Dead Reign: Book One in the Lorieldor Series

By Naomi Anderson

Maeglin is about to lead Slandra, a talented bard, who's at the beck and call of the moon and Septimus, a psychic assassin, on the most horrific adventure of their lives. They're going to save the world, not for any noble reason of right or wrong, it's because they want the reward. A title and lands will give Septimus an open into the Royal court and put him next to the Princess Anita. For Slandra it means a stable life of luxury and pampering. This diverse trio are heading across the world to take on a Vampire Lord who is hell bent on turning the world into mindless vampire thralls. Travelling through the depths of the mountains where the evil Cimmerian reign. Across the north's blistering deserts beset by Sand Dragons and many more horrors. What Slandra and Septimus don't know is that Maeglin is a professional Vampire Hunter and that the Vampire Lord they're hunting down is her husband. Septimus and Slandras story takes you from their beginnings through seemingly endless encounters. As their group of friends grow so does their enemies until their lives bend to the ultimate end of their Gods Design. Their destiny starts here.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Apr 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453565407

Naomi Anderson

Naomi Anderson was born in May 1974, the youngest in a family of ten. She grew up on the move around Australia as her parents followed fruit picking seasons. After an adverse childhood she now lives in Melbourne happily married with six children of her own. Always interested in books from an early age, a lack of money led to an imaginative mind. After years of writing plots for friends to play out in rpgs, she finally took their advice and wrote her first book based on the game she wrote for them, and now has plans for a six book long series.

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Copyright © 2010 by Naomi Anderson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The right of Naomi Anderson to be identified as the moral rights author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright amendment (moral rights) Act 2000 (Cth).

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-800-618-969

www.xlibris.com.au

[e-mail]

500153

Contents

Chapter One

The Gathering!

Chapter Two

Unexpected friendships

Chapter Three

For pleasure, For profit, A test in time!

Chapter Four

Choices!

Chapter Five

The test Of friendship

Chapter Six

A Test Of Strength

Chapter Seven

Now & Then!

Chapter Eight

It’s just The way It is!

Chapter Nine

Trailing The Dead

Chapter Ten

Reluctant Minds

Chapter Eleven

It’s All Under Hill From Here!

Chapter Twelve

The Clandestine City Of The Cimmerian

Chapter Thirteen

Cimmerians & Merchants

Chapter Fourteen

The Wastelands Of Quardest!

Chapter Fifteen

Sanjaus-Vertibrius!

Chapter Sixteen

Urbs ex ea Necro

Chapter Seventeen

Royal Responsibilities!

Chapter Eighteen

Testing the Plasma!

Chapter Nineteen

Missing Matter

Chapter Twenty

The break In the Desert’s spine!

Chapter Twenty One

The Gitayun!

Chapter Twenty Two

The chase is on!

Chapter Twenty Three

Segmented Transitions!

Chapter Twenty Four

The last leagues!

Chapter Twenty Five

Unearthing Erudition!

Chapter Twenty Six

Homecoming!

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my good friends: Christie Oosterbeek, Luke Cochrane, Noel Glenn, Matthew Oosterbeek, Thomas Kelly, Sheree Kelly, Beth Kelly & my wonderful husband Guy Anderson. Without them this book would not have been possible. I want to thank you all for being such crazy characters and making my life as a GM impossible, Here laid in text is our story I hope you enjoy it again.

Thanks to all the staff at Xlibris for all their help and support, especially Eric and Simone.

Special thanks to my sister Leanne for giving my proof readings a fourth going over, Trevor for his worldly approval, Also I should thank my children for their cups of tea in continual streams, their constant interference, that would inevitably lead to me taking a break and being able to make a fresh start. So thank you, Jordon, Kyle, Kayla and Carrissa. Also my two youngest, Zachariah and Rhys for their cuddles. Thanks to all my friends & family for their support and encouragement! But most of all my biggest thanks would have to go to my Husband for always being there when I needed him, his guidance, his help with me and his mission to get everything else done so I could work on my book. My love, you are a wonder!

And last but not least thank you to my brother Noel Freeman for introducing me to the Baha’i faith and for my Baha’i friends for making me realise that I am not alone on my world views of UNITY, peace & justice. Baha’u’llah you have restored my faith in humanity for that I am eternally grateful.

For Guy and my children

& in dedication to my Mother, may she rest in peace.

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Chapter One

The Gathering!

Slandra!

Part One

On my way

A golden dawn crept over the land, banishing the night’s shades from plain and forest and bringing with it a sultry northerly breeze, it was promising to be a hot day. As Slandra tied a feed bag to her saddle, she scanned the horizon with a smile, this was her favourite time of year, and with mid-summer less than two weeks away she wouldn’t have to worry about rain on her trip.

Packing the last of her things into her saddlebags and securing them to her horse, she slung on her backpack and mounted, intending to be long gone before the second sun breached the horizon in just under an hour, lending its blue fertile heat to the land.

Her prized Darkdancer felt her anticipation and was ready to match it, skiting about as she checked the stirrups.

Come Darkdancer, I’m eager to be off as well, but if you keep fidgeting I shall never get my stirrups adjusted and we will both be stuck here longer. Slandra waited as he settled beneath her and smiled, they had a preternatural report between them that had grown over the years. Slandra had helped deliver him, his mother had died in the process and Slandra had hand reared him. She thought nothing of the fact that he seemed to understand everything she said, always knew where she was or always seemed to be there if she needed him. They had spent every day together for the past six years, Slandra having an indefatigable nature, would run with him for hours, wondering the open plains and hills alike.

She finished her last minute checks and took one last look around.

There’s no turning back now boy. Nothing on Lorieldor is going to stop us getting to Gullcreast. I am going to win that competition, even if it kills me. That much gold is worth dying for, let’s ride. Slandra added giving Darkdancer a nudge with her heel. With the slight urge he raced towards the open gates set in the thatched fencing that surrounding her small country home, nestled in the lee of the mountains.

Slandra you get back in here and get your cloak right now, Lauret hollered from the doorway of their little cottage. Slandra sighed as she reigned in Darkdancer and spun him around. Lauret, her best friend and instructor stood on the threshold of their little cottage, pointing to where the cloak stand lived, just inside the doorway.

Slandra, growling low in her throat, spurred Darkdancer in a headlong rush at the door, reigning in to a halt at the bottom of the steps as she deftly somersaulted over Darkdancer’s head, landing perfectly next to Lauret and grinned as she reached inside for her cloak.

Lauret hadn’t bothered moving as Slandra charged towards her, instead she stood still and smiled. Slandra was the most impressive woman she had ever seen. She was just over six feet tall with her prominent cheekbones, full lips, long black hair in fishbone braids, her violet eyes, and the way her Feline-like muscles bunched ready to spring. The only sign that she was anything but a normal young human woman, was the slight amount of fine white fur still visible on her face, but that would be gone in a day or two.

Well you can’t be travelling very far without a cloak now, can you? What if the weather changed? Slandra rolled her eyes knowingly. The cloak would only come in handy for one thing in this weather. She would need it for concealing acquired items when she got to the city.

Thanks, Lauret. Verily, what would I do without you? Her smiled faded as she looked down at her friend, You look tired. You didn’t have to get up to see me off. I’ll only be gone a couple of weeks. Slandra admonished.

Slandra tried to hide how worried she felt. Lauret looked more than tired; she looked like Dreador himself was waiting for her to turn her back. She had been sick for weeks now and was starting to look haggard. That’s why Slandra was going to win this Competition. Then she could bring back a good priest from the temple of Healing. At least that was one of the reasons she wanted to win. The prize money for winning the competition was ten thousand Gold Triads. That was enough money for ten lifetimes, and the winners may be offered paid work for some of the richest people on Lorieldor, or so she had heard rumoured.

Slandra said her good-byes to Lauret and sprang lightly onto to Darkdancer’s back, her cloak now stowed roughly in her saddlebag. As she galloped towards the gates for the second time that day she looked back with fear in her heart, that she wouldn’t make it back in time. She couldn’t suppress a shudder as a vision of her home coming, turning to horror, as she walked in to find Lauret dead.

Don’t trust anyone, and always be alert. Lauret called. Slandra turned to wave as she shook the vision from her mind. Lauret walked back into the house closing the door behind her and Slandra’s gaze turned to take in the land she had called home for the last eight years, surrounded by a vast mountain range and light forests. She was heading now for the open plains, sprawling hills and the patches of forest that lay between here and Gullcreast.

Part Two

Night’s surprises

She was thee days into her journey, heading down the Queens highway towards Gullcreast. Ahead lay one of the thickest patches of forest along the road. Dusk was settling across the land and the wheaten coloured grass was turning a uniform grey with purple highlights. The blue sun was on its way down, following the course, the golden sun had already travelled. Slandra knew she only had about an hour left before darkness gripped the land, and hid the world from all, bar those with night eyes.

She approached the eaves of the forest wondering what would be her best call. If she camped under the forest’s canopy she would have more shelter from the night’s breeze, but she wouldn’t be able to see as far around her or hear as much with the forest noises so close at hand.

I think we shall camp just outside the forest’s eve’s this night Darkdancer, Slandra spoke out loud, startling her horse, who snorted his protest just as loudly. She slid from his saddle and started unpacking her gear for the night, dumping it on the long grass, before tying Darkdancer loosely to a nearby sapling.

While in search of firewood she became aware of a slight trembling in the ground. Lying down with her ear pressed hard against the earth, she could discern the sound of riders approaching from not too far away. Springing lightly to her feet, she picked up the firewood she had collected and headed back to her camp.

Slandra chatted aimlessly with Darkdancer while she set about making a small fire to cook on, all the while the sound of hooves were growing louder in her ears, and the light breeze brought to her delicate nose, the scent of horses and unwashed. Darkdancer shifted and snorted before getting back to cropping some more grass, ignoring the oats Slandra had set out for him.

Moments stretched out and as Slandra sat by her fire cooking some bacon the riders finally came into view.

The company reined in their horses. All were wearing identical clothing and Slandra knew from their uniforms that they were highway guard.

The tallest of these dismounted and started over toward Slandra.

Who goes there and what be your business this night? Slandra stood to introduce herself.

I am called Slandra, and my business this night is my own, guard captain. Why do you ask?

There has been thievery and murder on this road in these past three sundowns my lady! So what you’re doing here is very much my concern. Slandra took a few steps towards the Captain with a mischievous smile on her lips said.

Well if you can’t tell, I am making supper and preparing to rest till morning, when I will resume my journey to Gullcreast for the competition, Slandra tried hard to rein in the sarcasm, and forced another cheeky smile. With her life being what it was, she had a natural dislike for anyone in a uniform, yet that didn’t stop her using her natural charms to beguile them long enough to get what she wanted out of them.

While she spoke the captain of the guard could do nothing but stare at the young woman of remarkable beauty that stood before him, with her tight and revealing clothing, showing off a body as smooth as milk and strong as steel. Every word she spoke to him, was like a Gracion melody of gentle earthbound spirits. He was lost in the mystical lilt of her voice until a yellow gleam in her eye, snapped him back to attention. He shook himself, feeling a little unnerved. The whole vision of her pure loveliness was ripped from him leaving him desperate. He tried to console himself by thinking it was just the reflection from the fire, all the while grieving at the loss of the paradise that had wound around him when she had smiled. He shook himself yet again as he brought his thoughts together to reply.

Well my lady, we must travel on, but we will be back this way ere dawn. Should you need us sooner head toward our return, along the east road and if possible sleep lightly. He gave one last wave, with his other fist clenched over his heart as if to protect it from breaking, before turning to mount his horse. As he rode off down he turned to give her one last look, before turning his attention ahead, his company riding along in his wake.

After supper Slandra made ready to sleep, pacing around for a bit, sniffing the night air and listening intently. All seemed peaceful as she curled up in the crook of an ancient elm’s roots, yawning and taking a last look at Darkdancer. He stood at rest, with no twitching to show he was spooked. Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that Darkdancer would wake her if he felt threatened.

She awoke with an imperceptible start. Something wasn’t right, something felt . . . wrong. Slandra’s eyes sprang open, all senses on alert. What had woken her? A noise, or a smell that wasn’t in place? She took in her surrounding and noted the moon was setting, so she had slept at least 6 hours, it would be at least third bell past midnight, and first dawn was at least three hours away.

She jumped as the noise came again, the snapping of a twig. Not an animal, no wild horses here, no big cats or wild bear in this part of Lorieldor, no wolves hunted here either, they stayed to the mountain trails on Lorieldor. So what? Another traveller? She turned towards the she had heard the sound, all her senses in sharp focus as she sniffed at the air, tasting the scents that were carried along the light breezes. A man, human and unwashed, and another, no, three more. Damn, she thought, I should have put the fire out instead of letting it burn low. Well I can still use it to my advantage. She rushed over as quietly as she could and piled wood onto the fire until it blazed, keeping her own eyes on the darkness around the campfires light. She put her fingers to her lips as Darkdancer snorted and waited until he was still.

Slandra strained her ears and could hear footfalls coming closer. As fast as she could, she headed for the trees at the edge of the woods and leapt up into the nearest elm to wait.

Soon she could hear the crunch of boots on dried leaves as three large men hove into her line of sight, as they encroached on her camp sight. She watched them spread out, to come at the camp from three sides. She looked, but could see no trace of the forth man, nor with the sap rising from the tree, could she smell him.

As they moved in she studied them. The largest of the three would have to be over six-foot tall, and broad at the shoulder. Since he was wearing a hooded cloak she couldn’t tell what he looked like. The other two were of lesser stature. They stood about five seven to five nine. Both were wearing hooded cloaks and moving with more stealth than the larger one, though they were still to noisy as far as Slandra was concerned.

As they entered the clearing and looked around, Slandra crept down to a lower branch that overhung the clearing, there she stayed perched, ready to spring.

Darkdancer, who was standing on the other side of the fire, furthest from the tree line, snorted his agitation at the strangers. Darkdancer’s snort did two things, it drew the attention of the three men and it masked the ever so slight footfall of Slandra’s leap from the tree. As soon as she landed she lashed out with an upward stroke of her short sword and took the largest of the three in the back. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he died, calling the attention of his companions, and as they turned, her dark form leapt forward and slashed open the nearest one from hip to sternum. At the same time a searing pain burned like fire across her back and she sprang to her left, which was the only side left open to her now. The fourth man had crept up behind her. She turned to see the two men advancing on her, swords raised.

Give in now, my pretty little thing, and we promise to kill you slowly and with as much pain as possible.

Not the most persuasive argument, I have ever heard, hears a suggestion, why don’t you . . . Go rut a pig! You filthy swine! Slandra Spat, as she turned on her heel and sprinted back towards the forest. She was hoping that they would have to let their eyes readjust to the darkness, after being exposed to the bright fire. In the meantime she stretched her legs to the task of getting her into the cover of the trees as quickly as possible, and prayed to Chancell, that the men would stay night blinded long enough for her to hide.

She stopped in front of a large old oak and took a deep shuddering breath before turning to see how far her pursuers were behind, as she side stepped backwards behind the trunk. The last thing she expected was to bump into something large that groped at her. Before she even had time to react, long arms had her pinned, their strength too great for her to break free. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t break his grip.

Well now, what have we got here? Something soft to play with I’ll bet! Rough hands groped her breast and buttocks as rotten breath was expelled in her face. Jadhez, look what I’ve found!

Get your hand’s off me, you stinking ape. Slandra growled, while trying to kick his shins with her heels.

Bring that little bitch out here, called a voice from near her camp sight. Slandra was picked up off the ground and hauled, biting and kicking back to the fireside where she was unceremoniously dumped on the ground.

She’s killed Grodez, and Hasuna is dying from blood loss.

The one that had crept up behind her, while she was fending off the first three intruders was speaking, and he looked ready to kill her. He strode forward with his sword poised to strike, in one swift movement he brought the sword up and then down in a sweeping arc aimed at her skull. Slandra held fast, she wouldn’t die cringing. With a sleight of hand he changed the direction of his attack and the pommel of his sword hit the side of her skull.

Blinding pain, made her eyes swim as excruciating explosions went off inside her head, and all too slowly the world around her faded into blackness.

Consciousness started creeping back in and somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware of a methodical jostling that was stating to hurt her middle. She thought she could hear the sound of bird song mingled with unfamiliar voices. She struggled to sit up, but lightning exploded though her head once more and all conscious thought left her yet again.

Part Three

Forces of change

A refreshing cold breeze played across her face and chest, then she was drowning in cold water. She struggled but her hands were bound and her head hurt. Fearing to breathe, but having no choice, she cried out using her remaining breath. When she found air filling her lungs once more, it didn’t take her long to realise that she wasn’t drowning. Those bastards have just thrown water over me, that’s all, I am okay, a little sore and now a little wet, but I can get out of this, I just need to think. But her head ached too much and logic refused to sit around tied to a tree with her.

Slandra opened her eyes and looked around. By the Gods, that hurts. She braced herself yet again as she opened her eyes and took in all that she could before the pain became unbearable. As her eyes closed and the pain eased she concentrated on what she had seen. She was under a canopy of trees and was surrounded by the murky blackness that seemed to gather shadows in the hours before dawn, while small amount of light flickered through the air from the nearby campfire. In front of her three men sat eating and a forth lay on a briar with furs piled over him. All of them watched her return to consciousness with vicious intent.

Both Slandra’s hands were tied behind her back around a small tree. She pulled with all her strength, but her bonds refused to yield and the exertion made her want to vomit as pain blinded her yet again.

Enough of that you little whore, or we’re going to have to ruin that pretty little face some. Her pain filled, and watering eyes glanced up, taking in a scarred face, with a patchy beard and astonishingly innocent blue eyes, all part and parcel, belonging to the one she thought was Jadhez. As she looked him over he turned to his companions with a sly grin.

Why, weren’t you just saying how you wanted to cut off her lips for a memento? He added pointing his sword between her legs. Me, I think we could put her lips to better use. He stood and pulled a knife from his belt, laying his sword down tantalisingly beside her. What do you think Kodel? Should we let Bull cut off her lips? Jadhez smiled showing blackened teeth.

I think you shouldn’t cut them off until they’ve been tried and tested. Kodel replied licking dry lips, his leering grin showing yellowed teeth.

Slandra worked furiously at her bonds, but instead of getting looser they seemed to be getting tighter. She felt her gore rise as the men surrounded her. Jadhez leaned over her supine form and began cutting away her blouse, while Bull had started undoing his pants and Kodel was pulling off her boots. She kicked out as much as she could, before Jadhez sat on her legs and put his knife to her throat.

Now you just be quiet or I might have to give you a reason to scream. You can act all innocent if you want, but we know what you want. You’re just like all the other little whores. I can feel your heat girl, so don’t worry, me and the boys will have you screaming with pleasure before we kill you. To prove his point he started running the tip of the blade from her throat down to her breast. She started screaming as Kodel took off his scarf to gag her. Bull started pulling hard on her breasts and Jadhez was working his hand between her clenched thighs.

Terror gripped her stomach and a red fury built up in her soul. It was life or death and that which resided inside her had a tenacity for life that it would not relinquish easily.

She felt it coming, the burning had started all over her body. Her skin was liquid fire. A scream ripped its way past her lips and rose in pitch, only lightly muffled by the gag. The bonds around her wrists were slicing into her skin as her wrists swelled. She felt the remains of her clothes ripping away. She let out another muffled wail as pain ripped through her. Her shoulders felt like they were about to dislocate as she pulled with all her strength until her bonds snapped. Yanking the gag from her mouth, her unending scream turned into a roar that echoed through the woods for leagues on end.

What in all the hells is going on here, Jadhez? Bull yelled looking terrified, as the men backed away.

Darkdancer whaled in protest, rearing up and breaking the tether that held her before bolting, while the other horses reared and screamed, mad with terror on more secure lines.

Something was happening to the woman in front of the would be robbers, rapists and murderers, the woman’s skin was bulging and shifting.

For the sake of the Gods, Jadhez, just let Bull cut her up. Someone might hear her from the road, Kodel pleaded, as Jadhez stood rooted to the spot and if he heard their pleas it didn’t register. He was dumbfounded by the way her screams seemed to emanate from every pore of her body, or was it just that her skin was rippling? It was then that her cries had turned to a feline roar that echoed through the clearing, bouncing off the trees only to slam back into their ears, as the thing that she had become, leapt over the fire and landed with a thump in front of them, while all three of them screamed in terror.

The making of Septimus Winnar

Part One

Brothollo’s reflections

In the fair and plentiful valley, night had drifted away and a new day was breaking as the yellow sun started it’s accent across the rim of the world.

Brothollo Quarryman waited outside in the fleeting shadows of Deepening Hall, a sprawling Burrow built into the largest hill in the valley, it’s white washed cladding, shone faintly in the misty morning light.

Although it was warm inside Brothollo preferred to wait outside. The crisp morning air was, to him, warmer in comparison to the atmosphere, when he was around his family. Brothollo had not had the easiest life, even though he was Prince of the Shaldimin’s of Sentrevale, and second in line to the throne. That didn’t change the fact that he was ‘the’ bastard son, the apple of his father’s eye he may be, but the king, his grandfather, Stonhollow, hated him and made life as hard for Brothollo as he possibly could.

Brothollo had a younger half brother, born four years after Brothollo and in wedlock. Luthollo Jr, was more to the kings liking.

He was, in Brothollo’s opinion, obstinate, a total boorish prat, a pontificating belligerent idiot, a small minded, shallow, egotistical, oleaginous ass, and an all round two faced ventose and verbose liar. His only redeeming feature was he was nowhere near as bitter as his mother Violet. The community saw him as an upstanding Prince, but only because, one he was really good at judging what other people wanted to hear and lying through his teeth and two, he was too stupid to realise that what made the town folk happy, didn’t necessarily make for good over all politics. Luthollo stuck to the kind of politics that called for peace and the right to have longer lunch breaks for the common workers, late starts on Mondays so that weekend drinkers could recover before work. The kind of politics that made the masses happy, but didn’t actually do anything for their nation’s continued good prosperity.

Brothollo was more like his father; smart, cunning, sarcastic and always ready to turn any chance to his advantage, unlike his father, he hated the idea of sitting around arguing political niceties, but Brothollo always made sure that the right people needed him, and had a network of information on just about everyone of any import. Always staying in the background at any social function, so as not to antagonise his grandfather, but from there he could dance around the gathering, collecting all manner of information. Most of the times it was just tidbits, but when he had the chance he would turn favours to those who could help him later, building his resources as he went. For years now he had tried to gather dirt on the king or his half brother, all he needed was one tiny shred of proof, a document or letter that showed their philandering ways, that they took the opportunity on any account to temporarily raise taxes to bolster their own coffers, but of proof there was none to be found, his stepmother covered their tracks well, She was court trained in all ways, and was not about to see Brothollo get anything over her son or father in-law that would put their position at risk.

Brothollo’s father, Luthollo Sr. knew the King’s intentions as far as his sons went and he wanted to see Brothollo inherit the throne, being that he was more apt to the task of ruling a kingdom, as far as he was concerned and as such he wanted Brothollo to have the best education he could give him. He taught him the ancient languages and all the common languages of Lorieldor. Brothollo was taught to read and write all of them, then he was put to training with the sword and any other weapon his hand seemed apt to. He was sent to the courts many of the nations Lord’s estates and fiefdoms, to pick up politics and learn how the country was run as well as heraldry, court etiquette, hunting and history, while he learned trade, economics and who was who in the world of riches.

When he returned, his father reassessed what type of training Brothollo was to receive next. He had been gone for five years and after spending a few months back home his father realised that his son had an extraordinary talent for knowing what people were thinking. At first he had tried to say that it was just because he was a smart lad, but after watching him grow he had to admit that it had to be more than coincidence that gave Brothollo the information he had been able to gather.

It came about when he was going through Brothollo’s notes on his network of information and he happened across a note about mayor Chamoline of the East Vale. It mentioned that the Mayor had accidentally spent a small portion of the East Vale’s funding on renovating and as a consequence there was not enough money to train up some extra sheriffs to take care of the border problems with the River Retches, bandits that plagued Shaldimin trade along the waterways.

Luthollo Sr. paid the Mayor a visit later that week and in his investigations found that the mayor had indeed spent quite a great deal of the town’s money. When questioned he confessed to swindling town funds for his own causes, and as they were leading him to trial, he asked Luthollo how he had found out, since he had been careful not to let anyone know, and had tried to hide all the information on the missing money. Luthollo just gave him a square look and said it had been obvious, but it hadn’t. How had Brothollo known? Was the question that replayed itself over and over in his mind.

When Luthollo returned home later that evening he questioned Brothollo about his sources of information and after much pestering, Brothollo informed his father of his ability to hear what some people where thinking. He had been able to hear the voices since his early years and at first thought he was touched by Rhysion, the God of Insanity, but as the years passed he had come to see that the voices he heard had sexes, male and female and after that realisation he began to understand that the voices belonged to the people around him, they spoke to him without speaking. He learned to listen, most of what he heard was mundane stuff, going fishing, got to milk the cow and the likes but then there were the bitter thoughts from his step mother and the jealous thoughts from his brother, the loving warm thoughts from his father. Eventually he learned to pick up thoughts that he could use to his advantage. Years went by before he realised that he could enter people’s minds and listen to their deeper thoughts, the ones they kept quiet because of guilt.

Upon hearing of Brothollo’s gift, Luthollo senior had rushed Brothollo from the deepening hall and taken him to meet with some old friends of his. Luthollo told them that he wanted his son integrated into the guild and he wanted the Psionicist Serebrah to train him in the use of mind manipulations. It was then that Brothollo started to learn how to really use his mind.

Life at the thieves and assassins guild was much to his liking. Brothollo remembered fondly how well and how quickly he learned the tricks of the trade, they were much more in tune with his nature, and as far as he was concerned much more fun than standing around behind the throne waiting on his Grandfather’s beck and call. His father had been sure that with all that he had learnt, he would turn out to be the best King Sentrevale had ever seen, but it all seemed wasted now.

His father lay wasting away inside and the King had plans for Brothollo’s demise playing constantly across his mind.

Time passed while Brothollo waited in the hall’s diminishing shadows, it was just after first sunrise when his cousin came out calling for him.

Brothollo, where are you? Your father calls.

I’m just behind you. Brothollo’s unctuous voice, oozed from the shadows along the hall. Elmar spun startled.

Oh, there you are. Your father’s time is nigh Brothollo. He wishes to speak with you, Elmar’s reply being a little more curtly, than he had intended.

By all means, lead the way, Brothollo replied, his voice answering from the shadows, was almost as dark and menacing as the shadows it issued from, as far as young Elmar was concerned, and it contained too much hatred for a Shaldimin.

Come cousin; it is me, not your brother you speak with. There’s no need to be getting all menacing and what not. I know times are not good but I will be here to help you through if you should need a shoulder.

Brothollo liked his little cousin, he was easy to scare and always forgiving, and he had always been a valuable source of information in the past. Everyone loved and trusted him and he was oft exposed to what was critical information in Brothollo’s chosen line of work, though Brothollo was loathe to question him outright, information was best picked straight from his mind so as his light tongue wouldn’t let slip that he had passed anything of import onto Brothollo. If the family had found out that Elmar had spoken to Brothollo about anything important then they wouldn’t speak around him at all and Brothollo’s little well of information would dry up.

Forgive me cousin, I implore you. I had no intention of scaring you so, it must just be the dark times ahead making me querulous. Brothollo soothed, watching as Elmar’s shoulders tensed with the grief that he was feeling. His surface thoughts revealed a conversation between his stepmother and the King, and their talk of banishing Brothollo as soon as his father passed on, was weighing heavy on young Elmar’s heart.

Part Two

Loss

Brothollo sat in silence at his father’s bedside, waiting for him to wake and knowing that there was a possibility that his father may never wake again. He was surprised that he had gotten the message from his father before he had passed away. It would have been typical of his stepmother and brother, as well as his grandfather, to do such a heinous thing as prevent him being there for his fathers passing, or denying him the comfort of his father’s last words. As he looked on he saw that his father was visibly shrinking into himself.

Brothollo?

Yes father, I’m right here. Brothollo breathed, as tears pricked his eyes.

D-Do . . . not let your . . . G-Grandfather . . . cheat you out . . . of your inheritance . . . my son.

I will try father, he replied, hating the fact, that he had to lie to his father on his death bed, but not wanting to waste time arguing away his final moments, as Luthollo grabbed for his son’s hand.

Be . . . strong my . . . son, but do not forget . . . you must never . . . cheat . . . yourself in matters . . . of the heart, . . . where love is concerned then . . . be . . . a fool . . . if you . . . must.

Yes, father. Brothollo was not too sure what his father was referring to just then, but he didn’t care, these could be the last words his father uttered to him and he would miss none by questioning their significance.

Never . . . forget . . . that I loved . . . you . . . my son, I will . . . miss you . . . my boy. His last words were a strained whisper that rattled off into a dying breath as Prince Luthollo Quarryman Sr. heir to the throne of the Shaldimin of Sentrevale, closed his eyes for the very last time, leaving Brothollo alone and heir apparent.

No! Don’t die! Please don’t go father, not now. Not so soon. Brothollo’s pleas were in vane, his father had gone and Brothollo hoped it was to a better place and prayed, Dreador the God of Death would have mercy on his soul.

It was another three hours and the second sun was already four hours into the sky before Brothollo let go his fathers hand, got up and went to let the rest of the family know that Luthollo now rested in peace. A statement Brothollo prayed was true.

Part Three

Long expected speeches

When the noon bell rang just over an hour later, Brothollo was called to court. He stood at the foot of the dais, on which sat the throne, while Luthollo Jr. was standing on his grandfather’s right side, his stepmother to the left.

Aren’t you standing in the wrong spot Luthollo? I thought you were the one who was supposed to be at Grandfather’s feet!

Were you commanded to speak, Brothollo? His grandfather spat, grinding his teeth.

"NO, my Lord. But I thought I could get at least one snide remark in before you put me in my place, since I am sure that will be too far away to get in any more well deserved comments to my loving brother any time soon."

I am warning you Brothollo if you speak in my presence again, unless I command you to, you will be lucky to get out of this with your life. Is that clear?

Brothollo gave a courtly bow and grinned manically as he projected his thoughts directly into his Grandfather’s unprotected mind. "I’m tempted to do it again, just to see you get off your fat loathsome, pimply arse and chase me around the throne room for a bit." Out loud however he replied as he should.

Yes Milord.

Good! The King added with a confused look on his face, shaking his head to clear it, he continued. I think you know what’s coming Brothollo!"

"Of course I do you mean old coot, your thoughts are seared into my grieving soul and will haunt me for as long as I am denounced from my rightful place, you flatulent pompous old twat."

The king went on, unperturbed by the look of pure hatred that filled his first born grandchild’s eyes while the rest of his face was set into a blank mask.

You and everyone else here, knows, that you are not wanted. You will never sit in this throne, not while I have anything to say about it. So here’s how its going to be. You may attend your father’s pyre at sunset tonight. You will not be at attendance for his wake, and by sunrise tomorrow I expect you gone from this valley. If you are seen here again after sunrise tomorrow your life will be forfeit. Is that clear?

Brothollo said nothing but turned and strode from the hall, getting in one last court insult in while he had the chance. He would not wait to be dismissed by that treacherous old coot ever again. With his back turned on the court he called out over his shoulder, "You can be sure I’ll be at my father’s pyre. As far as being at the wake is concerned, pah! You know how wakes can be; bad food, worse company. I think I would prefer to have a toast with the kitchen scullions. The food they prepare, at least, will not be tainted with the foul intentions of this court."

With his last words ringing in the air he strode out into the noon day suns, and projected one more image into his grandfathers mind, that of him and Luthollo Jr. on their hands and knees retching up some vile poison.

As he walked across the town square it occurred to him that he had just handed the kitchen staff either a jobless life or, if worse came to worse, the death penalty. Oh well, can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

Part Four

Good-byes

Brothollo watched on from the lengthening shadows of the trees around the glade, as his father’s empty shell slowly burnt away. He stayed long after everyone else had departed and the blue sun was just a dream gone by on the horizon. When all the embers of the pyre had faded away, he turned his back and walked slowly through the shadows towards the back of town.

As the waning moon lifted her head above the world, Brothollo found himself in front of the underground entrance to the Thieves Guild. Looking at the rough door. No one would believe that it was home to some of the most wanted and richest criminals across Haradrass, although most of their work took place on the continent of Lorieldor. They were all the best at their jobs, and the proof was, that no one had any idea what the criminals they were after, looked like. Nor would they even think about looking in Sentrevale. The Shaldimin race was renowned for their fun loving nature and never taking anything seriously, bar their food and drinking.

Brothollo was one the tallest Shaldimin in his village and he was a mere three foot six inches, not even as tall as an eight-year-old human. Most Shaldimin where rotund, but Brothollo preferred to keep his weight down so he could squeeze out of tight situations, his loose fit, dark, clothing hid a well toned body of lithe muscles. He kept his auburn shoulder length hair slicked back from a high forehead, his eye’s were a brown, like melted chocolate, his lips full and supple with a strong jaw coming down to an almost, pixy like, slightly pointed chin, with prominent cheek bones, along side a thin nose with a slight upturn at the end, and with his pale skin tone, he was an exceptionally handsome specimen of the Shaldimin race, even though his manner of dress set him apart. Always he wore dark clothing, loose fit for everyday wear, but if he was working then he chose tight black hoes, with a cinched long sleeve tunic, at waist and cuffs, so he could conceal extra weaponry, and unlike his kin he always wore knee high black supple leather boots over his wide feet. His boots were hand made by a cobbler in Gullcreast and were very expensive.

Most Shaldimin left their wide short feet bare, not liking the restriction. The Shaldimin were at home with country surroundings and although jovial at home and around town, they always moved silently when walking through the grasslands or forested regions, it was a habit that kept them alive and safe from the larger human bandits that plagued the out of the way places where the Shaldimin resided. The Shaldimin were a soft set lot, tending towards the lymphatic at worst, whereas most of the guild members were slimmer, it made their malefic life style a little easier, until you took into account their home visits, where no doubt they would tell you that life could become arduous, as worried mothers tried force feeding their underweight loved ones.

Brothollo was lucky enough not to have to worry about such administrations and laughed to himself as a memory of young Rory Cornman, complaining about the twelve helpings of roast chicken he had been forced to eat at the last Lammas feast.

Brothollo, lost his smile as the memory faded and ran the pommel of his short sword across the boards of the door in a circular pattern, tapped three times, then twice, and called Bleak tiding bringeth good fortune. This was the chosen phrase for that week, anyone who didn’t know the correct phrase would be dead as soon as they stepped through the door. The door swung inwards and Brothollo waited until a voice from beyond the dark answered, And the gold shall enlighten us all. Which was the responding phrase that let Brothollo know that the hideout was still firmly in the hands of his guildsmen, and had not been infiltrated? He walked past the sentry and strode the length of the long dark tunnel.

A he walked no thoughts of what tomorrow would bring came to mind, only the haunting image, of his dying father’s face, filled his thoughts, and Brothollo figured his father’s last thoughts must have been something quite divine. For he had died with a radiant smile as his last breath left his body.

Brothollo’s grief threatened to overwhelm him momentarily, as he came to the ladder leading down an open shaft, he stopped long enough to compose himself before descending the ladder quickly, pushing his grief aside as best he could. When he got to the bottom he gave his passwords to the guards that stood in front of an iron door in the pitch-black antechamber, all he could see of them was their feint heat signatures, for like all Shaldimin they could see heat in the darkest of places, giving them spectacular night vision.

The guardians of the keep, stood aside as he spoke and opened the door. The burning torches in the hall beyond lit their sorrowful faces, and as they let him pass, they offered their sincere condolences.

Brothollo nodded his acknowledgement of their sentiments and continued on towards the heart of the guild holding tight the ache in his chest that threatened to undo him.

When he entered the common command room a huge party was in progress. Billy Lightfoot ushered him to a seat in the corner by the fire and pushed a huge drink into his hands.

A drink to drown your sorrows, and a drink to toast your father’s life. Another drink to toast his ventures in the after life and if you don’t feel better after that, have three or four more! Billy said with a smile that warmed Brothollo only slightly.

Brothollo and Billy sat for many long hours, catching up on the weeks that Brothollo had spent away on business prior to his father’s demise. He had not been expected to show up for the general meetings while his father had lain ailing, and there were many matters that Brothollo needed to be informed of. Billy got very hot under the collar when he heard that the king had denounced Brothollo’s claim to the throne, and basically putting what is known in the guild, as the death mark on Brothollo’s head.

I, Billy Lightfoot say, take not thy King’s crap! Nup, not one bit of it, he slurred, while spilling ale down his shirt-front. You denounce him and his rotten family, take for thyself a new name, my brother in arms. Start thy life afresh.

Part Five

Life’s decisions

Brothollo thought on Billy’s words a short while, until he realised he didn’t have much choice. He could still work for the guild from out of town if he had to, but he couldn’t stay here and his family name meant nothing to his future life and only a little to his past. What the name had meant to him had been taken away by some invisible, cankerous disease.

As he mused Brothollo found himself reminiscing on times when his father used to read nursery rhymes and tales to him out of an ancient book and thinking back on how his father had taught him the ancient language’s when he was very young, and his father wasn’t yet War Marshall for his grandfather’s kingdom. Two words stuck in his mind then, the ancient words for ‘loveless’ and ‘loss of kin’. He would honour his father, even if he couldn’t keep his name for the time being. He would take the name of the ancient storyteller, whose tales had guided him to sleep along with the sound of his father’s voice.

You know Billy, you may be right. I think I shall call myself . . . Septimus Winnar. It reminds me of my father and fills me with memories of better days gone by. By morning I will be gone, at least far enough that my grandfathers presence won’t drive me to murder.

"So where do you go ‘Septimus’ my lad, to live with the Dwarves? Nay, you’ll never win a hairy competition with them, nor a drinking match." Billy roared with laughter at what he thought to be a very amusing jest.

The newly named Septimus just shook his head and gave a lopsided smile.

No Billy, I think I might head towards Gullcreast. A competition draws nigh, and the pickings would set me up for life. So be a good lad and see what gear you can pack me for my travels. It need not be much for I want to travel light, but I wouldn’t mind if you can see to the earning I never bothered collecting in the past, I am pretty sure the treasury owes me a great deal, I shall not need all of it, a few hundred gold will set me up for my new life.

But Broth . . . I mean ‘Septimus,’ you need not compete for meagre winnings in some dandy’s tournament. You’re right when you said the guild owes you, when I last checked the books you were owed thousands of gold at least two and a half thousand gold Triads. The guild will set you up for life.

For one, Septimus said with a grin, "the guild can’t afford to pay me that much up front, nor do I want it. Secondly, it is no meagre winnings that I go for, first prize is said to be enough gold to live ten times over. No, I go for the pickings, my lad, the pickings, all those rich sods out watching dandies prance about with their pretty swords and all their life’s riches left unattended. Septimus thought to himself. Thirdly, I will not be able to work very closely with the guild from now on and you know it. Sooner or later my little brother is going to want to see me dead and when he offers a king’s ransom where do you think the guild’s loyalty will lay?"

I object Brothollo, you are one of us, and we will never turn on one of our own.

The guild has a code and I know it as well as you, and above all, if any member should bring enough attention to himself then the weight of gold will see his demise. Besides, the guild cannot afford to deny the crown, for if and when he finds you all, he will expect you to be compliant to his wishes. If you don’t, he will bring the whole guild crashing down. Your only other option is to pick up and move base as soon as Luthollo looks like he is about to come into his inheritance. I am not going to be the cause of an all out war between the hierarchy and the peoples of Sentrevale. Now be a good friend, and go see to getting what I need made ready. It will be sun-up in under two hours.

As Billy walked away he was thinking to himself, what competition is there that thieves can enter? Kind of an occupational hazard entering a competition like that. Unless it’s a competition of the minds, now he’s a smart fellow, but I don’t think he’s that smart. Ahh well, I better not dash his dreams. If he doesn’t win something then he can always rely on his acquired wealth.

Septimus’ voice found him across the other side of the room.

I heard that Billy!

Billy felt a cold chill seep from his mind that sent preternatural shivers down his spine. Brothollo always seemed to have a knack of knowing what he was thinking. He just wasn’t sure whether it was because he really could read peoples minds, like he claimed at times of drunken clarity, or if he just guessed right a lot of the times.

Part Six

Where life takes it’s turning

Septimus’ back was to his hometown as the golden, yellow sun climbed slowly through the sky and the first rays of the blue sun were fanning out across the horizon, while the sea birds to the north circled high in the air, waiting for the tides to change.

Gullcreast was roughly three hundred and ninety four leagues, which would be around four weeks travel from here if he pushed a fourteen league march every day, and Septimus was in no mood to linger, he would have to walk from sun-up to well past sundown everyday to make his goal achievable.

The scenery was all peaceful to behold as Septimus stretched out his paces a watched his surrounds with a skilled eye. This country had a majestic feel at times, especially at twilight when the blue sun’s light was playing across the edge of the world and the crepuscular tinged air would be filled with the scents of summer flowers and plant life. Septimus laughed to himself as his thoughts brought to mind the parallelism his stepmother had used for Luthollo’s slow wit. She would say that his thoughts played across the edges of a given topic and he would nip at it trying for a deeper bite of understanding. Septimus laughed again, short and bitter. Luthollo was rarely able to pick at even the edges of most intellectual conversations. You could slap him in the face with a tuna and he still wouldn’t realise you were talking about fishing, Septimus smiled with bitter delight at his own simile.

Pushing aside his memories, of his father’s laughter at Brothollo’s constant taunts towards Luthollo Jr. that came to the fore, Septimus instead turned his thoughts back to his surroundings and tried to think as little as possible as he walked along. The journey was pleasant enough, no one bothered him, the nights were balmy and the days flitted by as he paced out the hours, singing softly to himself or whistling as he walked.

Part Seven

Wayside introductions

Septimus was less than a week away from his destination and it had been but a few days since he passed the only road leading into the Gracion woods of Amantaurien, when he came across a caravan that had stopped for their noon meal. As he approached two guards stopped him.

Halt. They called as one. Who goes there?

Septimus approached slowly, his hands held high to show their absence of weapons.

I am called Septimus Winnar. He said with a smile as he stopped ten feet in front of them.

Where is that you go without the accompaniment of an elder to ware you? asked the guard to his right.

I go to Gullcreast for the competition, sir, and I am well past the age where I would need an adult to hold my hand as I travel. You half wit. He thought to himself.

As do many these days. Forgive me if at first I thought you but a young child. I see now my mistake and I apologise, but not many Shaldimin have we seen thus far, added the tall blonde headed guard on the left, who spoke with a rumbling sincerity.

Septimus gave him a mischievous grin and asked a question of his own while they where off guard. Pray tell, who travels the Queens Highway that needs to be so heavily guarded?

That information, Master Septimus, is confidential. He replied frowning, while from behind the guard, a sweet, melodic voice, floated to them on the breeze.

"Hanze, Gregor, what poor soul are you harassing now?’

The tall guard responded with injured tones. We are harassing no one, your Highness, we are simply doing our job.

The voice came again, piercing Septimus’ heart. This time it was much closer. If he could only see past the walls, that called themselves guards.

Your job, Gregor, is not to intimidate a weary passerby unless he has given just cause! The guards looked perplexed as to how to respond so they turned their gazes and shuffled their feet. The blonde guard would have to be called Hanze, Septimus thought, very typical for the big blonde blue eyed type from the very north of the northern continent.

Your Highness may I have the pleasure of introducing myself? Septimus said, slipping past the guards with ease. There was a slight protest from the two but Septimus didn’t hear a word they said, he stood stock still, for the first time in his life he was speechless as his voice caught behind a large lump in his throat and his stomach seemed to flip. His gaze locked onto the young girl standing before him. She was small for a human, she stood no more than five and a half feet tall, but just the way she stood, made her seem tall and regal beyond measure, and Septimus hadn’t felt so small in a long time, even when he was in the company of humans like her guards, no one had made him feel the way she did.

He stood staring at her for what seemed like an age, taking in all the details he could, constantly trying to swallow and get some moister back in his mouth. Her long, auburn hair was blowing lightly in the breeze, the tight ringlets, catching the sun and showing blood red highlights. The way her eyes seemed to glow like fine emeralds under the midday sun bedazzled him, and the way she smiled would melt a man, were he made of steel or no. In her eyes there was a hint of summer, and a magical light was wound about her, making her creamy skin seem to be tinged with red. Septimus wondered if there was any Gracion blood in her lineage, there had to be some, with her almond shape eyes, her slightly pointed ears and her slight but