Pine Tree Wind: Pleides Series: Book Ii

By A.L. Neff

Darkwolfe has assumed the lordship of Grathmoor and the Demon Gate for now is secure with the help of the dwarven army. Still the threat of chaos and destruction is evident with the demon Za'Varuk now released and the wizard Sabbath and Black Paladin escaping with their lives intact.

A new adventure now unfolds to hunt down the remaining Spirit Keys. The companions must now venture forth to the Glacial Mountains and find the source of the call of the Wild God and find the knowledge that they seek; they must commune with the Pine Tree Wind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 21, 2002
• ISBN: 9781462085767

A.L. Neff

Adam currently lives in upstate New York with his wife and two children. He is a musician, the founder of Cheiron Karate, a poet, a surgical technologist, adventurer of the mind and spirit, & holds a Masters degree in Psychology.

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All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Adam Lee D’Amato-Neff

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In Goddess we Trust

ISBN: 0-595-25834-4 (Pbk)

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Foreword

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Showdown in Grathmoor

6

The City of Pyramids

Cassiopeia

Part I: Atlas The Harps of War

Part II: Earth Trouble

1

Contemplation 2

Part III: Merope The Calling

The Calling II

The Calling III

The Calling IV

The Calling I-B

The Calling I-R

The Calling V

The Calling VI

The Calling VII

Barbarian Woes

Northpoint 1

Grathmoor 2

A Pair of Gems

3

Uncertainties

Serendipity

Servant of the Dark

Scattered Shadows

Spinning Plots and Axes

About the Author

Notes

Glossary

Foreword

The initial format for these books was to be in a miniseries. The first three novellas Darkwolfe’s Honour, The Dragon Temple, & The Demon Gate were published together however as simply Za’Varuk’s Stone. While I enjoy working in the novella-like format and it allows me to get my books out to you, the reader more readily, it also ends up costing more to buy three separate books instead of one. At present, Crow Scare is the interlude between Za’Varuk’s Stone and Pine Tree Wind. Crow Scare is included here, as well as the last chapter of the Demon Temple, revised, to refresh everyone’s memory, as it has been over a year since the release of Za’Varuk’s Stone.

Never the less, Crow Scare was published separately as a novella in both paperback and hardback in October 2002.

I hope everyone enjoys the worlds of the Pleides and I of course always continue to answer personal e-mails as time permits ([e-mail] or [e-mail]). I am in the process of setting up a fantasy and writing web site; there will be a writing forum and some editing amongst the group; as well, you can get a sneak peak at some of my upcoming books.

So enjoy, and blessed be: A.L. Neff

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the efforts of all artists whose inspirations though time have had an impact on my psyche and creative outlets. As well, I would especially like to commend the artistry of Alan F. Beck for his wonderful artwork for the cover and his upcoming works in the Pleides novels.

Introduction

Like all of the Pleidian Novels, this one takes place on many wonderful worlds. Mundane Earth, Magical Alcyone, Futuristic Atlas, and many planets in-between. There are strange races of Elves, Dwarves, Savoli, Shaithen, Crowe, and of course humans. Motives are sometimes not understood, and the Pleidian Council, while in rule for millions of years, go not forever unchallenged. And then who are the creators? The gods’ gods? This is what we wonder through tales of horror, fantasy, & science fiction. This is the Pleides.

PINE TREE WIND

A PLEIDIAN NOVEL

Book 3 ending:

the Demon Gate

Showdown in Grathmoor

6

Dusk’s shadow began to descend like a dark cloak over the expansive western continent of Glazeer on the planet Alcyone. One massive continent among many. One awesome planet among a spiral of eight gracious sisters. One long string among many in the galaxy. One galaxy among such a multitude within the universe; on and on into what the human mind would conceive of as infinity.

Yet in this place, like a single piece of rice or wheat in a silo, disease and corruption was about to be spawned that could ultimately destroy the entire universe if left unchecked. The elder gods would watch and hope that balance would be struck, all except for Anu, the snake headed god, who had been playing his hand all along. Even this god was perhaps nothing more than a puppet in an endless line of strings, and like a chain reaction once one moved, so did they all.

But what was the nature of such meddling? One deity had power to create, another to destroy. One Goddess had love and beauty, and there was an alternate one of corruption and hatred. On and on went the vying forces to ultimately achieve a balance of sorts. It was this balance that the council of the Pleides sought to maintain. Through manipulation, creation of various genetic races, and even to pit the Demons of Chaos and the Dragons of Hope endlessly against one another.

It was never so easy.

The demons were for now trapped for two thousand years behind a gate of magick, constructed by the protector race, the dwarves. These creatures lived for several hundred years and in their wisdom were highly attuned with the forces of the earth. The dragons were suppose to hold the demons in check with their sense of balance, but once the demons were banished by the council, the dragons lost all sense of their purpose.

Over time, even the dragons split amongst themselves in an effort to achieve some sort of balance as was their nature. Some became totally self absorbed and hence became evil; others thought that only the light of goodness should shine upon the face of creation and sought only destroy all things that they thought to be evil; and yet others maintained their sense of fortitude and continued to fight for a balance, but they were unfortunately the minority of their race. They were some, only protectors of a few of the Spirit Keys like Eleanor, others went into seclusion within the mountains and swamps, and still others continued their fight against both the good and evil dragon kin and soon were overcome and destroyed.

Would Za’Varuk be released; one remarkably wicked demon, to escape from his imprisonment? More would surely follow. The inherent problem now, was that the dragons were not united as they once were, and there was possibly no way of stopping them. In the past, as now, a king of common blood would be called to lead the people in a battle against chaos, and in an effort to forestall the ever-ready sickle of death that was always evident in the minds of the mortal kind.

Darkwolfe was just such a lad, but only a small player in the field of dreams. There were all too many nightmares to hold sway in this tale, and with hope and luck, a few creatures of blessed light.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

The clouded sky was dark and ominous. The purple and black contours of the billowy clouds looked like bruises and obscenely complemented the blotchy black and blue flesh of the cadaverous undead. They meandered amongst the thick trees and ransacked dwellings of the small town. Many of the structures had been burned and only skeletal frames of their previous glory stood in contrast to the leaden sky.

The undead took their positions to intercept the dwarven army as they came into the wicked town of Grathmoor, now only under the command of the mage Sabbath. The Lord of the region controlled these monsters and by decree of the Lady Heather it was Sabbath. This fore-stallment of inheritance was an age-old magick tied to the people and their sovereign ruler. Only a native born and having lived in the surrounding area could vote for, and install the rites of leadership upon anyone asking to rule the land. Only one had survived following the deadly curse and the poisoning within the castle walls by the cook Arthur. Who as in question had been killed the priest Jovanovich in his dying breaths.

It was this feast that had eliminated the entire household and the remnants of the town, leaving only a simple servant girl, Heather, to proclaim the new ruler and Lord Sabbath; having done so, the peasant had instantly risen to the ranks of Lady and had acquired many fine clothes and jewels in the process. But ever still, she had not understood the true nature of such a bargain.

Za’Varuk possessed the woman, and while at first she was fond of the power that boiled in her intrepid veins, over the past couple of days she learned to fear her decision in naming this evil mage Lord. The ruthless and chaotic intentions of this demon were horribly clear to her and millions would be dead because of her greedy actions. Of course now it was far too late, and she could do nothing more than cower in the recesses of her own mind and pray to the goodly gods and goddesses to repent her terrible acts, and she spent her idle time setting grueling reparations for herself; if but perhaps she would live long enough to find the strength and time to carry them through.

It was a void of brackish soup, much as if she were wading in an endless expanse of swamp. Ever she tried to find solid ground, but only sank deeper, and became more entrapped. Yet she still maintained hope that there was some thought, some effort or emotion, that would and could with time help her. It was almost like a hallucinogenic drug.

Her awareness expanded ten-fold in the first 12 hours. She looked back as if she was an infant, and over the progression of the control of the demon, she absorbed much of its knowledge. She learned about arcane casting, and hand to hand combat; she was given a great deal of information in regards to the history of Glazeer and the world of Alcyone in general, and much, much more. She retained a lot, but in time the input became far too much and she had to retreat into a lonely corner of her mind where she could sleep blissfully and remain ignorant of all that was going on in and around her.

Velneb Skullcrusher called a halt to the army of 500 mighty dwarves. Through the dense foliage of the trees he could see the sizeable town of Grathmoor and the looming gray castle beyond. All appeared still and deserted, but a rolling chill breeze brought the horrible stench of rotting flesh to all of their senses and the seasoned warriors knew that undead were about. Velneb knew it was some kind of a horrible trap and called his trustworthy mages and astute clerics over to seek their learned council.

Darrel Hammertoe ran the entire length of the double column and told the stout soldiers to fan out to either side. Within a few minutes the two columns opened up like two great arms held together above the head and brought down to the sides at shoulder level. Velneb had planned for a wide sweep through the surrounding woods and town, and a small group itself would head for the castle and gain entrance to the demon gate.

What do you gentlemen suggest, Velneb asked, looking at the men around him, up at the darkening cloud cover, and then on toward the town ahead. His long whiskery chin quivered at the prospect of battle and was eager to get started. Never the less he was not a youth and counted his 167th birthday as a goddess-given event in terms of wisdom. It was with this prospect that he addressed his peers and the wise brotherhood that surrounded him, and asked their intelligent opinions.

I smell undead as sure as I’m a dwarf, a cleric of the mountain god Thor said. Our spells of protection can help, but by the stench I’d say there must by thousands of the things hiding in the woods and town, our spells will only help a little bit.

I can battle with my magic as usual, a mage offered, but I certainly can’t win the battle for you, my magic is limited. If the priest’s estimate of their numbers is accurate, then you’re going to have to fight them the old fashioned way.

That’s just the way we like it, Trollbait and Thrasher said in unison. Thrasher was hefting two battle-axes and Trollbait wielded a thick mace and a deadly flail. The two were more than ready for some carnage.

Alright, let’s start a slow sweep straight-ahead. I want the clerics and mages to use as much of their powers right off the bat to force them back as much as possible. Hopefully if we do that we can keep up the momentum and smash our way straight to the castle. Once we get close, I want Thrasher and Trollbait, myself, and Darrel to head for the gates with a few other men. I’ll use the thing Ironoak gave me to get in the gate and we’ll head in to secure the demon portal. Until then, I want you all to work as leaders and motivate, prod, and whatever else it takes to keep the rest of the men moving forward. If we lose our momentum we’re doomed. Let’s go.

The gathered leaders spread out and dispersed themselves throughout the ranks of the common soldiers, offering words of encouragement as they went. Many of the dwarves present were young warriors out on their first real battle, and fear and trepidation could be seen in their eyes and trembling hands. One such dwarf dropped his weapon and was simply unable to strap on his armour without the aid of one of his comrades. Eventually he seemed to get himself together and a silver flask passed amongst the waiting horde did much to allay their fears.

The priests began casting their spells of protection and bravery, and the mages also began summoning forth elementals to fight by their side.

We call to the elemental watchtowers to aid us in our fight, the mages yelled. Many beasts appeared out of the very air and ground. These creatures were pure energy specific to their nature. A muscular earth gnome sprang up made of pure rock and compact dirt. A fiery salamander burst forth and was made up of essentially living fire. A watery undine appeared, made of water but compact and a single forced blow could kill an armoured warrior beneath its onslaught. An airy sylph materialized from nowhere, it could also deal a great deal of damage with its forceful strikes. The four elements were present with the summonings, but the fifth element, that of spirit, was often never specifically invoked, as the consequences were usually far more precarious than the general outcome of the initial battle. In short; it wasn’t worth it. Never the less, some often did summon the raw energy of spirit, and with grace and cunning could wield it with precision and surgical tact.

Once all the preparations were in place, Velneb took up a long spear with a pennant displaying the markings of Rockshome, a hammer and axe crossed in yellow on a royal blue background; he held it high over his head so all his men could see it. Then in a military snapping motion he brought it swiftly down and handed it to his stalwart aid. The long line of rough horsemen slowly made their way forward and Velneb pulled out his own mighty double-edged axe.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

Of course none of the guards present at the royal palace would think that the quarantine would apply to the court mage Thuja. His billowing cloak and rich velvety, crimson robes bespoke that of the most respected nobleman. He wore several gold rings set with expensive stones and his neck was adorned with still even more precious finery. In fact as he came through he applauded the rigid guards for their diligent service in such a time of need and patted them on their flat shoulders as he went by. He continued to do so all the way to Lazareth’s private laboratory, spreading the foul curse throughout like high-sun wildfire.

The High-Mage Lazareth was busy bent over a well-worn workbench when Thuja came in. He was mixing thin crystalline vials and sniffing them affectionately. One stout, black cauldron was boiling on a raging wood fire and steam was wafting briskly upward. Several small animal cages were kept against the far wall, and on a forked, sturdy perch sat a multicolored bird which the mage had explained once as being called a parrot. Thuja watched for several silent moments, allowing his anger to boil like the water in the cauldron, but his steam had no obvious outlet.

So are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to tell me if you found The Scorpion or not my friend? Lazareth continued working and didn’t offer the younger mage the satisfaction of looking at him when he spoke differentially.

Thuja crept in like a stalking shadowed panther and finally gave in to the sickening curse, pulling a thin wand from his fat belt and firing a lightning bolt at the older mage. Thuja only became more furious when the lightning bolt fizzled away harmlessly, burning through the shallow illusion as the real Lazareth stepped out from a nearby darkened alcove.

Now, now, why such the temper? I must confess that I don’t know why you’ve always been so bitter. I have always tried to be like a gentle father to you when your family sent you here from the glorious Northpoint. You have been a good student, and as an acceptable apprentice I even treated you with more respect than perhaps I should have. What is it that ills you I wonder? The mage held up his arms in exasperation, as if trying to fathom the multitude of swirling emotions that emitted from the man that stood before him.

You are nothing but an old and worthless man, Thuja sputtered triumphantly, firing the sleek wand again but only managing to dispel yet another ephemeral illusion. I will beat you and be the greatest mage in all the spreading lands. He continued to fire at each new image as they stepped into view, but each time not hitting the real Lazareth. Finally the wand was readily spent and Thuja threw the tapering wand across the vast room in total frustration.

Finally a corporeal form of the old mage came into view, and Thuja confirmed it by hitting it with a few rocketing attack darts. The elderly mage stumbled back by the sheer shock and had burned and torn away portions in his robe where the darts had hit. No you must not get the potion; it will give you too much power. Lazareth ran toward an oak table laden with squat beakers filled with light coloured waters and viscous tar-like globs set about its top. He grabbed one close to his frail chest and then threw it toward the nearest wall hoping to smash it against the wall and rob the young mage of its rich properties.

In mid-air Thuja telekinetically guided the sleek vial to his outstretched livid hand. The label read Trial of the Abyss. You would try to rob me of the desert walk old man? I shall become magus before your dying eyes! He hurled a fireball at the decrepit mage blasting him into a wretched lump of flesh, but somehow the older wizard still breathed despite his lump and bubbling form.

Thuja uncorked the thin vial and drank down the bitter dark liquid.

Instantly he was hurled into total darkness, ripped from his fleshly body and thrown into the wretched abysmal plane. He found himself in a vast desert of satiny-indigo sand and the vast sky was a curtain of total midnight; unknown stars without a familiar yellow moon. He knew enough of the unspeakable desert walk to not literally walk, but to will himself ahead, and he floated across the great expanse of the void.

Psychically he was being drained though. He had foolishly entered the trial and the dark forces made him lethargic and drew him to the City of Pyramids; that place of giant sloping obsidian temples and a locale of which not evenly he most glorious of gods or goddesses would walk without a positive affirmation of their well being.

Out of the endless nothingness emerged hundreds of gigantic triangular mounds the size of mountains sprawled across the rolling dunes of purple and black. It was here that he laid down in exhaustion and entered that endless sleep. Before he lost consciousness however; he glimpsed approaching shadows, hungry for his energies. He heard the unnatural screams of torment and the eternally damned.

Lazareth suddenly became visible in the corner of the room; he had decided to let this inevitable confrontation play out. With a ray of mag-ickal death he ended the life of his agonizing clone and turned his attention to the body of Thuja. The young mage lay in a deep sleep while he was in trial, but the older man knew Thuja would not survive long. Just then the young man’s body began to shrivel as it was drained of its life energy and with that Thuja was dead.

Lazareth was saddened to have let his apprentice go in such a way, but it was a test in all proportions, and the young one had willfully taken it. Thuja had fallen from the proper path and would have only brought pain and destruction if he had ever become a true magus. Now he would suffer for his mistake. At least Lazareth thought, I will send his

corpse back home to Northpoint and tell his family he died well.

* * * * * * *

As they neared the intrepid town, and really not to any of the stout dwarves surprise, thousands of zombies and skeletons emerged from the thick trees and outlying ruined buildings. Even with the foreknowledge of the attack, many of the younger warriors were losing their nerve. Thankfully there were some veterans and clerics and mages nearby to steady their calm and reinforce their unsteady conviction.

The elementals ripped through the front ranks of vile opposition, but regardless of their great strength and unnatural make-up, they were by no means invincible and many soon were overcome by the sheer numbers of the raving and malicious undead. Many spells of exploding heated fire, tornadoes of wicked frost and piercing ice, great forks of lightning, and gargantuan showers of dripping acid rained upon the advancing army before the dwarven contingent could more than advance 100 meager yards.

Forward, the hardy captains yelled, crush the enemy. Onward to the gates. Smash the undead! When they finally met head to head, there was no more time to think, and their warrior instincts kicked in. Mighty axes slashed, clubs and maces crushed. Mages unleashed wave after wave of fire and lightning, again and again. The priests also called forth their magic, destroying many with their divine radiance. The ele-mentals thrashed through the ranks leaving huge swathes of room, which many of the dwarves jumped in their wake and followed with a hope of reprisal in the dim shadow of a weakened pawn.

The mages and clerics soon tired and fell to the back, fending off the many horrible monsters with their thick staffs and solid war-hammers. But still there were just far too many of the scathing scoundrels to fight, and the dwarves began suffering heavy losses. To make things worse, when the tough dwarves died, they were instantly revived as undead and began fighting their former comrades with unequivocal vigor.

Go, ride to the gate, Velneb yelled harshly, tossing Thrasher the magical bomb. He and Trollbait rode off with Darrel at their side for the front gate of the castle. They dodged between sporadic houses and well-kept shops in the northwestern quarter of the small town, smashing through the undead ranks with the sheer force and driving momentum of their horses. The many rotting zombies clawed at their stark legs as they went past, raking the metal dwarven armor, and in most cases losing more of their own flesh and causing themselves more damage than that which they inflicted.

They forged on into the richer part of town. Trollbait was enjoying the hideous game, as he continually sent heads flying with his mace and flail. Thrasher smashed in with his two wicked axes. Darrel Hammertoe rhythmically split skulls with his dual hammers, often letting one fly and to reappear in his hand only moments later; a most glorious mag-ickal item that he loved and coveted with friendship and devotion.

Finally, before them loomed the great gates to the small castle. What were the strengths and the nature of this attack? Was the enemy in charge of the walls and the inner courtyard? Should we simply attack, or are we to only find out the nature of the beast after it has said its word. I don’t know, though I could imagine the nature of the power of dissidence.

They weren’t shocked by the fact that the gates were closed, but they had to dodge huge tumbling rocks and other thrown objects that the raspy skeletons on the walls hurled their way with inept aim and marksmanship. Thrasher looked at the bomb and generally had no idea how to use the intricate thing. It was essentially a fat metal wand, but heavier than normal magical devices. Several rocks banged off his metal armour and his faithful horse pranced around in agitation. They had left most of the foul monsters behind them at the outskirts of the city. The few on the ground were being disassembled by the might of Trollbait and Darrel and their whirring ensemble of weaponry.

Thrasher shrugged his huge shoulders and said, Abracadabra, hurling the elongated magical device at the sturdy gates. The fat wand spun end over end and hit the huge wooden gates with a dull thud and fell to the dirt road. Several more of the round stones, and now dull spears were being hurled down at the trio sitting upon their steeds expectantly before the gate. Thankfully these undead creatures were horrible with projectile weapons and the spears hit the ground no where near the party.

The next thing they knew, the three dwarves were laying on the road next to their horses with a ringing in their ears.

The Pagan King Darkwolfe rode his charging brown horse toward the back entrance to the castle of Grathmoor. The silver-stag crown sat atop his brown head. He wore the shining dragon armour and his mag-ickal blades remained sheathed for now resting easily at his hips. He had met no eminent resistance on his long journey since leaving his companions in the battle with the deadly Shaithen. He was curious as to his present approach, but he could pick up the sounds of battle on the other side of town. He pulled the sentient sword, Kirianna from her sheath to see what thoughts she had on his present situation.

{Greetings my lord. I do believe the fun has already begun. As you can hear, the dwarves have already started their attack on the town and are making their way in to guard the demon gate.}

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