The Forging: Book One of the Four Companions Series

By Tim Rose

The magician, Kod Hawklight, fears his use of enchantments will be
greatly handicapped after the loss of one of his fingers. However,
after he is summoned to heal three travelers, Kod discovers that one of them, the dwarf Olan Stronghelm, is carrying a map that reveals the
location of an ancient stronghold. Along with the mysterious thief, Brehana Songsteel, and the fierce half-orc, Smunt, they follow the
map through untamed forests, battling many obstacles along the way.

If they survive the perils of the forest, will they find the lost city, and whatever treasure might still remain within?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491811368

Tim Rose

Tim Rose is a poet, author and world traveler. Over the last years he has lived and worked in The Middle East, Europe and the Caribbean. His most recent project, writing the fantasy novel "The Forging," is the culmination of years of being a fan of fantasy. Tim is currently living in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, USA.

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Contents

Prologue

Crossing Destinies

Chapter One

The tavern: (where all stories begin)

Chapter Two

On the road again

Chapter Three

Into the forest

Chapter Four

The Keep

Chapter Five

Into the swamplands

Chapter Six

To the Tunnels

Chapter Seven

Hobgoblins

Chapter Eight

Orcs

Chapter Nine

Deeper into the tunnels

Chapter Ten

The Cult of Darkness

Chapter Eleven

Journey’s End

This book is dedicated to J.R.R. Tolkien, Piers Anthony and R.A. Salvatore. Three authors who seeded my imagination with fantasy and inspired me to write this novel.

I would like to extend a special thank you to all the people who helped me make this book possible

Matt The Hat Borkowski, Kenneth Big Daddy Borkowski, Wendy Greene, Russ Helms, Louise Pagano, Dennis Pagano, Shane Conan Morkin, Nicole Stepien, Kenneth H. Geary Jr., Jamie The Podmedic Davis, Martijn de Moor, Yannick Guillaume, Benedict Seabourne, Nicole Stepien, Hanna Nadim Haydar, Nicholas Michel-Salis, Marius Richard, Pierre-Philippe de San Mateo, Coleen Spook King, Anthony McDonald, Terry Fordyce RN, Andrew J. Warner, George Butros, Steven Mentzel, Elvis Bargas, Laurent Lolo Leroy, Lindy Morris Johnson, Greg Chop Gonzalez and especially Sophie and Dorian Rose.

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Prologue

Crossing Destinies

Olan Stronghelm struggled to keep standing as pain racked his body and blood dripped down from his head and into his steel gray eyes. Through a red haze, he saw standing before him, a quivering, snarling goblin, brandishing the same black, crooked sword that had only seconds ago sundered his helmet and cut into his scalp. A quick glance around him confirmed what he feared most. His brothers, Foran and Slan, lay on either side of him, crumpled and unmoving, their bodies hacked by numerous sword wounds. Strewn along the road beside them were half a dozen or so dead goblins; their bodies showing the rending marks of two dwarven axes and a mighty dwarven war mace.

Now it’s just you and me dwarf, snarled the goblin as he stepped towards Olan and raised his sword.

Wrong! cried out Olan, a strength, born of rage, welling up inside him.

As he lunged forward and swung his mighty axe, the surprised goblin turned his sword in an effort to block Olan’s blow. The dwarven forged axed smashed down, breaking the crooked sword off at the hilt and splitting the goblin’s head in two. The force of the blow sent the creature’s foul brains splattering upon the once peaceful road. Now it is just me, Olan said with a grim grin.

He gave a tug on his axe to try to free it from the head of the still standing, dead goblin, but his strength gave out and he, and his slain foe, tumbled to the ground.

Using his last bit of strength, the battered dwarf struggled to his knees and crawled over to the body of his older brother. Foran’s open mouth and unblinking, glazed-over eyes, verified Olan’s initial dread. In a gesture of tenderness, he closed Foran’s eyes with his hand and crawled painfully over to Slan. The dwarf’s obviously lifeless body lay sprawled on his back with his eyes and mouth closed.

Fighting back tears, Olan gently touched his younger brother’s cheek. He then put his hand into a pouch that was around Slan’s waist and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment.

The map, he whispered to himself, The map.

Clutching the parchment and kneeling in the middle of the road, Olan took a deep breath and tried to stand. His wounded body screamed out in pain, his head started to spin and, as darkness overcame him, he toppled over, face first, into the blood soaked dirt.

Brehana Songsteel winced and painfully rolled over onto her side. She could no longer remember how many days she had spent traveling in the back of the slave trader’s wagon. Her shackled wrists, pinned behind her back, had become raw from the rubbing of the coarse metal against her once soft skin and the heavy metal chain, wrapped around her waist and attached to a large iron circle on the floor, prevented her from sitting up. As the wagon rattled and bounced down the road, all she could do was shift back and forth from one side to the other.

All this for one lousy ruby, she muttered to herself as she rolled back over on to her back.

Brehana had just closed her eyes, in an effort to sleep, when she heard the loud sound of wood cracking. The wagon pitched violently to the side and came to an abrupt stop, sending boxes, barrels and kitchen utensils falling upon her.

Oh rot, yelled out a voice from the front of the wagon.

The canopy, separating the rear of the wagon from the driver’s bench in the front, was thrown back and Brehana looked up to see the ugly face of the slave-trading hag who was currently her owner. Sounds like the darn axle just broke she cackled as she bent over Brehana and fastened a large metal collar with a chain on it, around her neck. Need to get out and take a look, she continued as she opened the lock attaching Brehana to the wagon floor.

Brehana stood up stiffly and followed the old woman out of the wagon.

A quick inspection showed the front axle had indeed snapped in two. After inspecting the damage, the old woman began to curse and yell in a strange language that Brehana couldn’t understand. The pair of mules that had been pulling her mobile prison for the last weeks stood calmly in the middle of the road as if waiting for instructions.

This is all your fault thief! the old woman screamed, in common tongue, as she gave a violent yank on the chain leash, forcing Brehana to her knees.

How could this be my fault? she pleaded to her now red-faced tormentor.

Because, because, because, stammered the slave trader as her face turned from red to violet and the veins on her neck started to pop out.

Suddenly, the old woman straightened up, dropped the chain leash and, as her eyes glazed over, let out a gurgling sound.

A second later, Brehana watched in amazement as the woman’s body went slack and toppled over onto its back.

The old hag killed herself with anger, she mused aloud before standing up and approaching the dead woman’s body. Carefully, she kicked open the hag’s dirty jacket with one foot and looked down. The sight of a silver colored key, hanging by a string around the now unmoving neck, brought a slight smile to her lips.

Positioning herself over the woman’s body, she turned around, crouched down and grabbed the key with her still shackled hands. A few seconds later the shackles, metal collar and metal belt all lay at her feet.

Bending over again Brehana slipped her hand into the dead woman’s jacket and pulled out a gleaming black dagger. Nice to see you again old friend she said as she gently ran her finger down the razor sharp edge of the dark knife.

With the dagger in hand, she walked to the front of the wagon and cut the reins attaching the two mules to her now broken prison.

I guess all of us are now free of this old harpy’s yoke, she said, before slapping each of their rumps and sending them cantering on down the road. She then reached up under the front bench of the wagon and took out a small leather purse full of coins. After tucking the purse into her belt, she looked back over her shoulder at the corpse sprawled in the street and slowly shook her head. Turning her back on the scene, she slipped the dagger into her boot and, leaving the wagon behind her, began walking down the road.

Smunt angrily squeezed the handle of his shovel and continued to fill the back of the wagon with manure.

You need to shovel faster than that you half-orc pig! yelled out the fat, sweaty man sitting near him on a roughly-hewn wooden stool.

To think I took you in all those years ago, fed you and clothed you, and you don’t even have the decency to work hard for me in return. Maybe I need to motivate you some more! he snarled, brandishing a short leather whip in his fat, brutish fist.

Smunt dumped in another shovel full of manure and then turned and said, I’m thirsty.

Is that so? laughed the man. You can drink this he replied, spitting in Smunt’s direction.

Smunt, in an effort to stay calm, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. As soon as his eyelids shut, a picture of a large menacing orc face popped into his mind. The centerpiece of the powerful, dusty colored, scarred visage was a pair of intense, protruding, bloodshot, green eyes. Jutting out from the corners of his mouth were two long white tusks curving up towards a flat broad nose. Smunt tried to open his eyes but found himself frozen, unable to move, as the glare of the eyes seemed to sear through him with burning flames. As the face’s crooked mouth smiled and opened, a rage he had rarely felt started to roil inside him. A guttural voice bellowed inside his head, No more… time to be free.

Then the face disappeared and Smunt opened his eyes to find himself once again standing up to his knees in horse manure with the hot sun beating down upon his whip-scarred back. Looking in front of him, he saw the man who had been abusing him since he was a child, still sitting on the stool.

What’s your problem orc spawn? the man growled as he started to heave his obese frame up off the stool.

As the rage inside him exploded, Smunt let out a small snarl and all his muscles tightened. He drew the shovel back over his shoulder, took a deep breath and swung it with all his might. Before the fat man could finish standing up, the steel head of the shovel slammed into his temple, shattering his skull and sending blood and brain splattering all over Smunt. The force of the blow sent his large, fat, frame toppling over into the pile of manure.

No more said Smunt as he dropped the shovel.

He stood looking at the twitching dead body for several seconds and then turned around and started running towards the forest. Time to be free, he said to himself as he ran Time to be free!

Kod Hawklight rolled up the scroll he was studying and pushed his chair back from the cluttered wooden table that served as his desk. Leaning back, and closing his eyes, he began to gently rub the scar on his right hand where his pointer finger used to be. After several seconds of quiet reflexion, he opened his eyes, turned his head to the left and looked intently at a large red and gold rooster standing calmly in the middle of a cage placed on the floor next to his desk. Without rising, he stretched his arms out towards the rooster and spoke several arcane sentences quietly to himself. When he had finished speaking, he began to trace an intricate design in the air with his fingers. A second later, his two hands began to glow faintly. Concentrating even more keenly on the rooster he spread his fingers out and yelled Suketa Ju.

Instantly, two searing bolts of pain shot up his arms and into his chest, and sent him jerking backwards, head over heels, out of the chair, and onto the packed earth floor of his humble house.

Stunned and shaking, he lay on the cool earth for several seconds before finally regaining his senses and struggling groggily to his feet.

As he stood up, the rooster, seemingly unaffected by the wizard’s magic, cocked his head to the side, looked at him and let out a loud caw.

Kod, still trembling and dazed, looked angrily at the rooster and muttered a few oaths under his breath before bending painfully and righting his chair. Once the chair was in position, he lowered himself gingerly into it and closed his eyes. He sat motionless for close to an hour, as his body recuperated from the violence of his misfired spell. His breathing, ragged and fast at first, gradually slowed to its original gentle cadence. Eventually he opened his eyes, sat up straight and scooted his chair closer to his desk. With a large sigh, he unrolled the faded parchment scroll he had been studying earlier and began to re-read it.

He had just started to plunge himself once again into the mysteries of magic when he was interrupted by a loud knock on his door.

Kod, come quick! a voice called from outside. Someone is injured and needs your help.

With a quick shrug of his shoulders, he quickly rolled the scroll back up, grabbed an assortment of vials off his desk, rose and hurried to the door.

Chapter One

The tavern: (where all stories begin)

Kod looked down upon the three sleeping figures lying in their cots in the makeshift hospital he had set up in the town granary. Wake up my dear fellows, he bellowed as he brought his hands together in a clapping motion, producing a boom almost as loud as a thunderclap.

Immediately Olan, Smunt and Brehana woke and sat up in their beds, hearts pounding and eyes darting around the room. After assessing the situation, all three pairs of eyes settled upon the strange looking person standing in the middle of the room. The man they saw in front of them was extremely tall, svelte, had light olive skin, dark green eyes and blond, almost white, hair which fell over ears that were ever so slightly pointed. He was dressed in a long dark robe with a silver belt tied around his waist and he wore tall black boots.

Brehana was the first to speak Where am I and who, may I ask, are you?

My name is Kod Hawklight, Madame, answered the magician. The three of you have been under my care in the village of Yorn since I found you all in various degrees of physical trepidation four days ago.

Olan started to speak but Kod raised his hand to silence him and continued, Fear not my dear adventurers, I mean you no harm. Fixing Olan with a reassuring smile he continued, Master Dwarf, you will find your armor and weapons in the room next to us; I took the liberty of having our local blacksmith fix your armor as best he could. It is not dwarven craftsmanship, but I think you will find it adequate. As for your other possessions, and one possession in particular, they are safe. As for your companions, we have buried them in the town cemetery in as close to accordance with dwarven customs and traditions as we could manage. You may visit their graves as you wish.

He then addressed Brehana and Smunt, Madame and my strong Man-Orc, unfortunately when I found you two, your clothes were in tatters. I took the liberty of getting rid of them and you will find some new clothes in the trunk in the corner. There are a few linen undergarments for each of you. As well, one of our local leather smiths tried to produce something to fit you as best he could.

Turning his eyes back to Olan, then again towards Brehana and Smunt, Kod let out a small chuckle. I think things have just gotten interesting again, he muttered before turning and walking toward the door. With a quick backward glance he added If you turn right when you leave this building you will find the town tavern a short way down on the right side of the road. I would be honored if you all would meet me there in half an hour.

Looking up from his tankard of ale, a smile crept over Kod’s face as he saw the door of the Lorn of Yorn swing open. Having positioned himself purposefully facing the door, at a table against the back wall of the one room tavern, he clearly saw the three adventurers standing in the doorway.

It being early morning, Kod was the only patron of the Lore of Yorn. As usual, the early hour had not seemed to have affected the tavern keeper, Old Josh, who was sitting behind the bar and downing his third tankard of the day.

Welcome to the Lore of Yorn Old Josh called out, motioning to the three strangers standing in his doorway to enter.

Dressed in a tight fitting leather suit, Brehana hesitated and glanced around the dimly lit room, assuring herself that danger was not lurking in any of the corners. Watching her intently, Kod was momentarily captivated by the curves of her athletic body, thick long black hair that fell over her shoulders and jet black eyes that seemed to suck up the light around her face. Ever vigilant that one Kod thought to himself, as she stepped into the room, nodded politely to Old Josh and cautiously made her way toward his table.

Olan was the second one to enter. Dressed in his newly repaired and shined chain mail armor, he carried his iron bound helmet under his arm. His blond hair was pulled back and his beard knotted into two long braids. He looked rather regal as he stepped boldly into the tavern and, without a word or a second look around him, started walking with strong steps toward Kod. As he approached, Kod noticed Olan’s eyes staring at the map laid out on the table in front of him. Dwarvish pride and confidence he muttered under his breath.

Kod then turned his gaze toward Smunt. The half-orc had hesitated to enter the tavern and was still standing in the doorway. Dressed in a leather vest and pants, studded with small bronze plates, the half orc was extremely impressive. He was only a few inches shorter than Kod and his muscular frame filled the doorway. His protruding lower jaw, bald head and caramel colored skin accentuated his orcish roots. The intensity of his eyes, as he scanned the room, left no doubt that the intelligence of his human ancestry was subservient to the physical passion orc folk were known to posses. Noticing Smunt’s hesitancy, Kod nodded to him and called out, enter my friend, we must talk. Smunt put one foot into the room, paused for a second as his nostrils flared out and then, having neither seen nor smelled anything disconcerting, walked toward the table.

When Brehana, Olan and Smunt reached the table, Kod motioned to three chairs in front of him and said Please… sit, now is the time for proper introductions and explanations.

Once the three were seated, Kod motioned to Old Josh. With a smile, the tavern owner hurried over and placed three large tankards of ale on the table before returning to his own, frothy mug at the bar.

I shall start by answering the question that is undoubtedly on all of your minds, he continued. How did each of you get here?

At this point, he paused and took a sip of his ale. Following up on Kod’s example, Olan raised his own tankard and drained about half of it before putting it back down on the table, with a loud bang. Smunt also followed Kod’s lead by grasping the tankard in both hands and drinking down several large gulps before posing it in front of him. Brehana politely took a small sip from her own tankard but the expression on her face showed clearly that ale was not her drink of choice.

This story shall be a bit strange, Kod went on for it shall start at the end, where I become involved, and then you will have to fill me in on prior events… if you are so inclined.

Master dwarf, he said motioning his head towards Olan, four days ago, several townspeople were coming back from the market in one of the nearby towns when they came upon your fateful party. Two of your companions were dead and you were close to discovering the afterlife yourself. They carried you back to town and brought you to me for healing. As I mentioned previously, they laid your companions to rest, respecting your traditions. As is dwarven custom, we buried them in their armor, but their weapons are still with the local blacksmith. From what they told me, the dead goblins they found around you attest to Dwarven bravery. It is rare for those foul creatures to venture out from their tunnels in the hills and attack travelers on our roads. The townsfolk burned their corpses and left their bones for the animals. Tapping the map lying on the table in front of him with one hand, he continued, As for your map, they gave it to me and I have kept it safe. The writing is ancient and while some of the areas look familiar, it is beyond my deciphering. While it interests me greatly, you are under no obligation to share its secrets.

Upon hearing this, Olan rose, stepped away from his chair, bent to one knee facing Kod and spoke solemnly, You have saved my life and honored my kin, for the ones you have buried were not only friends but my brothers Foran and Slan Stronghelm. For this I now have a blood debt to you. He stood back up and sat down. After clearing his throat, he continued in a calm and proud voice, My name is Olan Stronghelm, son of Antar Stronghelm, grandson of Barth Stronghelm, great-grandson of Bolar Stronghelm. My father is head of the Stronghelm clan and for generations, my family has lived in the dwarven lands south of the forest of Dughamnon, at the foot of the Gray Point Hills. I grew up in the underground city of Stoneheart. My people are known for their work with iron, granite and quartz. Pausing to drink the rest of his ale, Olan motioned to Old Josh for another before continuing. The members of my family, as well as being excellent stone masons and warriors, are also responsible for the history of our people. The scrolls and books kept within the tunnels and caves of Stoneheart go back centuries and contain enough wisdom to fill a hundred human libraries. My brothers and I have been overseeing the library since we first learned to read. This map before you, he said pointing to the open scroll on the table was discovered by my brother Foran. Together Foran, Slan and I spent months studying it and deciphering its writing. Not only was it written in the ancient tongue of our forefathers, it was also written using a cipher.

At this point Olan’s eyes began to sparkle as he pointed once more to the map. "This map tells of an old keep and an underground tunnel city on the edge of the wild lands not too far from Yorn. According to the dwarven merchant who drew the map centuries ago, this keep, now long forgotten, was once a rich and powerful outpost as was the underground town. The map intrigued us so much, we spent countless nights in the libraries searching for more information regarding this mysterious keep and tunnel city. We found several other manuscripts making mention of a small, but rich settlement in the vicinity. It seems as if some of their riches came from mining, but of what metals or stones we have no clue. Even the inhabitants of the twin cities are a mystery. From the few snippets of writing we came across, it was not clear if they were dwarves, elves or men.

When we shared our findings with my father, he commissioned us to set out and try to resolve the mysteries of the map. My brothers and I were on our way to search for the keep when we were attacked by goblins."

Upon mentioning the battle that had felled his brothers, the sparkle in his eyes disappeared and was replaced by a look of stern sadness. Bowing his head, he said, My brothers have fallen. For duty and honor, I must continue the search. With a sigh he glanced around the table at Kod, Brehana and Smunt, I have spoken; you now know what needed to be known.

Kod leaned back in his chair and began rubbing the place where his finger had once been. After a brief pause he said, Thank you Olan Stronghelm, your story is most interesting. We shall now see if your other unlikely companions have a tale that can compete with yours.

Kod then turned towards Brehana and, with a small smile in the corner of his mouth, continued, Madame, the same day that my friends came upon our unfortunate dwarf friend, the wife of our local baker came upon you just a few minutes’ walk outside the town. You were found near death; senseless, battered and bleeding, behind a small shack used by travelers waiting to catch coaches that pass along the road. Next to you were two dead men, one with his throat cut and the other with his pants down around his ankles. At this point Kod pulled out a shiny black dagger from the folds of his robe and held it up This was found stuck up through his genitals and lodged in his bowels.

Olan let out a small whistle of surprise and Smunt chuckled loudly. Nice, he said.

Brehana reached her hand out and gently took the black dagger from Kod’s unresisting hand. I think it is evident why the two men were killed, she said as she laid the dagger in front of her.

Your dagger interests me, said Kod, I feel there is some magic in it and the markings on it lead me to believe that it comes from a thieves’ guild. Do you care to share your story?

Brehana looked into Kod’s eyes for a long second before turning to Olan and Smunt and doing the same. Then, in a slow and clear voice, she began to speak, My name is Brehana Songsteel. As Kod has guessed, this knife was given to me when I passed the initiation rite and entered into a guild of thieves. When I was expelled from the same guild, the guild master sold both me, and my dagger, to a slave trader. I was lucky enough to have the old hag, who bought me, die before she sold me to someone else. She paused and once again fixed Kod in the eyes before continuing. The guild showed pity by selling me into slavery instead of killing me. Needless to say, going back to the guild is not one of my options. What you see is all there is. I find myself alone and, much like our dwarf here, seeming to owe you my life. With a slight nod of recognition in Kod’s direction she finished by saying While I am not one to get all heady into blood debts and such, I do hope that I can, one day, repay you for the favor.

Turning his gaze upon Smunt, Kod continued his storytelling. Orc-man, on the same fateful day that Olan and Brehana came to us, you were found by one of our hunters in the woods bordering the river just outside of town. As with the others, you were also near death. According to the hunter, you were laying unconscious upon the body of a young owlbear. It seems that your hands were still locked around the dead beast’s neck.

Olan smiled, turned his head towards Smunt and nodded. A warrior’s spirit, even in one with orc blood, is always to be respected.

With a smile that showed two rows of crooked yellow teeth, Smunt banged his fist on the table and yelled out For more talk, I need more ale! On cue, Old Josh hustled over and placed another foaming tankard in front of the half-orc. Smunt grabbed the cup and downed its content in one long draught. Letting out a loud belch he leaned back in his chair and told his tale.

My name is Smunt. A long time ago, before I am alive, orcs attack my mother’s village. They kill the men and take the women. My father is orc. My mother is human. My mother dies when I am young. At this point Old Josh arrived again and placed a fresh tankard on the table. After downing it in much the same manner as the other, Smunt continued, When I am not yet the age of adult it is the humans’ turn. They come, attack our village and kill the orcs. The humans don’t spare the women. My father is brave and he fight but death take him anyway. Because I am half-man, the humans don’t kill me. They take me to their lands and give me to a farmer. During the day, I work hard on the farm. Many nights he brings me to fight in local tournaments. I win always. At this point, Smunt’s eyes hardened and his voice became lower The farmer is not a nice man… He does not treat me nice… the farmer is now dead. After he is dead, I leave and go to the forest. The owlbear attacks me but, I guess I win again.

Smunt’s face relaxed and he let out a small chuckle, My mother is dead, my father is dead, the farmer is dead, the owlbear is dead. One day Smunt is dead, but for now he is alive. Like the others, I must say thank you. I am happy to be alive.

Seeing that Smunt had finished his story, Kod pushed back his chair and stood up. Clearing his throat he looked at Brehana, then Smunt, and finally at Olan.

"Master Dwarf, your map and your story intrigue me, as do the odd events that have unfolded to bring the three of you here to Yorn, under my care. I have long ago stopped believing in coincidences. According to your map