Strangers in Midglaive: The Tomes of Brynjar, #1

By Brian Cary

Wulfric was a barbarian and a gentleman who enjoyed sitting by the fire and sipping rum in a tavern. Too bad he was lost in a mysterious land, surrounded by evil, and precariously low on rum.

Wulfric Brynjar, our dauntless adventurer, along with a headstrong dwarf named Angus and a growing cadre of misfits find themselves Strangers in Midglaive, a beautiful yet dangersome realm to visit, let alone in which to be stranded.

Strangers in Midglaive pursues our intrepid heroes as they encounter villains and increasing peril at every turn. Meanwhile our disaster-prone troupe just wants to find a way home. As their enemies pile up, let's hope something truly sinister doesn't take notice of them.

"Brian Cary weaves a brilliant, masterful fantasy tapestry, yet makes it a fast read and finds ways to make us laugh at the same time. Say goodbye to that fourth wall. … There's lots of action, unexpected twists and memorable characters. This book is hard to put down."

--Tyler McKinney

Will our band of misfits survive long enough to find a way home? How will they navigate a new world full of fantastical creatures, menaces, and magic without killing each other in the process? The only way to unravel this host of pernicious predicaments is to pick up your copy of Brian Cary's latest fantasy-thriller, 'Strangers in Midglaive,' available now! Scroll up and get your copy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Cary
• Release date: Apr 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386915966

Brian Cary

Brian Cary is a cunning and witty novelist who writes primarily in the fantasy genre. He graduated college in 1991 with a degree in electronics where his college years were spent writing stories when he was supposed to be learning circuitry and Ohm’s law. College professors sometimes allowed him to turn in fictionalized stories to satisfy composition requirements. Brian is often labeled eccentric because of his obsession over abstruse and arcane vocabulary as well as an addiction to intriguing stories, both of which influence his writing. Originally viewing fiction as a hobby and not a profession, Brian spent many years working in IT and management before fully embracing fantasy writing. Before becoming an author, Brian heavily criticized Gandalf and Dumbledore for their practically non-interventionist policies compared to their capabilities. Brian lives in the woods near a small town in northwest Ohio with his wife, five sprog, and a dancing cow named Buttercup. In his spare time, he enjoys dungeon-crawler video games and is an avid 3D artist. Want exclusive posts and reader rewards? Subscribe or leave a tip! visit https://www.subscribestar.com/briancarybooks Also find him here: Homepage: http://briancarybooks.com Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TheWriteBrianCary Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/TheWriteBrianCary/

Book preview

Chapter 1–That Sudden Stop

In medieval days of yore, when the world was dominated by powerful wizards, monstrous dragons, loathsome vampire lords, and other manifold untamed evils, five reluctant travelers began a journey...

Unfortunately for our five fearless friends, the journey was vertical. Yes, that’s right, vertical.

Plummeting down a bottomless pit is both a curious and terrifying event quite unlike any other experience. Most people will attempt, quite enthusiastically, to avoid such an occurrence, ranking the fear of falling just after the fear of public speaking and right before the fear of dentistry.

Wulfric Brynjar, a barbarian by any definition, began his involuntary and undesired plunge down just such a bottomless pit toward his own untimely death. His eyes closed, the wind blew tears streaking up his forehead. He let out an atrocious and terrified scream.

His better educated though still barbaric brother, Dainn Brynjar, also falling, likewise screamed out in terror.

Angus Irondome, the only dwarf in the group and warrior by trade, instead decided to scream.

The lovely and talented Portia Ravenfrost, bursting forth with an extraordinary lack of originality, also screamed.

Brannigan Hawthorn, behaving in a not unprecedented manner (wait for it) screamed.

At least there was no public speaking.

The severe updraft renders it flatly impossible to keep one’s eyes open or to hear properly, effectively rendering the victim blind and deaf. The airstream also tears at clothes, ripping at unreinforced seams.

If all of that wasn’t uncomfortable enough, there’s also that sudden stop at the bottom to consider.

As an added bonus, the tumbling and falling sensation often causes severe disorientation and nausea. If at all possible, the accidental sky-diver should focus on the nausea and refrain from chundering at all costs! Skydiving amidst plunging chunder is considerably worse than going it alone.

Our five screaming yet otherwise intrepid adventurers found themselves rocketing downward to their deaths as a final punishment for being convicted of murder. Prior to their plummeting each was stripped of their goods and clothes, placed in burlap sacks, and placed in an involuntary residential center until their execution.

‘Involuntary residential center’ should of course be interpreted to mean ‘jail’, though with far fewer amenities–critical life essentials like light, food, clean water, bathroom privileges, and unfettered Internet access were withheld–therefore, ‘dungeon’ was the preferred designation.

The five falling felons finally finished screaming and waited for that inevitable sudden stop at the bottom. As they streaked downward, their clothes, hair, and skin rippled in the fierce updraft. They could feel the air grow warmer. Yet it was the uncertainty of knowing when the end would come that overloaded their adrenaline and drove them mad.

The knowledge that each and every second could be their last filled them with rapid waves of fear and regret. Death was coming and swiftly.

Later, they would find out that death’s actual name was Monty, but we’re getting quite ahead of ourselves.

Falling for a perceived eternity in fact lasted slightly less than thirty seconds.

The end came. Not with a thud, but with a euphonious splash.

The heroes found themselves plunged deeply into the water and scrambling upwards for air that only an instant ago was overly abundant.

They glanced at their underwater surroundings while struggling upward for the surface. There were bodies at the bottom of the water, mostly skeletonized, which writhed in the watery currents, appearing almost alive. They also noticed a few weapons and other odd bits of trumpery and rubble at the water’s floor.

Struggling intently upward filled them with desperate hope and optimism. Having survived the fall, survival was perhaps within their grasp.

Wulfric was the first to burst through the surface and gasp in air.

The woman, Portia Ravenfrost popped to the surface next, gulping down air and hyperventilating.

Where are the others?! Wulfric sputtered.

At this point a few readers might be thinking, back up just a tick: assuming the terminal velocity of a falling dwarf or human is 120 miles-per-hour and they fell for nearly thirty seconds, then given that distance is equal to time spent falling multiplied by speed of travel, then those adventurers dropped nearly a mile, not accounting for acceleration time.

If this was the first thought that entered your mind, then congratulations, Sheldon: you paid attention in high-school physics. Your classmates no doubt labeled you with various derogatory terms for your vast mathematical perspicacity and intelligence.

If you did not immediately rework the formula ‘speed equals distance over time’ in your mind, you may feel free to consider yourself ‘possibly normal’.

Yet the people in the camp ‘possibly normal’ have an entirely different objection. They suspect that the instant deceleration from 120 miles-per-hour to zero, once they impact water, would create a collision that renders our adventures fully two-dimensional.

Everyone knows that falling from a great height into water is like landing on concrete, despite over a century of cinematic evidence to the contrary.

Indeed, quite correct–had the pool of water itself not been previously enchanted they would have shuffled off to see Monty. The enchantment on the pool would have become patently obvious in short order had the over-zealous simply waited for the story to unfold.

Next time try to be patient instead of nit-picking the technicalities and minutiae.

So, terrifying fall, into the water, saw the submerged skeletons, mentioned some weapons, struggled for the surface–yes of course, here we are: Air.

Wulfric, as mentioned, was first to pop his head above water, succeeded quickly by a lovely young woman whose name he had briefly heard but quickly forgotten because he was selfishly concerned only with his own imminent death.

Both gasped for air, while the pumping adrenaline slowly subsided.

They found themselves treading water in a softly lit cave.

Where are the others?! Are we the only two? Wulfric puffed.

How could I possibly know that? You reached the surface first, Portia shook liquid from her ears while treading water.

Head for the edge, Wulfric pointed to the stony embankment, I’m going back down for my brother, Dainn.

Wulfric took a lung-full of air and dove, swimming hard for the deep. As the pond’s foundations came into dim view, he desperately scanned the bottom for his brother Dainn. Yet Dainn was no where to be found. Nearing panic, Wulfric searched farther.

Instead, he found Angus Irondome, the dwelmer, standing at the bottom of the water.

Unmoving, Angus looked shocked. The dwarf pawed ineffectively at the water trying to swim up, yet remained firmly planted at the bottom in a pile of rocks, bones and sea grass.

Wulfric swam to Angus, clasped his hand and started tugging. Angus floated up only a few feet when he saw what was weighing the dwelmer down. Angus had become entangled in a skeleton–by some trick of the light, it looked like it was clinging to Angus by the foot.

The dwelmer kicked at the bones with his other leg, attempting to free himself.

Then the unthinkable happened. Rather than being a trick of the light, the skeleton actually began to move on its own. For Angus, panic set in. Desperately low on air he kicked at the bones, while the skeleton climbed hand-over-hand, up his leg!

Wulfric pulled and swam upward, dwarf-in-tow, but the extra weight of the skeleton was weighing them down, slowing their ascent.

When the creature had climbed within reach of Angus’ other hand, the dwarf clutched the skull, sinking his fingers into the slippery eye sockets. He twisted and wrenched at the skull with no small amount of force, when he suddenly heard a loud ‘pop’. Angus managed to decapitate the skull from its body. Much to his relief, the skeleton’s frame immediately disassembled, falling into individual bones which drifted harmlessly to the bottom.

Their race for the water’s upper limit became easier. They rose quickly and burst to the surface gasping and choking for air.

I couldn’t find... Wulfric began.

The others are up here, the woman bellowed from the shore.

Your name should be ‘Brick’ Wulfric taunted Angus as they swam for the steep edge of the pond and the young woman.

What are you talking about? the dwelmer replied, huffing and sputtering as Wulfric tugged him toward the edge.

Because you can’t swim, Wulfric chuckled.

"‘Tis not funny, Laddie. Not in the faintest. I can swim! All Dwelmer can swim! Like a fish I can! Now don’ let go of me!"

Wulfric grabbed the stone ledge of the subterranean pond and pulled himself up onto dry ground. He pulled Angus’ hand up to the stone ledge as well. The dwarf’s other hand was still clutching the skull.

Truth be told, Wulfric, Angus looked earnest, I wouldn’t have made it down there if not fer ye comin’ back down t’ help me. Ye didnae owe me thet. He paused before going on, I owe ye m’ life, human.

And don’t you forget it, Wulfric smiled and slapped the dwarf on the soggy shoulder.

The water-logged dwelmer lumbered out of the pond, rolled onto his back and for a moment rested, panting on the solid stone ground. Is that... stars? Why are they blue? Angus questioned, looking up at the cave ceiling.

It’s some kind of glow-worm... I think the spell-caster speculated, They must be living on the algae that grows on the ceiling.

The dwarf looked pleased, So they are. Glowing worms. At least we won’t die o’ starvation in ‘ere. Assuming we can reach.

Are you actually suggesting we eat glowing worms living in a cave? the mage was nigh dumbfounded at this preposterous suggestion.

Wulfric stood tall, his shirt entirely missing, and shook his head back. He ran his fingers through his blond, wet hair, elated to be alive. Escaping death left him grinning and giddy. Dainn. He heard no reply. Dainn! Wulfric called.

Still no response.

I’m so sorry, the woman responded, staring at the bare-chested barbarian.

What? Where’s Dainn? You said...

I know he was your brother, she continued.

Wulfric looked over where the woman indicated, and there his countenance collapsed.

The bodies of Wulfric’s brother, Dainn Brynjar, and that of the other prisoner, Brannigan Hawthorn, lay dead upon the solid stone ground.

Chapter 2–The Baconning

Portia, having discovered the body of Wulfric’s brother and the other prisoner, felt wretched for delivering such sad tidings. They must’ve landed up here on the cave floor and missed the water, she continued. There’s nothing anyone could have done. I really am sorry.

Angus, still holding the wet skull in his hand, sat up and furrowed his brow at this news.

Wulfric threw his had back and screamed in anger. The elation at being alive left him and instead it felt like someone had torn a hole through his heart and cold wind had started blowing through. He felt this wound might never be healed.

Then Wulfric, in a moment rare for him, was somber. He reverently approached his brother Dainn’s body, knelt down and touched his brother’s broken hand. In a melancholy whisper, he nodded his head, I will see you in Sovereignkeep, my brother–right at the silver gates. He turned his back so that the others might not perceive his grief and heartache or notice tears running down his wet cheeks.

The young lady felt it best to leave the barbarian to his grief and so she cautiously approached the dwelmer. Let’s address the mammoth in the cave and get something out of the way. I know you’re both hardened criminals, having murdered all those people...

Now wait jest a second, round ears! Angus, the dwelmer, objected.

... but I’ll have you know I’m a powerful sorceress, so don’t get any ideas. she warned.

Angus was indignant I’ll have ye know, Lassie, that we were innocent and wrongly accused! We’ve killed no one! Well,... he thought better of his words, "none o’ th’ people we were accused of murderin’ at any length."

Impossible! More precisely, I believe she meant ‘implausible’. How can you be wrongly accused of killing dozens of people?

Not to choose sides, but it certainty seems quite ‘implausible’ that someone could be falsely accused of murder, let alone mass murder. And there was the matter of the puppy. There was a trial, there were witnesses, in any rational mind the adventurers appeared clearly guilty.

"Jus’ one dozen, Lassie, not dozens. Well..., a dozen an’ change."

And a puppy!

Angus was now irate, "We did not kill th’ blimey puppy! Or the dwarves. Or the do-nothing wizard, although I would have gladly put his foppish cone-hat out if its misery. Th’ on’y one we killed was a ghost, an’ she was already daid! So as far as any killin’ goes, th’ only one guilty of murder is you, killing that prince!"

Technically, he’s still alive. Portia protested, waiving her finger at the dwelmer.

You killed their prince! Don’t try to deny it! It’s what put the judge in such a horrible mood that he would nae listen at our own trial, Angus shouted.

"I did no such thing! she folded her arms defensively. All I did was turn him into a pig! And frankly, he deserved it!"

You turned him... into a pig!? If Angus hadn’t already been sitting, he would have taken a step backward.

I just... couldn’t figure out how to change him back. But technically he’s still alive! So I’m not technically a murderer.

Angus cocked an eyebrow, "An’ how on Karth did this ‘enpigening’ happen?"

I told you, I’m a sorceress.

Go on. Angus sat at attention.

Well, the prince made a very rude comment about my, uh, about the size of my, well... he made comments about my very private body. She gave her head a quick, indignant nod. "On the night of his own engagement party no less! He told me he was going to ‘work his own magic’ on me, and then said he was going to... well, he got very specific, and most improper! And I got very cross with him. So I told him if he was going to act like a pig then he may as well look like a pig! And I sort of... got a tad carried away, so..." at her last utterance she started drifting off a bit and averted her gaze.

"Wait! So you actually turned him into pig!?"

"It was supposed to be a temporary illusion. I tried to cast a reverse ‘disguise-self’ spell. And he ended up... well, ... bacon."

You baconned him to death? I can’t believe you terminated him with bacon! You’re the baconator! Angus laid back and belly-laughed, which echoed in the cave.

It’s not funny! Portia scolded, I feel very bad about it!

Angus sat up again and wiped a tear from his eye, I’m 99 years old and that, Lassie, may be one o’ the best stories I’ve ever ‘eard!

The dwarf put out his hand and they shook, Angus Irondome. Pleased t’ make y’r acquaintance, Lassie. Though I’d prefer if we’d better circumstances.

I’m Portia. Portia Ravenfrost.

Angus surveyed the human. Portia was of average height for a human lady. Her red and blond hair contrasted with her bright green eyes. She was young and possessed a curvilinear figure that, though attractive and fetching, did not appear well adapted to the rigors of an adventurous life.

Portia noticed that Angus held a skull on his lap.

Out of morbid curiosity, what are you doing with that, she pointed, disgusting thing? Why are you even touching it? It looks... Ewww! she shivered.

This wee nasty was alive! Angus exclaimed, a gleam in his eye.

"Yes, well obviously. But that was clearly a long time ago, I mean now why are you..."

No, Lass. I mean it was alive just a moment ago! Attacked me in the water, it did.

Like... a living skeleton?!

Aye.

That’s dark necromancy! Portia gasped, recoiling. Pulling a soul back into a destroyed body... What torment! That’s simply horrible! Who would do such a vile thing?

Well, whatever it was caused it, it started clawing at me leg in th’ water. ‘E fell to pieces once I relieved ‘im of ‘is noggin though. The dwarf stared at the skull, If not for Wulfric o’r there... I might have joined this one, he hoisted up the grim trophy.

Wulfric was piling rocks and stones on Dainn’s body, covering him and marking his grave.

So he’s ‘Wulfric’? she gestured to the shirtless blond barbarian with the tattooed arm.

Aye.

He’s got a lot of... muscles.

Aye. That’s a big ‘un. He’s got more muscle th’n a beef bull with three stones in ‘is sack.

"Yeah, so there’s that. Gross. But um... Out of curiosity, what I mean to say is... is he, um... you know." Portia tried not to actually verbalize what she wanted to ask.

Angus nodded, Aye. I’m afraid he is.

He is?

Aye. Quite sure of it.

Oh. Portia’s demeanor slumped.

Human. Least so far I can tell.

Wait, no. Yes, I can see that he’s human, I mean... Portia flustered, is he... is there anyone special he...

What ere ye riddlin’ me, Lass?

Oh, never mind.

Wulfric completed stacking rocks on top of his departed brother. He stood and looked resolute. It’s time we find a way out of this cave, he announced.

And that, as they say, was that.

It may come as a shock to learn that few barbarians have gone through any form of sensitivity training, undergone professional therapy or utilized grief counseling.

The term ‘few’, in this instance, should be construed to mean exactly zero.

The concept of ‘talking it out’ would seem absurd to them–just as ‘chasing off a yeti with a hand axe for harassing your shaggy-rhinoceros herd,’ or ‘leaving a fresh dough-nut unattended’ would seem outrageous and absurd to us.

Instead, the tried-and-true ancient-barbarian procedures for working through grief include such lofty and noble methods as: going on a gallant quest for extended inebriation, the swearing of dramatic and untoward oaths of revenge, or engaging in a blind rampage until one’s blood-lust had been properly slaked.

Well done, Wulfric, Angus approved, just push the grief down. Push it back an’ ignore it. Won’t do ye no good dwellin’ on it. That’s the Dwelmer way.

My brother, Dainn waits for me in Sovereignkeep–there’s no sense in us loitering here any longer.

Angus nodded, "As I said, you’ve