Maldene

By Mark Anthony Tierno

Maldene is a world of magic and science, wizards and dragons; but home also to an incredible secret. One jealously guarded by History’s most villainous being: Miro. For centuries his presence has been plaguing the nightmares of gods and men; the world is in his thrall, there is no one willing to face him.

Or perhaps there is. The young wizard Sabu, and his elven friend Eldar, lead their companions on a journey to seek a destiny foretold them by a blind gold-skinned gypsy. Fighting a three-hundred foot dragon will be but the beginning of this quest, as they journey the globe in search of answers to the mystery of Miro’s villainy, and uncover the world’s long-buried secrets. For they are destined to lead a new battle against this most ancient of evils, to gather all beneath the banner of a mysterious King and face the unfaceable.

There is just one problem: Miro is counting on their success...

While this first novel of Maldene is a true epic in itself', this is still only the first chapter in a saga that will span the stars and challenge your imagination. Just to put things into perspective, this first full Maldene novel is on par, in terms of both plot and length, with the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy combined. And this is only the beginning.

Like for any good epic, Maldene has some extras. The appendices at the end include an alphabet, dictionary of local words, and some added notes about the world of Maldene that bring it all to life. For this is more than simply a story, this is... legend.

Word Count: 330,000

For reader reviews of Maldene, consult the Amazon pages for "Maldene Volume One" (ASIN B00BA4K2UI) and "Maldene Volume Two" (ASIN B00XZZXW66)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Anthony Tierno
• Release date: Dec 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780985942571

Mark Anthony Tierno

A full-time writer with a Masters in Physics, the soul of a poet, and possessed of a unique descriptive voice. The result is an unrivaled talent for the creation of alien vistas, deeply woven plots, characters with distinctive personalities, and dynamic and realistic dialogue. Tierno knows how to put emotions on paper, to draw the reader in and feel the highs and the lows, to cry tears of joy or sadness as if there in the story yourself. He has built entire worlds, their cultures, everything planned down to the smallest detail; even the most fantastic of worlds are still consistent within their own laws, the better to make it seem as real as the Earth upon which we live. Yet all this is but backdrop, the stage to set for incredible plots, and shape the story into something that will draw you in with the force of a black hole.Additionally, Tierno loves crossing genres. High fantasy with some Sci-Fi elements mixed in for one series, cyberpunk with magical realism and high-level conspiracies for another, even one series that blends steampunk with a world of intelligent insects (he calls it “bee-punk”). Let other people write the pure genres, he just loves mixing it up.Describing Mark Anthony Tierno as a full-time writer is probably understating things a bit. 8 to 10 hour session writing well over 12,000 words in a single day is not uncommon. Between the detailed planning and sheer imagination, Mr. Tierno has never known writer’s block, nor yet seen the limit of his creativity.But what really sets him apart is the epic saga, for ‘epic’ is where he starts from. With works that include asingle series that stretches over a dozen books long, 5 million words, and over a couple hundred characters all skillfully juggled, it is not an exaggeration to say that Mark Anthony Tierno goes well beyond what would normally be considered as ‘epic’. He goes beyond epic because he loves the thrill and excitement that comes from the crafting and reading of a grand saga, of creating a world with such detail that one can get lost within it because here is a world that just might really exist... somewhere.

Book preview

MALDENE

MALDENE

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Mark Anthony Tierno

VaultOfKnowledge_Logo_WIP02

Vault Of Knowledge

Los Angeles

© 2007, 2012, 2018, 2021 by Mark Anthony Tierno.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First Edition

First printing by Vault of Knowledge

Previously published as Maldene: Volume One And Two

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover art cobbled together from the original Maldene Volume One and Maldene Volume Two covers by Diego Paz and Sasha Palacio, with contributions by Damon Bowie Art.

ISBN: 978-0-9859425-7-1

PUBLISHED BY Vault Of Knowledge

Los Angeles

Printed in the United States of America

Dedications

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F

irst to my Grandpa Tierno, for whom I promised myself I would dedicate my first book in honor of.

Then to my dad, who lived to see this and many of the books that follow finished but not published. He so very loved proudly showing my stuff off to relatives and friends. I miss you.

A very special thanks (and they'll know why) to Robert Dr. Claussen Taylor Jr. and Bill Phillips III; they are Eldar and Sindar to my Sabu.

And finally to Mike Lucas, my beta-reader for the entire series; thanks for all the feedback. He knows where all the bodies in these books are buried but is sworn to secrecy, so there.

MALDENE

PREFACE

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P

icture a planet, giant Earth-swallowing sphere, swaddled green with the color of life, the glare of its giant blue star glistening off its atmosphere in colorful, almost aurora-like, bursts of light. Picture three moons in an eternal cosmic dance around this large orb, the smallest colored the blue of Earth's sky, the next the green of deepest seas, and the largest the yellow of your own home star. Picture the swoop and whirl of these satellites as they leave no part of that orb with a moonless night, yet also none with the multiple romance of more than one. Picture a planet all filled with magic, mystery, and utter strangeness.

Picture Maldene.

Situated in the center of Space, at the Doorway to Time, on the precipice of Fate, such is Maldene. Birthed by the Power of the Eternal Flame, seeded by Chaos, nurtured by the Olden Gods, and brought to fruition by the knowledge of the Ancients, it lies centerwise in a galaxy far from any stars known to the Man of Earth.

Fate and Power of Awesome proportions focus down upon this innocent yet mysterious realm, awaiting for the unfolding of events that will lead the way to the Fate of All.

INTRODUCTION

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ell, you came. So, you want to hear my story. Very well; sit down and pull up a drink because this is going to be a long one. What's my name, you ask?  Well, that's not important, at least not yet. Suffice it to say for now that I am your narrator, who shall lead you through accounts of certain events, the consequences of which are still being felt to this very rise. View me as a traveler between space and times, a chronicler of events, and a servant of Fate, for I am here to relate unto you the unfolding events that follow . . .

PROLOGUE

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T

he wizard walked into the velvet-walled room, his blue robe with its gold trim swishing around him as he moves, occasional silver sparks trying to leap off the folds in the magical cloth. He walked across the pastel-carpeted floor to the only chair in the small, luxuriated room. The plush richly decorated chair faced away from the only door and out towards a stone-carved window, looking out over pearly white walls, golden spires, and green fields under a bright purple sky. The person sitting down was only visible by an arm resting on the side of the chair.

I've just confirmed it all, Sire, the wizard began, all signs point to it; the optimum time will be as predicted. He must make his move by the time of the Donjflou, and we can do almost nothing about it, he shrugged and sighed.

And the plan? came the authoritative but gentle voice from behind the chair.

Chancy at best, Sire!  It's a million to one shot and full of risks. But, he paused, it does have a chance of working. But only if we choose them very carefully.

Very good, Mystigir, came the voice looking out the window.

But, Sire, Mystigir exasperated, even if we do find . . . How can we even be sure they'll survive?

Don't worry my friend, it said amiably, I've consulted with a few . . . Fates . . . myself. While nothing is guaranteed, we do have a chance.

Sire, how do we even go about finding some that-

That part's already been done, came the now distant-sounding voice, I've already chosen them . . .

BOOK I:

THE DRAGON

CHAPTER ONE

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The Storm

Distant Crack of Thunder . . . a portender of events awaiting the eccentricities of mortals.

Lookout reports: a storm coming down from the North!

A

cold wind from the North was filling the row of five hemispherical sails of the wide ship, as if eager to hurtle its passengers towards whatever Fate awaited them. Lower to the water than most ships, but a lot wider in proportion, a Sleem is built to battle the finicky seas of a large planet with three moons. Having the maneuverability at sea that Nature usually reserves for fish, it slices swiftly through the wind, being the only type of ship that dares venture across this storm-ridden equator.

But this wind seemed to carry with it a message. It heralded a hurrical, that vicious mix of hurricane winds with electrical activity that Nature could be proud of. Although the captain knew that such storms were common at this latitude and that his ship had handled such before, he was worried about the suddenness with which this one had arisen. Almost as if sent by some cosmic hand playing chess, his ship as but a small pawn.

The captain got up from looking at his charts, wiping his brow with the colorful neckerchief that signified his rank, his wide oval eyes taking in his sparse surroundings as he did so. He was Thirdocian: tall, widely built humanoid race, the call of the sea strong in their blood, their prowess at sea legendary. This captain was more experienced with the sea than even most of his race. He'd heard the lookout's report and went over to the small porthole to see for himself.

Aerg!  There's nothing like it, he muttered to himself in his native tongue of Osan, the winds are all wrong for it, as well as the season. But, nevertheless, it's here; the biggest storm I've seen.

Looking out towards the gathering dark clouds, he wondered at what evil force could be responsible.

'Tis unnatural, he whispered to himself.

He paced back towards his desk and patted the ancient mounted sextant that he kept there.

Yes, this is going to be a rough time for my poor vessel.

He glanced around his cabin, Hold together my proud ship.

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Thunderous crack; a peal of lightning casts a transitory scar across the face of the sky.

They were on the deck as the wind sprang up from the direction out of which they had come, as if eager to be rid of them. Leaning casually on the rail, elven face in the breeze, was Eldar, with his mischievous twinkly eyes, shapely pointed ears, bright shoulder-length silver hair, and hairless chin. Beneath his common earthen-colored attire he wore his ever-present but silent elven-wrought chain mail, it fitting like liquid-silver upon his body, while his sword waited under his cape. Not caring about the impending storm, he was looking into the sky as if waiting for whatever Fate might have in mind for them and their foolishnesses.

Beside him was his young Human friend, Sabu; rumpled brown hair, eyes alert with intelligence, his brown robes flapping in the cool breeze, plain but for the few markings signifying him as a recently graduated wizard of the lowest ranks. Sabu was of the white-skinned Katoan stock, having come from the middle of the large continent of Cenivar, with its plush forests and single large central mountain range; a few hundred miles north of the Harbor Of The World.

Sabu was making his first entry in a diary that he'd recently decided to start.

R.K. 9990,  41 Juxor.

I am starting this diary because of a vague sense of impending events beyond our control. Though it's nothing that I can specifically point to, I still have a feeling that our carefree lifestyle shall soon change. Thus do I write this.

Since this is my first entry, I'll start with a brief introduction. I am Sabu, recently former apprentice to the archmage Thesdil, hoping someday to make my magical arts as good as are his.

I travel with my friends, the elf Eldar, born, he says, in the Elven Woodlands in the northern part of the continent of Degaloth, and Bronto, of the same Katoan stock as myself but of a more barbaric exterior. The truth of it is, though, that Bronto's more civilized than he likes to let on.

We all met on Cenivar about four rels ago, our wanderings then eventually bringing us to the fabled Harbor Of the World, home of the largest assemblage of sailing ships of all types in the world. There we joined up with our mutual friend Candol, priest of Indra, and a tough little orphaned Destir kid named Kilgar. Despite his young age of eight, I feel that the tough little desert boy can well hold his own, like all of his race.

Well, we got together and claimed a small island for ourselves, among the many in The Sea Of A Thousand Islands, to establish it as a sort of a home, far away from the perils of our time. Actually, we've never really seen it yet, having made the deal through a broker, and there's nothing more there than a few huts for now, but we have hopes of someday building it up into a proper home. It'll take time though, considering its extreme distance from civilization and the difficulty in getting supplies there.

We now travel with a group of mercenaries towards an island rumored once to have been a lair of that dread wizard, Miro; myth or not, some say that even the gods fear him. The mercenaries go there for promised plunder, but me and Eldar have a different reason.

While we were in the Harbor Of The World, we went to see a blind old gypsy soothsayer just for fun. She foretold that our destinies were intertwined along with a third person we were going to meet, and that the key to our destinies lay within the very island towards which we now sail. We would have ignored it, but she seemed quite sincere and had this way of looking right through you with her solid gold eyes, even though she was totally blind!  She also mentioned something about three nameless beings, or such, that we'd encounter. All rather mysterious, especially considering that she was of that rather rare gold-skinned race of Humans called the Vina.

All considered, we had a feeling that we'd better take her seriously. So, we pooled our money, hired the mercenaries for the long journey, and then found a ship to take us south. The only real odd ball in our company is a guy named Filmar that hired on with us for a rather low, but extremely acceptable, price. He keeps pretty much to himself, staying pretty clean and innocent, if you know what I mean.

For now, though, I'm just going to take things as they come and worry about Fates and stuff a bit later.

Winds blow fierce, as large watery fists rumble across the endless sea of churning inky blackness.

Lookout reports: the storm's going to be a BIG one!

The frothy wind was kicking up the waves like some angry kid. Sabu could feel an unnatural presence about it, an almost feeling of magic that his skills couldn't quite pin down. The bright blue sky was quickly turning to an angry violet as clouds rapidly began to assemble, with only the bright yellow of the largest moon, Gamro, balefully shining through the encroaching cover. He looked a bit distant as he thought a few things through.

Eldar broke his friend's reverie with a slap on his back. Why so serious a look? he grinned widely.

The Elf had shown courtesy enough to speak to his Human friend in the latter's native tongue of Selgish. That being the language spoken by most of the Humans in this part of the world, and Sabu not being too well versed in the elf's own elvish tongue, he'd made quite a bit of use of that language recently.

Sabu looked off into the wind and then up at Eldar, It's the wind. There's something wrong about it, something unnatural.

The wind is the wind, Eldar shrugged with a grin, what can be unnatural about it.

Well, its speed and direction are all wrong. For this latitude and longitude and climatory season, a storm of this type should only have a magnitude of about thirty-six percent as much, and a directional-

Hold it! Eldar waved his hands back and forth. How do you figure all of this?

Sabu looked at him and replied innocently, "Why, I just did the figures for it in my head a few trids ago. It's fairly simple, really. You see, there's a set of equations that-"

Eldar interrupted his friend before he could get any further, Never mind, I'm sorry that I asked!

Sabu shrugged and went back to his thinking. Eldar just shook his head; he never ceased to be amazed at his companion's continued display of intellectual ability. Nevertheless, he offered his own solution for the situation.

Forget the winds. There's nothing that can't be solved with a large enough mug of fine elven wine and a well-filled female! he smiled.

He never did  ever hold back on his opinions, thought Sabu.

Bursting, then, up from one of the deck hatches, carrying a large coil of rope and a pail of large nails, came a nine or ten foot tall ham-fisted ogre, half as wide as he was tall, with a number of severed heads and skulls hanging from his belt. The solid deck creaked, as if in protest, under his weight.

Who's he? Sabu asked.

His name's Blag-ak, Eldar said, turning to answer. I heard he got hired on as a deck hand for a working passage.

Blag-ak?  Well, . . . a good enough name for an ogre, I suppose. What's with his supply of old heads?  Sabu asked, as the ogre began lashing things down with his large coil of rope.

Don't know. Every time I ask him he just gives this big toothy smile. Past victims probably.

Eldar grinned at him as Sabu made a mental note to stay on the ogre's good side.

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Lookout report: secure the ship for a big blow!

The Northern Wind had a deathly cold chill to it, which was quite odd since they were just south of the equator. Sabu was certain that it was unnatural, if to judge by the way the crew members now hurried to their duties. Crew were trying to bring down the sails as quickly as possible while the lookout was trying to get down from the crow's nest as fast as he could.

A sudden flurry then swirled rapidly around and around the lookout, who grabbed frantically at the mast he was climbing down. The frigid gust seemed to whirl around him at the speed of sound and then just as quickly blow off into the air, but leaving in its place the lookout as a frozen statue of ice, to then fall down and shatter upon the deck in a hundred pieces like a cheap glass vase. The few members of the crew that were nearby were too busy keeping the ship afloat to notice this, though Sabu and Eldar were impressed enough to try to find shelter below. Eldar was halfway to the nearest hatch when he noticed that he had to go back and grab Sabu, as Sabu had delayed to look into the wind to figure something out.

Eldar thought about having a long talk with his companion sometime.

With a horrendous ripping sound, conflicting gusts of wind tore one of the main masts in half down to its base. This did catch the crew's notice as even the fiercest of winds wasn't supposed to be able to do this. Some passengers went scurrying about securing their possessions, while others tried to help out with the crew as more and more sails were shredded by the suddenness and ferocity of the storm. The storm had been too fast and powerful to bring down any of the sails in time.

The captain came out of his cabin shouting orders, the well trained crew following them despite their ever-growing fear. The captain was going to use every sailing trick that he knew to save his ship, the crew fulfilling his orders so efficiently that it was almost as if they could read his mind. Strive, he did, for a safe direction to sail from the winds, but they came from everywhere at once. Orders were shouted, as his legs held him to the deck as if rooted there. The ship became an extension of himself, its crew just but different parts of the whole.

Then, as the captain was valiantly defying the storm, an elderly woman dressed in robes colored the blues and greens of the sea came up on deck from one of the hatches. She also had the wide oval eyes and build of the Thirdocian race, but with limbs just starting to get gnarled with age.

You're supposed to be the ship's Sea Mage, he shouted at her above the roar of the wind, so do something about this storm!

She just but nodded, muttering to herself in her creaking voice as she then walked up the steps to the topmost section of the deck, the wind seeming to have no effect on either her robes or her aged hair. She then planted herself firmly on the deck, feet spread apart, arms outstretched as she tried to focus her magic and ability on controlling the storm. Her voice rang out in craggy incantations, in words that seemed to sound like waves breaking upon a rocky shore. Winds rose up from around her to fling out against the storm to do battle with it. Loud thunder cracked with each large windy fist that she sent out.

But it was still like trying to put out a forest fire with but a single pail of water.

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As dozens of fingers of lightning lit up the darkened sky like flashes of noontime, a single stroke hit the central main mast and split it down the middle in a loud peel of thunder. Blag-ak, who'd been trying to beat back the waves by hitting them with his fists, ran over and wrapped his tree-trunk-like arms around the split mast to try and hold it together at the base. Despite the winds, he held it, growling with all his strength.

Then another crack of lightning hit upon the next largest mast, cleaving it also in two, as it then creaked and threatened to topple. Blag-ak looked over at it trying to get his small brain to figure out how his large body could handle the second mast.

As if in answer, bursting over from amongst the busying crew, ran a large dark-haired white-skinned Human, body steel-hard with muscles, dressed only in furs and skins, with a large sword strapped to his back. It was Bronto, running over to the second mast. The ogre wondered at this Human, big though he was but still a fraction of his own size and weight, trying to hold the other mast. But Bronto grabbed around the second mast and, growling with effort, managed to hold the mighty mast together.

The ogre half smiled, half growled, his appreciation at the strong Human he now respected, as they both then growled their defiance, human and ogre, echoing into the unforgiving winds.

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Winds and lightning were crackling from the old lady, but try as she might, the storm seemed undefeatable. She'd safely guided many a ship through storms, gales, and bad weather in her time, being always the practice of Thirdocian ships to have at least one of her ocean-oriented magic skills on board of any ship that they sailed. She'd considered herself quite good in such magics, but this storm was beating her.

She knew this was to be her last storm.

Immense stroke of lightning, as an old lady is picked up by the stationary arc of a large electrical hand, held suspended in mid air for a brief eternity, screaming out her pain and torture as a death-shriek into the wind, followed by a second stroke of electrical death that, hitting with the bang of creation, turns her into pyrotechnic confetti drifting upon the wind.

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Below decks, sent scurrying into a cabin by the electrical report, a richly garbed merchant clung selfishly to his purse of gold and gems. That is, until a sharp pain on the back of his skull relieved him of life's miseries. The only witness to this deed, a darkly-cloaked human figure, then quickly grabbed the purse and left to take further advantage of the situation. Thus did the passenger known as Kor-Lebear begin the road to his own destiny.

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The storm came down with a vengeance, buffeting the mighty ship like no toy in a hurrical had ever been so treated, much less a sleem. The captain stood firm upon his ship, breathing his defiance into the sky, as he determined to either save his ship, or make it quite costly for the unnatural storm to take it away from him. The one sound heard above the winds, for miles away, is that of the captain shouting his rage into a vindictive storm.

But when the storm finally did end so had the mighty ship, along with her captain and most of her crew. Left in its wake were some bits of driftwood strewn along a sandy beach, with the light from the bright blue sun overhead shining down upon the unconscious bodies of those that survived.

CHAPTER TWO:

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The Island

"W

ho's alive?" asked Candol, as he got up.

He dusted off his priestly robes, collected his sword, and put his clerical sigil about his neck. Candol was of medium height and build, sandy-colored hair, and of a calm disposition. He'd been in the passenger section when the storm hit the ship, and had soon found himself floundering about in a wash of sea water, flotsam, and limbs.

As the tattered survivors began to get up from their sandy beds, Gamro was turning orange as it slid down past the northeastern horizon, while at the same time the blue of the smallest moon, Gamri, rose into the light of the newborn day.

Not much left of the crew, I'm afraid, remarked Starke, nominal leader of the mercenaries, as he got himself up and looked at the scattered bodies along the beach.

And a few less passengers, Kor-Lebear thought to himself, with the most sly of grins.

Serves 'em right, spat out one of the mercs, as he brushed sand out of his bushy beard, they were a lousy crew anyway.

Candol went over to the nearest body and knelt down beside it. Seeing that this one was a sailor, dead eyes staring out to sea, Candol began his prayers to send the soul along its journey. After he was finished, he went on to the next and did the same. At the third one, he looked down, frowned, and then skipped on to another one.

What's the matter Candol? Eldar asked. Why'd you skip him?

Candol got up and responded, "He kept pestering me throughout the entire trip. 'Candol bless this, Candol bless that'- like my god Indra and I are a catering service!  Well, his soul can just go find its way about on its own. Besides, he smelled bad."

Eldar smiled as Candol went on to the next body. That's the one thing about him, Eldar thought, he's just about as likely to help as not. His must be a very fickle deity.

For the next body he came to, Candol looked down at it doubtfully, thought a bit, took out a coin, and then flipped it. After looking at the coin-facing in his palm, he knelt down besides the body and began his prayers.

Uh, if I may ask?  Eldar began.

I wasn't sure about him, Candol responded after a brief prayer, his soul was borderline.

Eldar shook his head doubtfully as he began to wonder if that was Candol's way of keeping wayward worshipers on their toes. Not that Eldar considered himself all that religious as regards most deities, but you never knew.

Blag-ak then came lumbering up from another end of the beach, throwing seaweed off of himself after testing which were edible first. He poked around some of the bodies, looking at their heads as if trying to determine which might be good to add to his collection, when one of the heads he prodded at spat out sand and shouted back.

Get me out of here!

Buried up to the neck in sand, the head appeared rather small and childish, yet rather hairy and unkempt.

Apparently, Blag-ak reasoned to himself, this is a severed head that can talk. That would make it a really special head for my collection!

So thinking, he wrapped the head in his large hand and tried to pick it up.

It screamed and refused to budge.

That's funny, he thought, it's glued to the ground. I'll just try harder.

So thinking, he pulled hard on it, the head continuing to scream for a moment, ending with a rather sandy popping noise as the ogre suddenly found himself holding a three-foot person several feet above the ground by the head.

Oh darn, he thought to himself puzzledly, it's not a head.

What you? he finally said.

The person he carried looked rather like a hairy child, with hair on his feet and a long dark braid coming off of his head. His arms were a bit short, but his fingers long and nimble. He wore baggy clothes but with no shoes for the tough bottoms of his feet.

Let me down, you overgrown pile of dragon excrement!

Blag-ak dropped him as he wondered what an X-Kree-Ment was.

The small creature dusted himself off with amazing quickness, then smiled his way into a quick bow.

I'm Quickfoot, at your service kind Sirs!

I don't remember you from the other passengers, remarked Sabu, now ringing the excess seawater out of his robes.

I, uh, was a last moment passenger. They didn't have time to put me on the passengers' list, and I stayed pretty much to myself, he responded smoothly.

Eldar and Sabu looked at each other and responded in unison.

Stowaway!

No, no, no. I assure you that-

That doesn't matter anymore, came the rumbling voice of Bronto, let's just worry about where we are!

Considering that this came from a six-and-a-half-foot tall Human almost as wide as Quickfoot was tall, the arguing stopped rather suddenly.

The only one apparently unimpressed was a small, lean, sandy-haired young boy, dressed in a tight-fitting jumpsuit with a short cape. Kilgar was up on top of a nearby rock, looking out into the inland distance, and began pointing.

I see a castle over there, he shouted with a slight trace of his half-lilting half-almost-singsong native Destir accent, and it doesn't look deserted.

What's with eagle-eye over there? one of the mercs whispered to Filmar. "The kid's sight can't be that good."

Filmar just shrugged, and finished re-fastening his sword at his side.

Filmar, quiet and non-talkative, was tall, well muscled, and fair of face and hair. He seemed to almost exude a certain calmness and inner secret, and kept his conversations to an absolute minimum.

Forget the castle, shouted the mercenary named Lur-Klakar, look at those!

He pointed towards the edge of the forest along the beach. Standing amongst some of the tairu-colored trees stood a group of very beautiful females, eight human and two elves, all scantily clad and with an alluring aura that could get a statue to straighten up and take notice. Every curve of liquid-smooth flesh was perfectly sculpted as if by some master artisan, with their sheer colored gowns each draping just precisely correct.

I WANT one! shouted the merc Tinweril as he got up and leapt towards the nearest one.

The other mercenaries, about half a dozen or so, tried to divide up a few of the other girls, as one helped Quickfoot up, leaving the small one to pant heavily at her feet like a puppy. Bronto had two of them, one arm around a human and the other around an elf, with nobody wanting to argue about it. Eldar shrugged, thought something about any port in a storm, and politely approached one of the elven maidens. Kor-Lebear and Sabu soon found themselves each with someone, while Candol had just remembered that his cult didn't have any chastity vows and went for one. Even young Filmar, despite his father's warnings had soon caught the smile of one of the maidens.

Only Kilgar, too young to want what the others did, yet old enough in the teachings of his people, stayed cautiously on the edge of the group, away from the hormonal activity.

The girls were indeed young maidens, appearing to be no more than about fifteen to seventeen, with an aura that oozed femininity incarnate and would reach out and play tag with one's hormones. They carried themselves with the perfect compromise between innocence and world-wiseliness.

So, we have guests, came a deep voice from the forest followed by its owner, a fat jolly-looking type dressed up like some sort of noble. Who among you is leader?

Starke looked up from his interest in the hills and valleys of his new companion and spoke, I, Starke, am in charge. We have just been shipwrecked and are in need of care and passage off of this island. Who might you be?

The newcomer brought his large belly to an upright position, almost by sheer force of will, and answered, I am Boalar, owner of this island and the castle inland. And these are my, um, subjects, he motioned with his hands towards the females.

"Lovely  kingdom," young Bronto smiled, squeezing his two prizes closer.

How do you become a citizen? Eldar smiled gaily, his fingers slyly working their way up the arm of a young elven maiden.

Sabu, meanwhile, was sheepishly trying to explain the intricacies of magic, math, and astronomy to a lovely female youth, while Filmar was shyly introducing himself to another.

Finally, remembering his manners and honor, Starke stood up, straightened his clothes, sword, and dagger, brushed out his long Ho-Chi-Min mustache, as well as some of the sand off of his tanned yellow-brown skin, and faced Boalar at stiff attention.

Lord Boalar, will you be kind enough to give us shelter?

I'll do better than that. Come, you shall feast this night!

Starke gave a curt bow and then motioned his mercs to gather up, the girls following them like flowing water caressing their bodies. There seemed no dissent about the potential of the offered hospitality, as everyone else followed behind the mercs.

Wait a tid, shouted Kilgar, looking around, where's the ogre?

I think I saw him over there, Eldar pointed, with a half-dreaming look still in his eyes.

Blag-ak was seen engaging in his rather grisly hobby of collecting unwanted heads off some of the dead sailors' bodies.

What are you doing? shouted Sabu, simultaneously intrigued and taken aback at the action.

Souvenirs, was the gruff reply.

Filmar grimaced in disgust, but kept quiet about it.

Well, come on, we're leaving.

The ogre sulked, but complied as they got on their way.

"I wonder what he does with those things," Sabu muttered to himself.

There's something about this that I don't like, whispered Kilgar.

Ah, shut up kid, Tinweril replied, it's just us adults at play. You'll understand when you grow up.

In all, the survivors numbered Bronto, Sabu, Eldar, Candol, Kilgar, Kor-Lebear, Quickfoot, Filmar, and Blag-ak, as well as Starke and his mercs, and three straggling sailors, now following ten maidens and their lord towards a castle.

Kor-Lebear merely kept towards the rear and thought.

toppng

Time soon found them enjoying a magnificent feast, with pleasing entertainment and the beautiful girls all around. They were in a large high-ceilinged hall of stone walls and tree-trunk-thick wooden beams, with intricate tapestries hanging on the walls, a wide beautifully carved staircase at one end of the great hall, and numerous doors and adjoining passages spaced all around the large room. All were seated at a single large sixty-foot long oak table, each person in a large comfortable chair. Sitting amongst them were the girls that they'd met out on the beach, with even more women serving them with trays of food. The table was laid out with all manner of seemingly endless food, all served in silver bowls, with the wine coming at an endless rate. It was a chauvinist barbarian's paradise.

This, I like, Starke was smiling, trying to feed his stomach with one hand and his desires with the other wrapped around one of the girls.

Well, how do you like my humble accommodations? inquired their host while finishing off his third tankard of wine.

Just perfect, purred Kor-Lebear, looking at all of the rich furnishings with a keen eye for value.

Almost makes you want to stay, said Thorlan Felgernon, one of the mercs.

Blag-ak took up the entire end of the long table, chewing on a piece of meat the size of a large pig in one hand and using an entire keg of wine as a cup in the other hand, a large pile of discarded bones lying around him. The mercenaries were digging into their food about as much as they were the women. Bronto was drinking and laughing, one of the girls tending to his pleasures. In short, all were eating and making merry.

Quickfoot had one hand stuffing food in a continuous stream down his mouth, and the other stuffing silverware just as continuously down his pockets. At the same time, though, Candol was amusing himself by using his spoon to propel berries carefully at Quickfoot's now increasingly purple-stained nose.

Kilgar was stirring restlessly in his chair, glancing around furtively, looking out of place and apprehensive.

Tell me, said Sabu, swallowing a mouthful, how came you upon all of this?  I mean, that tapestry over there alone must date back to the early era of the of The Great Human Kingdoms back in the time of-

A sharp elbow jab by Eldar interrupted his friend, Don't mind him, he does that sort of thing all the time.

Eldar smiled then downed an entire mug of wine in a single swig while squeezing his serving girl's breast with his free hand.

Lord Boalar leaned back patting his belly. It's quite alright!  The secret is wealth, my good man, he replied, wealth, knowing the right people, and a need to get away to the finer things in life.

But, how came you upon so much?  Such a lovely little island, so out of the way; and the women- Sabu persisted.

All you have to understand, smiled Boalar, is that it's all here, I use it to relax and enjoy life with, and that I like to share my good fortune with others.

Sabu was about to pursue it further, but the girl tending him began to massage the tension out of his shoulders, drawing a smile upon his lips and causing him to decide that she was definitely much more interesting than their host's financial activities.

"Well, I know that I'm going to enjoy it here, said Tinweril, arm around a very alluring young female as he got up from the table. If I don't come out in about three rises, I may need a healer," he laughed as he went out down one of the hallways, with his chosen girl, towards the bedrooms.

The sailors and two of the other mercenaries had already gone off, taken by the radiant beauty of the women. Bronto was staring, entranced, at the girl that he had wrapped around himself.

I'm with him, he said, staring glassy-eyed at the one he had, it's just been too long.

Kilgar leapt from his seat and over towards Bronto.

Wait, he tugged at his massive arm, it's all wrong. We've got to get another boat and leave.

Bronto just lazily shoved the kid out of his way, like the wind moving a flower petal, There's plenty of time for all that later, and then he too left.

Kilgar went over to Eldar, who was busy chewing on one end of a bread stick while an elven female was at the other end chewing her way towards his lips.

Eldar, he whispered harshly, I just know that something's wrong.

Eldar wiggled a couple of fingers at the boy, causing him to be flown towards the other end of the room with a gag appearing in his mouth and ropes around his hands and feet.

Don't mind him, said Sabu, hand casually massaging a girl's leg while he finished off a mug of wine, he's still growing up. When he hits puberty then he'll understand.

Perfectly all right, their jolly host replied. "Just feel free to enjoy ALL aspect of my hospitality; me and the girls get so few visitors around here."

Several moments later found an empty table, remains of a half-eaten feast on it, and most everyone having gone off to enjoy the pleasure that a long time at sea can make even more enjoyable. Even Blag-ak had found a few females willing to try him out.

No one had noticed the discarded gag and pile of untied ropes off in the corner where Kilgar had been.

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There was one other who hadn't gone off with someone. While Quickfoot had caught the eye of one of the girls, the little woodling's appetite for more food and silverware quickly overrode his desire for flesh. As such, he had found his way to the kitchen with the speed and accuracy of a bloodhound on the trail of a female breeder in heat. He'd lodged himself in one of the cupboards, jamming a cake into his mouth while simultaneously trying to put a porcelain plate up his shirt, his pockets occasionally jingling with the sound of his dinner-time acquisitions.

Sounds of footsteps outside of the cupboard caused him to stay very still as he heard approaching voices in the kitchen. He listened, catching snatches of it.

. . .How's the feast going?  from the voice of the host, Lord Boalar.

Fine . . ., a female voice, . . . coming along okay . . . be ready for everyone soon . . .

. . .best feast yet, Boalar's voice again, . . .everyone enjoy it . . . plenty for everyone.

Quickfoot's ears pricked up. There's going to be another feast?, he thought, Wow, maybe I can get first serving this time. As the voices faded away into the distance, he began to open the cupboard just a little bit to see what the next culinary pleasures were to be.

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Off in a wide hallway of the castle, lined with bedrooms, all doors of such closed to prying eyes, was the stealthy form of the boy Kilgar, his movement not making any sound of passage, keeping to the shadows more out of habit than anything else. He was creeping down the hallway, thinking to himself.

Something about this setup still doesn't seem right, he thought to himself, and they're all too busy with those stupid girls to see it. Just because I'm still a kid is no reason to not listen to me. They could learn a few things from my people.

He looked up and down the hallway.

Yeah, I kinda miss the desert and my people, he thought sadly, but not letting a trace of emotion enter his face, but I have to think about what's now. So, with the practical-mindedness of his people, even in one so young, he shrugged it off and went over to the nearest door to listen.

Sounds of intense pleasure, groaning, and love-making between a man and a woman.

Sounds normal enough for that sort of thing, I suppose, he thought. He listened some more.

The sounds went on for a few moments more, then dimmed down to silence. Kilgar was about to move on when-

Sounds of munching and the chewing of flesh, tendons and vital organs being reduced to meat and protein, broken only by an occasional male murmur of pleasure. Flesh being ripped from the bone, the swallowing of blood and life. Finally, the crunching of bones, the sucking of marrow, and the consumption of the last vestiges of life.

Total silence.

Then, the soft sound of a female cooing and purring with pleasure and satisfaction, at the finish of a good meal.

Kilgar's eyes widened as he quickly crept away from the door.

That isn't normal, he thought, I knew there was something wrong here. I've got to find the others.

He quickly and silently sped down the corridor.

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Quickfoot leapt down out of his little cupboard, landing quietly onto the floor, the top of his head barely coming up to the top of the large central kitchen table. There were other cabinets, a large stove, racks of pans and knives, the door he'd come in from, and another one labeled Pantry. He pulled himself up on top of the table for a better look.

Old bones, a dirty plate, a large cutting knife, and some red stains.

Well, the food's not in here, he whispered to himself, but maybe I can use this sometime.

The cutting knife disappeared into one of his pockets.

He looked at the other door, Maybe it's in the pantry; I'll just have a look.

So saying, he scurried down off of the table and across the room. Passing another rack of knives he paused, thought about how nice they looked, and then grabbed three more before continuing on.

He carefully creaked open the door to peek inside. All he saw was dim lighting and rows and rows of shelves.

All filled with lots of food.

The door swung shut as the small creature almost vanished into the room. He was walking down the middle looking up and around at this paradise of food.

There's enough here for ages, he exclaimed, but I've got to get it before they see me.

Seeing a particular favorite, he leapt up to the third shelf to grab a piece of bread, bounced from there directly across the aisle to the opposite shelf for another morsel, then onto the floor and down the aisle for something else. His food-inspired bounding and leaping would seem to be only matched by a grasshopper in heat.

Finally he came upon a more open area marked by a line of frost with ice beyond. He carefully poked his finger past the icy line, then drew it back quickly as it began to get cold and frosty.

Must be some sort of magic to keep it cold. I don't like magic, but I wonder . . . Hey, this must be where they keep the perishable stuff. Maybe I can find some meat and milk in here.

His baser instincts having easily overcome his brief fears, he sped quickly onward into the cold. Inside were some long covered packages hanging on large hooks.

Wow, jackpot!  These must be sides of beef or something. Boy, am I hungry!

He went over to the nearest one and peeled open the covering as he looked up hungrily.

Dead eyes staring forever outward from a human face, large hook thrust through the chest, hanging there naked but with his entire right side missing, cleaved off with the professional quality cutting of a skilled butcher. It was not a side of beef, but a side of Man.

Quickfoot screamed and leapt back at the same time. Fear and terror dashed across his face at lightning speed. For a few moments his mouth just opened and closed, without anything coming out, before he managed to speak.

Cannibals!  They'll eat us all. Oh, I don't make a good pot-pie.

He backed up out of the frozen area, still muttering fear-driven expletives to himself. Finally he turned around and began to run as fast as fear could take him. He dashed out of the pantry door and into the kitchen. He leapt over the table and towards the other door-

-To see one of the pretty girls standing there, just having entered, and now looking over at Quickfoot rather puzzledly.

He didn't give her time to think about his presence. While still in midair from his leap over the table, he twisted his body, and ended up soaring down through between her legs, sliding out into the corridor beyond, rolling to his feet, and then turning that motion into a fast blur down the corridor.

In other words, he resembled a bat out of Hell.

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Kilgar crept along with his knife out now. A wickedly curved blade with an ornate handle, it was of a type used by his people quite often. Now he walked along with it in a continual defensive position. He was now no longer just a small wiry youth, but a killing machine resistant to the fears of Man. He may have been only part grown, but he was all Destir.

He came up to the door that he'd seen Eldar go into and listened. He heard sounds of pleasure and the rhythmic creaking of bed springs.

Good, he thought, there's still time.

He quietly tried the doorknob, but it was locked. So, he began to pry at it with his knife, soon hearing a satisfying snap, then grabbed the door handle, quietly turned it, and . . .

A bedroom, ornate cloth hanging on every wall, bed with four decorative posts, with Eldar on his back on the bed, eyes rolled back in pleasure, elven female on top of him, clothes and sword on the floor next to the bed, his hands firmly grabbing choice parts of her anatomy.

Except that the female now had sharp fangs, long claws on her fingers, and a look of intense hunger in her red glowing eyes, as she bent down to bite a large chunk of flesh out of his neck.

Bedroom door now flying open, as a small blurred boyish figure comes leaping through, streak of sandy-colored death with a pointed knife at the tip, the blur shouting as it lands on the girl's back.

Eldar, look out!

Kilgar landed on the fiend's back, knife plunging through her upper back, momentum carrying them both off of Eldar, as she screamed from the pain in her back. As green blood oozed out of her, Eldar began to blink his eyes, gradually becoming aware of events.

Kilgar took out his knife and made ready for another stab as the naked fiend grabbed around at Kilgar, her wound even now almost healed, and tossed him by the neck across the room. Eldar reached for his sword on the floor, Kilgar tumbling nimbly in the air to land in a crouch facing her from across the room. Eldar slashed out with his sword.

A gleam of metal death as a fanged head was sent flying across the room, separated from its body at the neck. The body spouted up a fountain of green blood and orange fire as the body fell back over the other side of the bed onto the floor.

Kilgar ran over to Eldar, who began to quickly dress himself.

They're man-eaters. We've got to get to the others!

I agree. Sabu's across the hall and Bronto's next door. You get Bronto, I'll get Sabu.

Eldar smiled to himself before running out, "Now this is what I call some decent after-dinner entertainment!"

Kilgar nodded and sped out of the room.

Where he bumped into Quickfoot running down the hall, screaming at the top of his lungs. As they untangled themselves from each other, Quickfoot was still babbling.

Cannibals!  Demons!  Fiends!  They'll eat us all up. Oh I don't want to be someone's dinner. Besides, I'd make too light a snack. I-

Kilgar slapped him into emotional soberness.

Yes, we know!  Now get down the hallway and find the others so that we can get out of here.

The little woodling seemed to lose his fear and come round, as he realized that without the others he wouldn't make it out of this place alive. He got up and began to speed off down to the next room, softly muttering about cannibals not about to make him into a pot-pie.

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A slice of magic steel and a doorknob goes flying, its attendant door then kicked inward. Revealed within was Sabu, his robes in disarray as he lay on his stomach on the bed, girl sitting on top of him, massaging his shoulders with fingers that are just now producing claws out of them, fangs beginning to protrude, claws going for the neck.

Metal soaring through the air, to impale from the back a full foot through the front chest. Eldar runs up as she tumbles over screaming and down onto the floor, taking his sword out of her, and then coming down to end her screams by severing her head with his sword.

Sabu rolled over and looked up questioningly.

Demon-kabobs anyone? Eldar smiled, as green blood dripped from his sword.

Eldar?  What's going on-

He glanced down to the headless clawed body, now spouting flame and blood, and at the fang-toothed head rolling slowly to a stop.

Oh, I see.

He got to his feet and looked at his rumpled clothes. A snap of his fingers and they straightened themselves out.

We've got to find a way off of this island, Eldar said, wiping the guck off of his sword. Is there an extra boat around here?  He must have one for himself.

Sabu closed his eyes and concentrated for a few moments before opening them again.

There's a dock on the southern shore of this island, he finally responded.

Good, then we're outta here!

They both rushed out of the door into the hallway.

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Bronto, move it!

A small rock impacted off of Bronto's massive arm, the only way Kilgar knew of to roust him quickly. Bronto awoke to see the promise of a fanged death a mere inch away from him. He reacted instinctively, reaching for the neck and throwing her with a single hand across the room. She landed spread-eagle, hard against the stone wall, with a simultaneous crunch and splat as most of her bones are crushed by the impact while green blood fanned out from her backside to cover most of the wall. She began to slide down the wall, in a slick of her own blood, as her body suddenly exploded in a burst of orange fire.

Bronto looked at the burning mess and then over at Kilgar standing in the doorway.

Sorry I didn't believe you kid, he rumbled as he began to get up to quickly get his things, from now on, I do.

Kilgar just nodded and sped out of the room, Bronto soon following behind.

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Starke was having the time of his life, necking with his girl, both sitting up on a bed.

Oh, baby, yeah. I've known lots of women before but you're completely different.

You have no idea how much, she whispered just as she bit into his shoulder, taking out a chunk of flesh.

Starke screamed, tried to break free, but her hands pinned his arms at his sides with a strength unnatural even for a full grown man. He struggled uselessly as her gleaming teeth came in for his throat.

Two large knives came whizzing through the air, one to land in the back of her neck, protruding through the throat, the other in the small of her back. She dropped him and looked around to see Quickfoot cowering in the doorway, a third knife ready. She took but a single step, and then collapsed, writhing, onto the ground. Starke looked up at Quickfoot, still a bit dazed, blood coming from his shoulder, and then grabbed for his things, pulling out a battle horn.

I've got to warn everybody, he looked over at Quickfoot. I owe you my life. Now go warn the others.

He mouthed the horn, letting loose its cry of warning.

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A bedroom door explodes into flame, quickly followed by a fanged female being flown to the ceiling and pinned up there, clawing and screaming.

Candol looked up, and then over at Sabu standing in the doorway.

I guess that's one for you, Candol said sleepily, shaking off the girl's enticing effects. How's about I buy you a drink at the next bar we're at?

Good enough, Sabu smiled.

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Eldar worded his warning in the simplest manner for a limited intelligence that he could possibly imagine.

Blag-ak!  Kill!

Out in the hallway, Kilgar saw one of the demonic females exploding out through a stone wall, across the hallway, and then imbedding in the opposite wall. He saw the female do a brief but fair imitation of a wall mural and then explode into flame, while Blag-ak's angry cry rang out.

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In one room, Kor-Lebear was occupied with a girl, but unlike the others he was also up to something else. During their lovemaking, while one hand had been on her breast, the other had been secretly popping gems off of her discarded dress, removing small gold trays from the nightstand, and collecting any other available valuables.

In the midst of all this, came the sound of a loud battle horn being sounded. As the girl looked up at hearing the sound, he pulled out a dagger from his side and swiftly slashed at the neck. When green blood fountained out, he quickly rolled over off the bed and onto his feet.

Nothing personal, he said quietly and controlled, but I just don't like any witnesses.

He had just cleaned and put away his dagger when he heard a rapidly approaching cry.

Danger, danger!

Quickfoot came running in, screaming, knife ready. As he rounded the door and came bursting in, he looked down at the body.

Green blood was soaking into the sheets as orange fire slowly consumed the body.

The small one looked up, Oh, I guess you know already.

He paused a bit and then sped out, once again shouting his warnings to all within hearing.

You mean, Kor-Lebear quietly said to himself, "we're supposed to kill them?"

He smiled.

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As some were freed so they got to others, like a spreading bonfire. Some weren't gotten to in time though. The remaining sailors and some of the mercenaries were just so much luncheon meat by the time they were reached. Starke had a makeshift bandage on his shoulder and Tinweril had one around his left forearm. Filmar had been saved by his virtue; he'd been found caught between wanting the girl and remembering his father's words to him, the girl still trying to seduce him when her head came flying off at the tip of Bronto's massive sword.

They were now all in the original feasting hall that had earlier seemed so much more friendlier.

Blag-ak had gone around and collected the severed heads of the demonic girls that they'd gotten to, and now had them hanging at his belt with his others.

I still wonder what he does with those things, Sabu said, glancing over at the heads.

It's too quiet in here, Kor-Lebear hissed.

Where to now? Candol spoke up.

There's a harbor to the South, Sabu answered.

Good! Starke took charge. We head for there. Let's go.

As they began to head for an exiting hallway, Kilgar shouted.

Look!

Coming down one of the hallways towards them were more of the demonic girls, some armored male guards brandishing swords, and their host Lord Boalar in the back shouting orders.

Let's move it! Tinweril shouted.

Swords were drawn as they started to run for an exit.

Blag-ak pulled one of the heads from his belt, whirled it over his head by the hair, and then let it fly. It screamed through the air and then impacted upon the head of one of the males in armor. Both heads exploded from the impact.

"Now I know what he does with those things!"

Bronto went over to one end of the huge sixty-foot table. With a mighty heave and cry, he sent it flying down the hallway towards the onrushing group. It sped into the ones in the lead, taking them with it as it continued to rush onward.

Strike! yelled Bronto.

At the same time Sabu put forth both his arms, pointed, and began speaking in his magic tongue.

"Thestool Rekto Veemer Flamir!"

A stream of fire shot out from his pointed hands, down towards the table, now centered across the hallway, and impacted upon it. The table burst into an explosion of flame and wood, blocking the way of those that would kill them.

Not bad, Eldar admired, perhaps you can teach me some of that.

Can we leave now? Quickfoot asked timidly.

In answer, they all ran out towards the castle exit.

Down corridors and out towards a portcullis. They rounded a corner and suddenly came face to face with one of the women; naked but now with fangs and claws, hissing at them as they came, eyes glowing a bright red. Eldar was in the lead as she slashed at him. Eldar ducked the swipe as he took a small packet out of a pocket. Whirling, and without breaking stride, he slammed the object into her mouth and then ducked and ran past.

Eldar shouted back as he ran past, Chew on that, ugly!

She angrily reached with a claw to take the object out of her mouth.

And promptly exploded, bits of her flying all over the hallway. Pieces of her burst into flame as they landed. Some green guck splattered across Sabu's robes as he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Eldar laughed as they continued to run.

Sabu muttered as he tried to brush off his robes and keep up at the same time, You could have chosen something a bit less messy, you know.

Then it wouldn't have been any fun, Eldar shouted back to him.

Nearer they approached the gates, when suddenly three large men clad in chain and platemail stepped out to block their way. Filmar was towards the front as, still running, he pulled out his sword