Secrets of a Lost Age

By Kenneth McDonald

Secrets of a Lost Age kicks off a new fantasy series, set in a world where the Three Kingdoms of elves, dwarves, and humans rule in the aftermath of the fall of a great empire. In this new age, much of the powerful magic of the past has been lost, and hardy or foolhardy adventurers venture into the dangerous places of the world seeking hidden caches and valuable secrets.

Four would-be heroes, each with their own ambitions, talents, and secrets, are brought together to complete one such quest. Their numbers include a smith’s apprentice-turned warrior, a half-elven bard with more power than she knows, a priest of the god of knowledge whose part-orcish heritage has made him an outcast, and a dwarf monk trying to escape his past. What they find, in addition to the magical artifact they were tasked to recover, is an unexpected camaraderie and purpose. Drawn into a broader series of events that could potentially endanger the kingdom of Arresh, the four must uncover new abilities and learn to work together as a team in order to survive long enough to make a difference.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: Mar 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463832905

Kenneth McDonald

I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

Book preview

Foreword

Like many nerdy kids of my generation, Dungeons & Dragons led me to fantasy.

A friend introduced me to the game in middle school. He had the Basic Set, and after a few of us rolled up characters (my recollection is that my first character was an elf), he took us into The Keep on the Borderlands. I remember goblins and pits and an ogre, but not many other details. But it didn’t take me too long before I bought the first edition Player’s Handbook, Dungeon Master’s Guide, and Monster Manual. I was the Dungeon Master for a number of groups in high school and college, and have kept my hand in from time to time since then.

What really made D&D ubiquitous was video games. The same friend who took us into the Caves of Chaos had The Temple of Apshai on his dad’s computer, and later the Ultima series would consume many, many hours of virtual adventuring. The first Gold Box games came out while I was in college, and I remember devouring Pool of Radiance and all of the sequels that followed. I never got into massively multiplayer online roleplaying games like Everquest or World of Warcraft, but in 2002 Neverwinter Nights came out, which allowed gamers a chance to play a version of D&D online. I joined an online community called Neverwinter Connections (NWC), and over the next 10 years built, hosted, and played in dozens of campaigns. As of this writing I’m still running a weekly game of NWN with my regular gaming group. And today, of course, there are millions of players joining games through MeetUps or virtual tabletop programs like Roll20 and Fantasy Grounds.

I consumed fantasy books by the dozens in my teens and twenties. I started writing stories in high school, and by grad school I was writing novels. It was D&D again that prompted me to take the next step in sharing my work, as I started posting serialized stories at the ENWorld D&D community site in 2001. I took the next step and began self-publishing my work on Smashwords in 2010, and the Amazon Kindle Store in 2011.

Forgotten Lore began as another ENWorld story in January 2017. I started it shortly after I bought the D&D 5th edition core books. I was inspired by the way that the designers of the game tried to evoke the basic appeal of the game’s origins. While many of my books have been influenced by D&D and the classic fantasy I grew up with, this story in particular is an homage to the game system that allowed the nerdy kids of an entire generation to pretend they were muscled warriors, powerful wizards, crafty thieves, and any other kind of hero we could imagine. I hope you enjoy it.

* * * * *

Book 1: YOU MUST GATHER YOUR PARTY…

Chapter 1

Two men, one young and one old, were sparring with wooden swords in the enclosed courtyard behind the smithy. They went back and forth in the confined space, their boots kicking up swirls of dust that were caught in the violent sweeps of their weapons. It was obvious from one look that both were smiths, their arms and chests chiseled with cords of muscle under taut flesh. They had clearly just come from their labors inside, the younger man bare-chested and slick with sweat, the older wearing an old leather apron seared with black marks. But an observer would quickly note that their sparring was not just an idle game. The younger of the two looked to be barely past adolescence, but he fought with an intensity that bespoke many long hours of practice. His opponent was more than twice his age, but he too moved with a calm efficiency that caught the youth’s aggressive swings with parries that quickly turned into darting counterattacks.

The pace intensified rather than slowed as the session continued, the clack of blades forming a rapid staccato. The two were so intent on their clash that neither noticed the slender young woman who slipped through the half-open side gate. She did not look like the type of person who would escape notice often. The pale blonde hair that framed her features and toppled onto her shoulders didn’t fully hide the slightly pointed ears that suggested elvish blood in her heritage. She was dressed in a light blue coat in a fashionable cut over gray trousers tucked into knee-high boots. But as she turned through the gate the afternoon sunlight briefly blazed on something she was carrying: an exceptionally-formed silver lyre with seven strings.

The flash caught the attention of the younger man, who turned his head just as the elder launched into a decisive backhanded sweep. The youth realized his mistake too late and threw up his weapon in a desperate parry. The older man pulled back his stroke before it would have caromed off his opponent’s forehead, but the impact still knocked the practice sword from the young man’s grasp. It flew across the courtyard and slid to a stop right in front of the visitor.

Ah… sorry, she said as both men turned to face her.

Quite all right, Miss Leliades, the older smith said. It appears we need to work on our concentration, in any case.

The younger man colored slightly as he hurried over to recover his fallen weapon. Hi, Glori, he said.

Hey, Bredan. Master Karras. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I could watch you two fight all day. She let her eyes flick over the young smith’s muscled torso in a way that had the flush on his cheeks deepening.

Ah… Bredan said.

We were nearly done with the day’s labors, in any case, the elder smith added. His voice had just a hint of a southern accent, adding a bit of exotic flavor to his words. He looked over at Bredan. You should go, buy this girl a cool drink. Maybe walk down by the river. It is pretty now, with all the flowers.

But uncle, I thought you wanted me to finish working on the hinges for Jofram…

Bah! Karras interrupted. You would rather stay in the forge then go out into the town? You are a strange boy! Now go, wash up, and put on a clean shirt!

Bredan shot Glori a wry look before he headed toward the smithy. His uncle tossed him his wooden sword, and the young warrior hung both weapons on the rack beside the door before he went inside. There was a practical armory of simulated arms there, from axes to spears to swords of all size and shape. Most were made of wood, but there were some blunted iron blades as well. From the wear on the two big swords that they’d been using it seemed like the greatsword was the preferred choice for their sparring sessions.

And how are you, Miss Leliades? Karras asked once Bredan had gone inside. Still performing at the Boar’s Tusk?

Mostly, though lately I’ve been spending more time in the taverns along Mercantile Way. Things have been pretty slow of late. Not as many caravans coming through.

Trade is like the tide, it ebbs and flows, Karras said, though Crosspath was hundreds of miles from the seacoast. We keep busy.

I’ve heard some reports of trouble in the north, Glori said, fidgeting with the strap of her lyre while her eyes drifted back toward the closed door where Bredan had gone inside the house that backed onto the smithy. The caravan guards say that the raids have been stronger than usual. Orcs, goblinoids, maybe worse. Rumor has it that King Dangren’s sending troops north to Adelar.

Karras was quiet for a moment. I have heard that as well, he finally said.

Glori shifted her attention back to the old smith. Do you think there will be a war? The King, he could call upon the elves and dwarves for aid again, like in the time of King Alephron. She seemed both excited and frightened by the prospect, her pale green eyes all but glowing.

Karras shook his head slowly. I’ve been in a war, he said. I hope you and Bredan never have to know what it is like to be caught in one.

But surely the fighting wouldn’t make it this far south… she began.

War is like a pestilence, the smith said. It spreads rapidly and has an effect that extends well beyond those it touches directly.

Glori nodded toward the weapon rack. But you spend all that time preparing, training Bredan to fight.

The world is what it is, Karras said. I want Bredan to be ready for it. I promised his father.

"Is he ready? Glori asked. I mean, he seems pretty good with that big piece of wood, but I’m not much of a judge of that kind of thing."

From what Bredan says, you have some skill with the smallbow.

Yeah, well. She flicked up the hair covering the side of her face. Comes with the ears, I guess.

I have known more than a few elves in my time, Karras said. Enough to know that they earn their skills through long and intense practice, the same as everyone else. Archery is not a hereditary trait.

Her lips twisted in a smirk, but before she could come up with a quip in response the door burst open and Bredan reappeared. It was clear he’d washed and changed in a hurry; his shirt, while more or less clean, was still untucked, and his damp hair was a tousled mess. He was buckling on a belt that supported a small purse and a dagger in a plain leather scabbard. Karras shook his head as his nephew kicked the door shut behind him and came over to rejoin them.

Is there anything you need from town, uncle? Bredan asked.

No, no. Go on, have fun.

I’ll be back before supper…

Bah, I give you leave to go, and you try to argue away your freedom! You are a strange boy. Go, go!

I’ll keep an eye on him, Master Karras, Glori said, decisively taking Bredan by the arm and steering him toward the gate.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

Thanks for… you know, back there, Bredan said, as he and Glori walked along the street that led into the core of Crosspath.

The smithy was situated on the edge of town, sharing company with other shops and businesses that produced loud noises or unpleasant smells. Bredan waved to one of the stablemen at Cody’s Yards as they passed, while Glori wrinkled her nose and looked dubiously at the horses in the paddock that extended back from the road.

Your uncle just wants you to be happy, Glori said.

I know. I just don’t want to disappoint him. Ever since father… he’s been very good to me.

He was in the king’s army, he saw an awful lot of the world outside Crosspath.

I know you saw a good part of it too, before your master… With a flinch and a glance over at her he quickly snapped his mouth shut. Her jaw tightened, but she let him try again. You’ve traveled a lot, he finally managed. But nothing in all the stories you’ve told me has convinced me that people are any different out there than they are here.

She briefly laid a hand on his arm. I’ll I’m saying is that he might surprise you.

Speaking of surprises, he said, on more certain ground now. What’s this visit about, really?

She looked over at him and offered a subtly exaggerated blink. What do you mean? I’m getting a cool drink and maybe a nice sunset walk along the river.

Bredan snorted. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re up to something, especially since that’s usually all the time.

She sniffed. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Come on, you’re going to tell me sooner or later, might as well do it now.

She shot him another considering look, then nodded. I heard about a job.

I thought you had a job.

"No, a job for us."

Glori…

Are you going to hear me out, or not?

Fine.

Do you know Starfinder?

The wizardess?

Okay, first off, it’s ‘wizard,’ the way you said it makes you sound like a jerk. That’s the kind of thing that could get us off on the wrong foot with her.

Bredan rolled his eyes, but he was careful to turn his head away first. I’m already not liking this. What does a wizard need with a smith and a bard?

Well, hear me out. There’s something she needs. From the Dry Hills…

No, he said. No! he repeated, holding up a hand when she tried to cut in. Aren’t you the one who always says that every story about the Dry Hills begins in two ways: ‘So we were in the Dry Hills and ran into these bandits,’ or ‘So we were in the Dry Hills and ran into this terrible monster?’

"You’re exaggerating. Besides, from what I just saw, you could handle either, if we got you a real sword."

My uncle would never allow it.

That’s odd, I thought you were an adult.

Make fun, but it’s a terrible idea. Dangerous, for one.

She’s offering four hundred.

Bredan nearly tripped, though the road was only a little bit muddy. "Gold? Wait, no, I don’t want to know."

How much do you make working for your uncle again?

Bredan didn’t bother answering the question. I’m a smith, not a treasure hunter. And besides, everyone knows that the ruins in the Dry Hills have all been looted.

Then it will be an easy score. Starfinder will pay half even if the place is empty.

That’s stupid, Bredan started to say, but he bit the words off before they could escape his mouth. He didn’t actually know any wizards, but they had strange ways and were different from ordinary folk, everyone knew that. It’s still too dangerous for two people, he said.

Well, as it happens, I know a lot of folks, Glori said. I bet I could find a few more people who might be interested. Or there might be others who respond to the notice, it was posted over at the Tusk where anybody could see it.

Based on the sort of folks I’ve seen you hang out with, that’s hardly reassuring, he said. But when he saw the effect his words had he quickly added, I’ll think about it, okay? I will, I promise. And I’d have to talk to my uncle, my absence from the forge would affect his business. Especially if I never came back, he added in an undertone.

That’s very fair, she said.

He started to turn around, and she asked, Where are you going?

What? I thought this was why you came to see me. I really do have a lot of work to do.

She stood in the road and folded her arms across her chest. I believe I was promised a drink, and I intend to collect.

* * * * *

Chapter 3

Quellan was in a hurry. Normally he tried not to rush. For one thing, it was undignified, especially when he was dressed in the plain wool robe that was the common attire at the monastery. For another, it tended to startle people when they saw him approaching quickly.

He imagined that he could feel the ground shaking under his feet, though the stones of the monastery were each the size of a cart. He was wearing soft slippers that made a slapping sound as he hurried—not quite running, that would be unacceptable—through the familiar halls.

As he came to the intersection next to the Chamber of Contemplation, he ran into Sister Delia. Not literally, of course—the old woman might not have survived that—but even so she looked up at him with an expression that was stern and obviously critical of his haste.

Is there a fire in the rectory, Brother Emberlane? she asked.

No… no, of course not, Sister, Quellan said. His voice was deep and a bit guttural, no matter how he tried to work on his enunciation. It was difficult to speak clearly when one had tusks the size of a thumb jutting from one’s jaw, or a splayed nose the size of a tea saucer that whistled whenever he breathed heavily.

He liked Sister Delia. She was one of the few people at the monastery who never looked at him differently because of his mixed origins. She could be equally stern toward everyone, and was not intimidated by a half-orc that loomed over her like a giant and could crush her with a single swipe of his mottled arm.

So what brings you running into the Halls of Meditation? Has the Master of Books received a new volume? No, that would draw an entire stampede of you Hosrenites…

Quellan’s hand reflexively sought out the wooden icon that hung from a long throng almost to his belly. The thick disk was carved with the representation of an open book on the front, the symbol of his service to Hosrenu, god of knowledge. Delia wore a similar icon around her neck, but hers bore the blazing sun of Sorevas. It was one of the little games at the monastery that the adherents of the various faiths teased each other, but Quellan knew well how unusual it was to have a sacred place where the followers of different faiths could collaborate and cohabitate in an atmosphere of relative tolerance. That such a place could thrive in a town as isolated as Crosspath was a testament to the will of Abbess Laurine, who had been leader here throughout the reign of nearly a dozen Arreshian kings. Just the fact of the monastery’s existence had probably saved his life, Quellan thought.

Delia was still looking up at him, and he realized he hadn’t responded to her comment. Ah, no, Sister, he stammered. I was looking for Brother Stonefist. I have… I’m on an important errand for the Abbess.

Delia quirked an eyebrow impressively. I see, she said. I believe that you will find Brother Stonefist meditating in the Rock Garden.

Thank you, Sister, Quellan said. He could feel Delia’s eyes on his back as he continued on his way, and he managed to keep a measured stride until he’d rounded the next bend in the hall. Then he resumed his brisk pace.

The Rock Garden was squeezed into the narrow space between the back of the Greater Hall and the stone wall that ringed the monastery complex. This late in the day the sun had already dropped beyond the wall, though the upper part of the hall was still ablaze in light that sparkled golden on the narrow windows of the solarium.

True to its name, the space was mostly bare stone, punctuated by a few sparse patches of plants that didn’t need much in the way of direct light to prosper. But the Rock Garden was anything but dull. Quellan found its sparseness refreshing. Every stone felt like it had been painstakingly situated in its proper place. The paths that wound through the area offered changing vistas that stimulated thought and offered privacy in a place that often felt crowded, at least to him.

He didn’t have to go searching for Kosk. The dwarf was kneeling in the gravel near the entrance to the garden. He was bent forward so that he appeared to be staring intently at the ground directly in front of him.

Is that a new form of meditation? Quellan asked.

The dwarf did not respond at first. The position he was in had to be terribly uncomfortable, but Quellan had given up trying to comprehend the various rituals of physical discipline and denial practiced by the monastery’s small cadre of monks.

I am practicing envy, Kosk finally said.

Quellan walked over to join him, but the dwarf made a gesture for him to remain back a step. Curious now, the half-orc sat down, heedless of the gravel that poked him through the coarse fabric of his robe.

He could see now that the object of the dwarf’s fascination was a tiny black beetle, barely the size of Quellan’s thumbnail. It was moving slowly across the gravel pathway, weaving around larger bits of rock while apparently unaware of the scrutiny being paid to its progress.

What are we envious of? Quellan asked. The simplicity of its life?

Focus, Kosk said. To this creature, this yard is like a vast desert. The bits of gravel are like boulders, these pebbles mountains. There are two vast creatures watching that could crush the life from it with a casual step, yet it continues on the way to its destination.

That bush over there?

It doesn’t matter. Kosk abruptly rose up. He stood in an odd manner, placing his hands palm-down on the ground and then levering his body up until his entire weight was balanced on his hands. Then he bent his elbows until his bare chin was nearly touching the gravel before he thrust up and with a grunt flipped up onto his feet. Quellan was strong, a gift of his bloodline, but he knew that his friend carried a lot of power in his compact form. The dwarf was not a young man, and his body and face bore the marks of an interesting life. He’d arrived at the monastery only shortly after Quellan, almost five years ago now. Kosk never spoke about his past, and Quellan had never thought to pry. The dwarf was unlike anyone else at the monastery, certainly unlike all of the other monks, and perhaps that more than anything else had made the half-orc want to make him his friend.

The dwarf was watching him with a look that was growing increasingly impatient. Quellan stood in a more conventional manner, brushing off the bits of gravel that clung to his robe. I have news.

"I can see. I haven’t seen you this excited since the Librarian got that fifth volume of The Histories of the Northern Civilizations last month."

This is actual news. A mission. From the Abbess. There’s this wizard in the town, she has a job, the Abbess owes her a favor, she—the wizard—she needs this artifact that’s…

When do we leave? Kosk interrupted.

Leave? Ah, we’re supposed to meet with the wizard tomorrow morning.

All right then. He started to turn away.

Don’t you want to hear more about the mission?

I reckon you’ll tell me on the way. The dwarf flexed his thick fingers. I’ve been out here meditating for a bloody hour. Right now, I need to break something.

Leaving the cleric to stare after him in surprise, Kosk trudged back across the yard and went inside.

* * * * *

Chapter 4

They ended up staying out later than Bredan had intended.

The streets of Crosspath were fairly dark as he and Glori made their way back toward the outskirts of town. The street lanterns that lit the way in the town center became less frequent as they proceeded onward, and the night pressed in around them in the gaps, enfolding them in deep shadows.

Bredan was feeling a little unsteady. They’d each had a few mugs of ale with their dinner at the Boar’s Tusk, where Glori received free meals and discounts on drinks due to her regular arrangement there. A few of the locals had asked her for a song or a story, but she waved them off with a few smiles and promises of later performances. Afterwards they’d stopped off at The Ragged Tinker, another of the taverns where Glori was well-known, and someone had thrust a full mug into his hand. Bredan couldn’t justify turning down a free drink, so…

He focused on putting his feet down carefully on the uneven surface of the road. Glori, walking beside him, seemed to be having no difficulty with either the drink or the darkness. Of course, she had the sharp eyes of her elven heritage, Bredan reminded himself. He had to admit that he was glad she’d come along. He’d tried to insist that she remain in town, so she wouldn’t have to walk back alone in the dark, but she in turn had reminded him that she knew how to take care of herself.

As they walked, he found out about her ulterior motive, as she continued the conversation that had dominated dinner. She didn’t quite bring up the wizard’s offer again—she’d promised to give him time to think about it—but she regaled him with familiar tales of the treasure hunters who had brought fortunes out of the Dry Hills, uncovered caches of artifacts from the long-lost Mai’i Empire or long forgotten fragments of magical lore. Bredan let her go on, didn’t offer comment, but he knew that those stories were set in a decade or longer in the past. Adventurers and fortune-seekers still occasionally came to Crosspath, but it was as a waystop on the way to someplace more interesting.

The breeze shifted and Bredan smelled something, an acrid reek of something burning. He looked over but realized that Glori was no longer there, and that she’d stopped talking. He turned around, confused, but saw her just a few steps back, staring past him with a startled look on her face.

When she saw that he was looking at her she said, Bredan…

But he’d already turned back and stared at the road ahead. The night was almost complete in that direction, but he could see a faint glow over the uneven outlines of the buildings that lined the right side of the road. That glow was just enough to reveal plumes of smoke that rose up into the night sky.

Bredan! Glori called, but he was already running, heedless of the hazards of the muddy road in the dark.

By the time he got within a hundred yards of the smithy he could see the flames pouring up from the top of structure. When he finally came around the bulk of the adjacent stables he could see that the entire building was on fire, both the shop in the front and the living quarters attached to the back. He was dimly aware of men rushing around near the stables, no doubt trying to keep the fire from spreading to their property, and the panicked screams of horses. But his main attention was on his home of the last ten years being consumed as the fire tore through it.

He didn’t realize that he had started forward toward the flames before Glori grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him back. Bredan! For a moment he almost tore free, but then the fear on her face helped pull him back into himself.

My uncle… he said.

Bredan! a voice shouted from across the street. He turned and saw that the hail had come from the covered porch of Kesren Tull’s shop. The leatherworker was there with a couple of other people, but Bredan’s attention instantly focused on the