The Emerald Orbs

By Patrick Bowron

Four adventurers are on the trail of an evil Count when they enter a far away kingdom. Soon, they find themselves embroiled in a dangerous quest surrounding three mysterious orbs. They will come face-to-face with monsters and enter ancient fortresses to help thwart an evil wizard from bringing a once peaceful land down into ruin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Bowron
• Release date: Jul 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463176023

Patrick Bowron

About the AuthorPatrick lives in Brownsburg, Indiana with his wife, Sarah, and is a stay-at-home Dad to their daughter, Irene. Before this he had an array of time-passing vocations, including high school history teacher, banker, laser engineer, hearing aid technician, car wash supervisor, and library assistant. Pat received his Bachelor’s degree in History from IUPUI in Indianapolis. His hobbies include living and breathing Notre Dame Football, Star Wars, reading Tolkien and other fantasy authors, researching ancient astronaut theories, and the Indianapolis 500. He enjoys spending his time outdoors with his family, including grilling, hiking, kayaking, and captaining his father-in-law’s pontoon boat.Other books by this author available now:Tales of the Mountain KingBook One of the Chronicles of the Ball of Light - The Story of Faded StarsElm: The Tale of the Tree of SleepThe Adventures of Koril Icebane: The Relic of the TombThe Shimmering KnightA Drunk Dwarf Inn ChristmasComing Soon:Book Two of the Chronicles of the Ball of Light - Upon the Bridge of Falling FrostBook Three of the Chronicles of the Ball of Light - LaevindalPrologue to the Chronicles of the Ball of Light- The Box of Stories

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The Emerald Orbs

Patrick Bowron

The Emerald Orbs

Published by Patrick Bowron

Copyright 2018 Patrick Bowron

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Chapter 1: Memories in a Dream

The frigid wind blew its cold breath down in a sweeping path from the tall peaks of the Mountains of Darkness at the World’s End. The wind twirled the grass that lined the North Road coming out of lands unknown to the habitants of Stirlyn and sent small animals scurrying back to their nests and dens. The leaves had turned and many had fallen. The leaves that fell descended like golden-red wafers and were caught in the unseen tide and swept away to form swirling cyclones.

A group of four adventurers moved slowly northward on the old road that had fallen into to ruin this far south due to its lack of use. They were mismatched and strange and carried gear of war and combat, and by the looks of the equipment it seemed that it had seen much use. Their journey had been a long one, and their tales many. But they thought nothing of that. Their thoughts focused on only reaching the forest a few miles before them, that they might find shelter from the wind before the setting of the Starsun.

There were no sounds save only the howling of the wind, the shifting of fallen leaves, and the crunching stone from boots on the ruined road. Shadows began to shade the land. For the travelers were between the ice covered grim peaks of the Mountains of Darkness and the flank of East Lannerdan Forest that now stood higher than the sinking Starsun in the west. Darkness was growing.

The Starsun sets, said Zain Lamtred, a rough and grizzled dwarf. We must hurry if we still wish to make camp in those dark woods.

With his words barely out of his mouth, the Starsun shed its last true strong rays of light for the day, the upper bows of the trees seemed if their orange leaves burned with fire before they faded and were again shadowed.

We would have been there sooner if your legs weren’t stunted, quipped Jase Zalendar, a young dark haired rogue with a poor excuse for a mustache.

Bah! Shut your mouth, Jase. You whine more than you walk and you walk more than you fight. If I had never seen a gold coin before then I would have never seen you, Zain retorted. He rubbed his head and his gear rattled. He was old, tired, and hungry and did not want to listen to Jase’s verbal assaults until he was at least fed and off his feet.

Jase snickered to himself, knowing he had gotten under the cleric’s skin. He rubbed the hilt of the rapier at his side and was lost momentarily in some fanciful duel against mighty opponents from deep dungeons. He slew dark elves and goblins and was rewarded by kisses from princesses and hordes of gold from their kingly fathers. His fantasy ended quickly though, for in the growing darkness he had missed his step and tripped on a rock.

Will you two stay off each other’s necks? Dagen Vrance growled.

The blue skinned warrior from Snowfell glared back at them. His sapphire ice eyes gleamed with irritation even in the fading light. His armor was thick and broad. The plates of hard metal were dented from many campaigns, but the helm upon his head was as flawless as the day it came out of the forge. For no enemy had come that close to slaying him, the last of a fallen tribe.

Dagen scratched his blue thick beard that contained flakes of permanent ice. Looking to his left he conversed with the other dwarf of the traveling party. A dwarf of two hundred winters named Sarik Moonwater was the father figure to Dagen Vrance. Sarik had raised Dagen since he was young. While tracking a great foe of his people, Sarik had pulled Dagen out from amongst the slain and frozen bodies of his kin, setting the young boy’s path to righteousness and will for victory over all things spawned from the Shadow.

Master Moonwater, Dagen started, what do you think of this forest up ahead? Sarik Moonwater looked back to the barbarian that towered above him and studied him with old grizzled dwarf eyes. There was no worry in Dagen Vrance’s voice and with his dark vision he could see that Dagen stood as still as stone, wishing only to hear the opinion of his mentor and adopted father. Sarik turned his gaze back to the forest that was only a few hundred meters before them now.

I sense no more ill in there than most of the other dark places we have visited, Sarik said turning a sarcastic grinning face back to Dagen. Dagen returned a similar grin to Sarik, though the dwarf knew the snow barbarian could not see his face. But I know not these lands. Any evil may lurk there or maybe it is the home of wood elves, but I suppose we will find out the answers before long. Now let’s hurry up and get there and get out of this blasted wind, Sarik finished, picking up the pace.

Dagen knew his master did not abide well with the overworld. Forests did him better than open plains, but what Sarik needed was to be inside great Dwarven halls or mines in the tall mountains. Dungeons suited him too, for he was a disciple of Achaines, the God of War, and loved to clear out evil dwellings with the sharp blade of his axe. Sarik had spent the first one hundred and fifty of his two hundred years of life in the fabled Mines of Kanazar, part of the great Dwarven stronghold in the Mountainous Sea the land to the south of Snowfell, Dagen’s home, before the mines were broken by the great war with the dark elves.

The four travelers continued on and soon came under the open archway of branches that hung over the decrepit and overgrown road. Sarik called Zain forward, and together the two dwarves helped lead the barbarian and rogue deeper into the forest. They walked slowly for about another hundred meters then took off the path to make camp in area nestled with tall pine trees.

This will make good enough shelter from the wind, Zain said. Then after a moment of thought he turned to Jase. Zain could see in the dark that Jase was rubbing the hilt of his rapier and had that worried face he always carried when he thought danger could strike out from anywhere. Zain smiled and said, Jase go collect some fire wood and rocks for a pit.

But I can’t see anything, Jase protested, an edge of fear hinting in his voice. Why can’t you do it? You’re the one who can see in the dark.

You’ll do it, Zain retorted, or you will be warming your own dinner up.

In the dark Zain watched Jase glower at him, but then wiped the look off his face when he remembered the old dwarf could see him. Then he turned slowly and stumbled out into the dark to search for wood and rocks.

Well, let’s get settled, Sarik said. His words were followed by clunks of equipment hitting the ground as the band of heroes removed their armor and weapons from their bodies and backs.

Twenty minutes later Jase returned with the supplies for the fire. He brought them into the middle of the camp and dumped them saying, I collected everything. Someone else can make the pit. Jase threw up his hands in defiance.

I’ll take care of it, Dagen said to the rogue, taking the pipe that he was smoking from his mouth and handed it to Sarik. You just sit down and relax, Dagen finished, and then went immediately to work constructing the fire pit. A few minutes later the pit was made and Dagen sat back down.

Do you want to do the honors? Dagen asked Zain, motioning to the unlit campfire.

Sure, Zain replied.

He moved forward to the pit and sank to his knees. With his hands out before him, he began chanting a prayer to Forlen, the God of Light. Forlen Tu’ Terrin Mor Du’ Forlendal. He ended his chant and light coursed through the trees forcing back the clouding darkness. In the center of the pit a warm fire blazed.

Sarik, who had been putting together a stew in the dark, now placed it over the fire in an old iron pot. The light and warmth was welcomed and soon the smell of rabbit and wild herbs filled the