the three rings. I simply wish to return your god’s belongings.

Next time send a courier.

You hurt me, Simon.

I can tell you are heartbroken. Simon looked down at the rings. I suppose you performed the Rites?

As is my duty.

"As is your will. You could have waited."

And deny them the chance to be received into Galenen’s glory after dying in his service? That would be cruel.

Those men had families. Leaving their wives widows and their cildren orphans is cruel.

Then take the money you would have spent on their resurrection and set up a widow’s fund. It would be better to spend the money on the still living than to awaken the recently dead anyway.

Your bitterness is getting the best of you.

You’re right. And it’s not as if I have a reason to be bitter, after all.

They stared at each other without blinking for several seconds. Simon put the rings in his pocket. You should not come here, Nadia.

Lest someone try to claim the bounty while I am in Galenen’s House?

You know Galenen forbids such a breach of his hospitality. Those who enter his House are safe from his Blades.

"Indeed, god of assassins and hospitality. Such a cruel joke the other gods saw fit to play on mortals."

Watch your tongue! Simon clenched his teeth to avoid screaming the words at her.

I’m sorry, Simon. I went too far, Nadia looked down at her feet and cursed herself for her cruelty. After everything he had done for her, she should be showing more respect. But it was hard to show respect to the High Priest of a Temple full of assassins who wanted to collect the bounty on your head.

Simon gently brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. If you came here looking for the name of the client, you know I cannot give it to you. That would go against our doctrine.

I don’t need the name, Simon. I already know who is behind it. I just want to know the terms.

Nadia...

Please, Simon. I need to know what instructions they were given.

Simon motioned for her to follow him. She could feel a dozen invisible eyes upon her, watching from corners and shadows. Some would be following her out of the Temple, hoping for the opportunity to collect. Others would attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation, hoping for some glimpse of knowledge that could prove useful against her later. She sighed. Simon was right. She should use a courier.

They entered Simon’s office. He closed the door behind him, mumbling a spell under his breath, Nadia assumed to combat any scrying or listening.

The original contract was very specific in its demands, and denied, said Simon as he leaned against his desk.

Why was it denied?

Because it called for your body to be buried somewhere it could not be found, without any rites preformed. As soon as I saw it, I rejected it.

It was exactly as Nadia had assumed. The Necromancers did not just want her dead. They wanted her undead. Somehow hearing Simon’s confirmation made the weight of her assumption a thousand times heavier. The other priests must have been angry when you denied the contract. I am sure the fee was high.

When they were made aware of your...situation, they supported the denial. Our clients decide when someone dies, not what happens to them afterwards. The Blades of Galenen will not be used for such dishonorable purposes.

Then may Galenen reward their honor as well as yours.

Nadia, the contract was resubmitted without the stipulations. I had to accept it. You understand?

I do not fault you in this, Simon.

Simon tried to smile to show his appreciation, but instead the muscles around his mouth quivered as if trying to hold back a lament. I am afraid not all in the Temple are as devout in their worship. I believe there is a second, unofficial contract circulating.

Nadia nodded. Of course there would be. The Necromancers could not resist the opportunity to allow mortal greed to override faith. I thank you, Simon. I will not bring such trouble on you again. She turned for the door.

Nadia, Simon approached her. He brushed her black hair back from her face. Leave Marionhold. Leave Ebernia. Go west to the Great Plains and help the Varians combat their angry dead. Or go east to Agrator and assist the Heralds against the Moritae. The Crypt Keepers can appoint another Doom Guardian in time.

Behind the grey hair and wrinkled skin, Nadia saw the shadow of the Simon she used to know. She kissed him on his lips. Though they were no longer as warm or soft as they once were, they still somehow made her feel safe, if even for a moment.

If I run, the Necromancers win, Simon.

They cannot win so long as there is breath in your lungs. And if you remain in Ebernia, how much longer you breathe the living air is in doubt.

THE NECROMANCERS HAD always been a dark pit in the otherwise peaceful kingdom of Ebernia. In truth, their corruption darkened the whole of the world. Their power was greatest before the Great Reckoning, when Vagruth, the previous God of Death, had reigned unchecked. Before the Great Reckoning, Vagruth’s priests had strongholds in every nation and city-state, demanding tribute from commoners and kings alike in exchange for promising not to turn the dead into their own undead puppets. But their promises were empty, and eventually Vagruth’s own son, Nadru, turned against him.

Their battle spilled forth onto the world, and legions of undead waged war against the living. Until finally, Azaza Sun and Sky had seen enough and chose to intervene. Vagruth was stripped of most of his power for his sins against both the other gods and the living and relegated to god of the undead. Nadru was raised in power to god of the dead, and he pledged to ensure that the dead would no longer be subjected to the abuses of his father’s followers.

All this had transpired over four hundred years ago, long enough that the majority of common folks believed the tales to be more myth and allegory than fact. But on occasion an elf of the Great Woods can be found who remembers, or a dwarf who fought alongside Nadru’s army against the undead, and the myth is made real to those who listen.

Darseidon Stonecleaver was one of those dwarves. He studied the stone carvings on the cavern wall carefully. He could find no evidence that the Sacred Wall had been tampered with. No stray chisel marks. No footprints in the dirt below. No displaced cobwebs. No pieces of rock left on the ground. Yet the wall was different. Where once stood depictions of petitioners waiting peacefully in the Court of Nadru were now skeletal warriors poised to strike at the God of the Dead. He would have to return to the Chieftain and the Shaman with grave news.

It had begun.

Darseidon extinguished the torch and started back to the village. The torchlight was useful for studying stone, but would attract the attention of the creatures that called the caverns home if left lit too long. Besides, his eyes were accustomed to viewing the world in such darkness, and the natural heat of any creatures nearby would be seen soon enough.

The Necromancers had almost been wiped out after the Great Reckoning, but no sooner had their numbers been reduced and their demised seemed eminent than the people of the different kingdoms began to quarrel over whom should claim the greatest portion of the spoils of war. So instead of destroying the whole vile cult once and for all, the survivors were allowed to scurry off into hiding while the victors fought over the spoils. And no sooner had they gone into hiding than the Dreamwatchers began to make their prophesies. But like all prophecy, as time wore on fewer believed it would ever happen. And with fewer believers, fewer people watched for the signs.

But Darseidon believed, and he watched. And now it had begun. The first sign had already happened, about fifty years ago. Vagruth’s seed defiles the Sanctified. The Living Dead unbound defy the will of Azaza Sun and Sky. The Necromancers, through their vile magic and experiments, somehow discovered how to breed vampires with mortal women. The offspring, dhampirs, walked the realm between the living and the dead. Possessing the strength and mental powers of their fathers yet suffering none of the ill effects of Azaza Sun and Sky’s curse upon the undead, the Necromancers sought to create an army of these beings. The perfect weapons, upon death they would simply rise again as true vampires to continue fighting.

Something had disrupted the Necromancers’ plans, however. Few of the offspring survived pass the age of maturity. Most went mad as they struggled between their dual natures. The rest were believed destroyed during some great explosion at one of the Necromancer strongholds, however Darseidon had heard rumors some might have escaped. Though considering the persistence of the Necromancers, they had probably already started their breeding experiments again.

Now the second sign had appeared. In the presence of the usurper’s throne, the dead transform to armies of bone.

Deep in his thoughts, Darseidon almost did not hear the scratching behind him. He turned quickly to find he had allowed several humanoid forms to get far too close. He could barely make out the figures, as they did not give off any body heat.

Darseidon swung his axe in front of him, striking the creature closest to him in the shin. He heard no sound of ripping flesh or slicing tendon, only the sound of steel against bone. A boney claw caught him across the face, tearing off a small chunk of his cheek. How had these skeletons gotten into the caverns? How had they gotten so close to the Sacred Wall? He would have to answer those questions later. The only question now was how he was getting himself out of this predicament.

Darseidon put his back to the cavern wall and swung again, striking a skeleton on the hipbone. Another skeleton reached out and clawed at his shoulder with boney fingers sharpened like talons. The bones poked through Darseidon’s chain shirt and ripped at the padding beneath. Another claw caught him above his right eye, causing blood to seep down his face.

Spirits of the Stone, defend me! shouted Darseidon as he swung his axe again. As the blade cut into the skeleton before him, the ground began to shake. A moment later, dozens of long stone spikes began to protrude from the floor and ceiling of the cavern. Some spikes passed through the skeletons’ ribs, impaling them in place. Others formed a crude cage around Darseidon. The skeletons tried to reach through the cage at him but could not get to him. Darseidon leaned on his axe and smirked for a moment, then realized he was just as stuck in the cavern as the skeletons.

He removed a flask of holy water from his sack and began to douse the skeletons with it. As the water splashed against them, the bone began to turn ashen, then black. The water hissed as if poured over a campfire. Steam and smoke rose from the skeletons, and finally the things collapsed into a pile of bone bits and ash.

Thanks to thee, oh gracious spirits! exclaimed Darseidon. He picked up his axe and waited for the spikes to disappear. After a minute, he slapped himself on the forehead in reprimand. He pulled a small diamond from his pouch and left it on the ground as an offering to the spirits. Again, thank ye for yer help, spirits, he said.

He looked around his stone cage for a moment. He looked down at the diamond and scratched his thick grey beard. Finally, he reached into his sack and removed his stonecutting tools and started the slow process of chipping his way out of the protective cage.

NADIA READ THE MISSIVE impassively. A rumor claimed ghouls had attacked merchants leaving the town of Carnaton, and she was to go track the beasts down to their lair and destroy them. She rolled the missive up and returned it to its case. Carnaton was almost three weeks away, on the northern border of Ebernia near the City-State of Icelark. The Crypt Keepers had made arrangements with the Traveler’s Guild to employ their teleportation circle between Marionhold and Icelark. Then it would be only a three days’ journey on foot to the town.

Sending me after a pack of ghouls is like sending a lion after a field mouse, she had said to the Master Keeper. It was the type of assignment normally given to entry-level priests, not trained Doom Guardians.

The Council of Merchants has requested that we treat this situation with all due seriousness, he had replied. Carnaton is on the Merchant’s Way to Icelark and Battledale. It is important to them that the merchants on the road feel this situation is treated as importantly as outbreaks in the Kingdom’s interior.

Nadia did not continue the argument, at least not out loud. But she could tell the Master Keeper read the expression on her face well enough to know what she was thinking. They were giving her an easy assignment in order to justify sending her as far away from Marionhold as possible.

Cammeron Shard was making his way up the road as Nadia left the temple. He was a wall of a man, with broad square shoulders and a muscled chest. Unlike most Doom Guardians, Shard spent a great deal of time on his grooming habits. His short black hair was always immaculate, and his beard neatly trimmed in the fashionable style favored by the aristocracy. Nadia had heard that he bathed almost every other day, a bit excessive of a trait in someone commissioned to hunt down Necromancers and the undead. But she supposed it made it easier for him to blend in among the wealthy residents of the Port of Calm, where he was stationed.

They passed each other without a word, only eye contact and a nod of acknowledgement. Shard was the only Doom Guardian that would make eye contact with her. The others refused to look her in the eyes out of contempt or fear, and on occasion out of both. She doubted Shard acknowledged her out of any special respect or affections. He was simply accustomed to practicing his polished good manners. The Keepers must have pulled him back from the Port of Calm, presumably to maintain the peace in Marionhold while she was away on her mission.

But it would only take a matter of days to clear out ghouls; even the largest of infestations would be a week at the most. Yet the Crypt Keepers had called back Shard, which meant they intended for Nadia to be gone for some time. She looked over her shoulder as Shard entered the temple. As if he knew he was being watched, he paused for a moment before going inside.

She arrived in front of the massive tower that housed the Traveler’s Guild, and spent a few moments watching mages and wealthy patrons go in and out. A patron could travel to any of the great cities in which the Guild had a presence, so long as she had a hundred gold coins to pay the fee. That was more than some farming families made in ten years. She felt vaguely guilty that money was being spend to send her away for her own protection that could have been better spent protecting the people of Marionhold from the Necromancers’ work locally. Then she remembered that the Council of Merchants was more than likely footing the bill. Of course, that only meant that monies that could have been spent on helping the poor were being spent to protect the wealthy merchants. The thought made her feel no better.

She entered the tower, and the people in the lobby moved aside as if under some compulsion to get away from her as quickly as possible. She made eye contact with an elderly gentleman dressed in an exquisite blue silk brocade suit. He turned pale, and quickly scurried away like an abused puppy. She fought the urge to laugh.

An apprentice mage approached her to usher her to the teleportation circle. He was a scrawny child of a man, made to look even more childish by the bright orange and gold robes of the Guild. A full three inches shorter than her, he strived to stretch