The Shattered Key

By Kenneth McDonald

In volume three of the “Forgotten Lore” series, the battle for the future of Voralis spreads beyond the borders of the human kingdom of Arresh. In the aftermath being kidnapped by a secret cult, Bredan Karras learns that the source of his magical powers is an ancient artifact of the Mai’i Empire, the Elderlore Libram. But the key to the vault that has held it secure for centuries is broken into three pieces, each held by one of the Three Kingdoms. Bredan and his friends must split up and travel to the elvish kingdom of Tal Nadesh and the dwarven kingdom of Ironcrest in order to reunite the Shattered Key. But the dark forces behind the invasion of Arresh are still working behind the scenes, and an unpleasant welcome awaits the diplomatic parties seeking to reforge both the Key and the old alliance between the kingdoms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: Jun 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463738474

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.

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Forgotten Lore

The Shattered Key

Kenneth McDonald

[e-mail]

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2020 by Kenneth McDonald

Cover Credit: the cover image is adapted from the painting The Caves by Robert Scott Duncanson (1869). The image is in the public domain.

* * * * *

Works by Kenneth McDonald

The Ogre at the Crossroads

Forgotten Lore

First Series

Secrets of a Lost Age

Warriors of Shadow

The Shattered Key

Mysteries of the Book

Second Series

The Road to Ironbridge

The Towers of Khormur-Dhain

The Graves Crew

The Graves Crew and the Restless Dead

The Graves Crew and the Damned Dam

The Graves Crew and the Firestar Amulet

The Graves Crew and the Road of Doom

The Graves Crew and the Magical Forest

The Graves Crew and the Mountain Fortress

The Adventures of the Graves Crew, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Adventures of the Graves Crew, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

Refugees of the Crucible

Powerless

Overpowered

Balance of Power

Power Play

Soul Weapons

Wizard’s Shield

Soul of the Sword

Wizard’s Stone

Tales of the Soul Weapons

The Dwarf on the Mountain

Legends of the Soul Weapons, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

Legends of the Soul Weapons, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Colors of Fate

Black Shadows Gather

Green Hearts Weep

Red Vengeance Rising

Faded Yellow Dreams

Blazing White Stars

Shiny Golden Schemes

Silent Gray Depths

The Colors of Fate, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Colors of Fate, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Mages of Sacreth

The Labyrinth

Of Spells and Demons

Grimm’s War

Grimm’s Loss

Grimm’s Love

Of Blood and Magic

Of Steel and Sorcery

The Godswar Trilogy

Paths of the Chosen

Choice of the Fallen

Fall of Creation

Daran’s Journey

Heart of a Hero

Soul of a Coward

Will of a Warrior

Courage of a Champion

* * * * *

Book 7: FLESHING OUT THE BACKSTORIES

Chapter 1

Bredan sat alone in the darkness and tried not to succumb to despair.

The only light was the vague glow that came through the slot in the door, but it was unnecessary, as his cell was nearly devoid of features. There was not even a bench to keep him off the cold stone of the floor. He shifted, careful of the bucket in the corner, grimacing at the sound his shackles made with the motion.

For the hundredth time he berated himself for getting into this situation. Konstantin had warned him not to press the matter, but he’d ignored the wizard’s advice. He, an utter stranger to Severon, had thought he’d known better…

A sound from beyond the door caught his attention. He heard footsteps drawing closer. There was a clatter at the door, a sound of the lock being worked. Bredan tensed, though the chains made an escape attempt impractical. He’d already tried every link with his strength, had tried stressing the bolts that anchored the ring to the wall, but the unknown builders who had prepared this place had known their business. Bredan had been a smith before he’d left home to become an adventurer, so he knew his metal. Maybe with a chisel and hammer he could have worked himself free, but with only his bare hands it seemed unlikely.

The door finally swung open, and Bredan blinked against the sudden intensity of the light. His jailor was a familiar figure, though he wore a bulky robe that concealed his features and a cowl that he kept up even in the dim confines of this hidden place. He was holding a small wooden tray of food and a flimsy cup. He regarded Bredan for a moment before he knelt to place his burdens on the floor, taking up the empty ones from his prior visit. The bucket was replaced less frequently. Bredan had been here long enough to know that, but otherwise had no idea how much time was passing beyond these walls. The light from outside never wavered, and his hosts had been less than garrulous.

As the robed man started to get up Bredan asked, Where’s Glori?

The man just looked at him, his face a dark shadow within his cowl. Just tell me, is she alive? Bredan persisted.

The man said nothing, just turned back to the door. Bredan shot up, ignoring the tingling pains from his legs, which had fallen asleep under him. Just tell me, damn it! He lunged forward. The chains drew him up short and he fell back to the floor. He accidentally kicked his rations, the cup clattering off the walls before spinning to a stop in front of the door. Even as he stared at it the heavy slab slammed shut, punctuated by the rattle of the lock being worked. Not that it mattered, not with the chains holding him against the wall.

I’m sorry, Bredan said. He just lay there on the floor for a time. Finally, he stirred. He fumbled around for his meal. The stuff they fed him was hardly appetizing even before it was spread upon the dirty floor, but he forced himself to eat every bit he could find. He had to keep his strength up just in case his captors slipped up and made a mistake. Though thus far it seemed like he was the only one making mistakes.

Once he’d finished eating, he drew back to the corner opposite the bucket and settled himself facing the door. With nothing else to do, his mind drifted back as it frequently had since his arrival here, revisiting the events of the night that had led him to his current circumstances.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

Light and noise, accompanied by an acrid mélange of smoke, alcohol, and unwashed bodies, had greeted the two adventurers as they had made their way into the Marker’s Post. Bredan could recall every detail in sharp clarity as he fell back into the memory.

The steps that led down to the main entrance were choked with litter and slippery. Glori started to make a joke about him cracking his head, but his response had been lost over the din that had spilled out when he opened the door.

The tavern was deceptively large, with two bars and a number of side-chambers that looked as though they had been parts of different cellars that had been joined together over time. Thick posts supported a ceiling that still managed to sag alarmingly in places. The place had been crowded with thirty or forty patrons, overwhelmingly hard-faced men in dirty coats. More than a few cast evaluative looks at Glori when the pair had entered, looks that had Bredan’s fingers itching for the hilt of his sword. He’d left it behind, as a greatsword wasn’t a welcome adjunct in most of Severon’s bars, but he was reassured by his ability to conjure it to his hand at will. He was starting to gain more control over that power, and in a few tests it didn’t seem like distance was an issue; he was confident that he could recover the sword even if it was halfway across the city.

As they made their way to the closer bar, Glori drew plenty of attention from the gathered patrons. She wasn’t the only woman in the place, but her fair features, a bit exotic from her mix of human and elvish ancestry, set her clearly apart. Most of the locals looked away when they saw the look on Bredan’s face, but one man, a staggering drunk barely able to remain upright, lurched into her, nearly spilling his drink onto her shirt. He followed that up with a suggestion that, while not technically obscene, was unambiguous in its context.

Bredan immediately started forward to intercept the man, but Glori stopped him with a raised hand. She fixed the drunk with a stare that held him until he stammered out an apology and staggered back into the crowd.

What was that? he asked as they found a space near the end of the bar.

Old hunter’s trick.

The bartender was busy, but a silver piece tapped on the bar by Glori quickly brought a pair of earthenware mugs topped with a generous froth. Glori sipped at hers. They’d spent many an evening in a tavern together, but Bredan could not remember ever seeing her drunk. She’d told him once that her mentor, the elvish bard Majerion, had taught her the trick of avoiding getting intoxicated in taverns, even when admirers were thrusting drinks into your face. Bredan had never developed that knack. His lips twisted as he tasted the ale, but he took a few heavy swallows regardless.

I thought that place in the Shield District was rough, but this place makes The King’s Blades seem tame, Bredan said.

I’ve seen worse, Glori said. Bredan didn’t think she was exaggerating. From the stories she’d told him, she and Majerion had covered a big chunk of Arresh in their travels. The last guy we talked to said that this place is a hangout for mercenaries, so it seems like a good place to get a hit, she added.

Yeah, he said.

Are you okay? she asked.

Yeah. I don’t know. It’s all of this. The wizards… He paused, glancing around the room, but no one was paying any attention to them and the din was such that even someone standing two steps away wasn’t likely to overhear anything. Konstantin spent months tracking us down, then teleports us halfway across the world, only to…

Not quite, she interrupted.

What?

Not quite halfway, she said. Voralis is just one continent, not even the biggest, and we didn’t even cover half of that. Call it, oh, maybe one-fifth of the circumference of the world.

I had no idea you were such a geographer, he said deadpan.

Well. You know how bards need to know a bit of everything, she said, the twinkle in her eyes belying her serious tone.

Thanks for coming out tonight, he told her. Even though it’s been a bust.

You need to be patient, she said. Quellan said he’d investigate the church records, and Konstantin said he would follow up in the Apernium’s archives as well.

The wizards know more than they’re saying, Bredan said. They brought us all the way here for a reason.

Glori took a sip of her ale. She avoiding making a face, but he knew her well enough to know she shared his feelings about the quality of the brew. Of course they do, she said. At some point, they’ll be clear about what they want from you. That’s when you get a chance to get what you want from them.

I just wanted to know more about my father, he said. Konstantin told me he used to work for them, for the Apernium, to get me to agree to come here, but when we do get here, half—a fifth of the way across the world, to the bloody capital of the bloody kingdom, all they can tell me is that he worked for them as a soldier, left their service forty years ago, and they don’t have any more records of him after that point.

It’s a long time, at least for humans, Glori said. As a half-elf she didn’t quite have the longevity of the elves of Tal Nadesh, but she would likely still look young when Bredan was entering middle age. But we’re here, so we may as well see if we can learn anything. She nodded toward a figure in a dark coat standing in an alcove on the far side of the bar.

How do you know he’s the one to ask?

She rolled her eyes. I have been in a few taverns in my day, she said. Why don’t you wait here, this will only take a moment.

I feel like I’m tossing a scrap of meat into a pen full of starving wolves.

Why, you always say most complimentary things, she shot back, turning to reenter the press.

He could have followed her progress just by watching the heads that swiveled to track her. He watched her over his drink, but had to admit that she knew how to handle herself. She’d proven that time and again since they’d left Crosspath, trudging north with Quellan and Kosk to join the war against the hobgoblin warlord Kavel Murgoth. They’d gotten into dozens of fights along the way, and Glori had saved his life more than once. He’d trained her into a fairly decent warrior, certainly better than he had been when his uncle had begun his own education in the martial arts. But skill with a sword was nothing compared to the magic she commanded, a power based in sound and melody that could bend the very forces of reality itself to her will.

At the thought of magic, his hands tightened reflexively around his mug. The journey north had also unlocked his own magical talents. The wizards hadn’t been any more forthcoming about the strange powers that had begun to emerge shortly before they’d arrived at the Silverpeak Valley, but he was convinced that they were part of what the wizards wanted with him. That was just one of the reasons why he’d been so eager to seek out information, any information, about his father.

Glori had reached the man in the coat and was talking with him. Bredan couldn’t hear anything over the din, but after a few moments—and a brief flicker of silver changing hands—Glori returned with a triumphant look on her face.

What? he asked, but she just gestured for him to follow her. Bredan glanced back at the alcove where he man in the dark coat had been, but he’d disappeared.

They made their way through the crowd to the back of the tavern. They passed through a breach in a brick wall that still had rough edges into a short passage that culminated in yet another side chamber. This place looked like it had once been another cellar, with a narrow flight of steps that led up to a door near the ceiling. There was another bar there, this one little more than a shelf installed in a corner, manned by a surly-looking man with a leather patch over one eye. Six tables were crowded into the room, half of them populated by men sitting on seats that looked to be made of piles of extra bricks. A pair of lamps with dirty flues provided a wan light. The mood here was more sullen than extravagant, and while none of the drinkers so much as glanced their way, Bredan got the impression that their arrival did not go unmarked.

Glori started with the bartender, who wouldn’t tell them anything until they bought something. Coins changed hands, and after getting a pair of shot glasses filled with murky liquid they were directed to a table in the far corner where a single man sat with his back against the wall. He was draped in a dark cloak that couldn’t hide the hard lines of his body, even though he looked to be well past his middle years otherwise.

Mind if we join you? Glori asked.

The old man’s eyes flicked up at them. Suit yourself, he said.

The two of them sat down on a bench made of a board set down upon stacks of loose bricks. It shifted precariously as they settled their weight upon it. You are Gulder Nox?

The man’s expression tightened, and for a moment it looked like he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he sagged and said, That’s my name.

We’re looking for information about someone who served with the Silver Gauntlet, Glori said.

That was a long time ago, Nox said.

"Not all that long ago, Glori said. It seems like they were a pretty big deal, back in the day. Working for the wizards, that sounds like a pretty prime gig. Should be folks around that remember them."

I’ve been told that some of them went on to work for private employers, after the organization was dissolved, Bredan said.

Nox looked at him. Oh, is that what you were told? Look, you’re not from Severon, that much is obvious, so I’ll give you a piece of advice. Leave the past in the past. Better for everyone that way.

Look, we’re not looking for trouble, Bredan said. I’m just looking for information about my father. Colvas Karras, he was a member of the Gauntlet.

Never heard of him, Nox said. I can’t help you.

Look, we can make it worth your while, Bredan said, reaching for his purse.

I said, I can’t help you. With a speed that belied his years he shot up from his seat, jostling the table enough to splash some of their drinks on the battered wood. Before they could stop him, he disappeared through the breach in the wall and was gone. For a moment it looked like Bredan would follow, but he finally slumped back down onto the bench.

Well, that was a bust, he said.

It’s just our first day looking, Glori told him. And I’d say we learned something.

Learned what? Bredan asked. He took a sip of his drink, then made a face. Gods, that’s poison, he muttered.

There’s more to this than what we were told, Glori said. For an organization as prominent as the one the wizards described, there should be more people who know at least something about it. I could have put it down to apathy about the past, but this guy, Nox, he was legitimately afraid of talking to us.

I thought you were just saying before that I should wait, be patient.

That’s before we talked to Nox, Glori said. Now I’m curious.

Should I have gone after him? Bredan asked. He turned to look back at the doorway, but there was no sign of the old man. He glanced over at the bar, but the man who’d served them had stepped out. Frowning, he looked around but saw no sign of him. The men at the other two tables were talking in quiet voices, not looking their way.

We’re in unfamiliar terrain here, Glori said. If we’d had a bit more time, I could have tried my magic, but if you’d tried to catch him it would have only made a scene. When we try again, we’ll be a bit more circumspect—is something wrong?

Bredan turned back to her. Just… I don’t think so. I don’t know. Something’s off.

You’ve had a pretty good number of drinks tonight.

This isn’t… my mouth feels numb.

She put a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. I think we should get out of here, she said.

They got up, but as he started to turn around Bredan stumbled and nearly fell. He jolted the table much as Nox had, and Glori’s glass shattered as it struck the floor.

Are you okay? she asked.

The drink, Bredan said, staring at his overturned glass.

Hsst! she warned, drawing his attention back into the room. The men at the tables had all gotten up, and now stood between them and the exit. None of them had produced any weapons, but they didn’t need any to communicate malign intent.

Glori reached under her cloak. "You really don’t want to mess with us," she said.

Bredan felt like a haze had been dropped over his senses, but with a supreme effort of will he was able to remain upright. The four men hadn’t moved, but as he glanced over at Glori, he caught a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye; the upstairs door had opened and there was someone on the stairs above them.

Look out, he said, or tried to; the words came out thick and slurred. Glori sensed that something was wrong, but reacted too late as the figure dropped down and brought something crashing down onto her head from behind.

Glori collapsed to the floor. Bredan let out a yell and summoned his sword. The weight of it, so familiar, pulled him off-balance. He still managed to swing it, but Glori’s attacker was able to dodge back and the blade struck the wall with a loud clang.

Bredan’s vision was fading. He slumped against the wall but pushed off it, struggling to lift the sword. Stay back! he said, but this time it only came out as a vague mumble.

Another figure appeared in front of him, just a vague outline in his vision. He swung the sword again, putting all of his fading strength behind the blow. He felt the jarring impact, but that was the last thing he felt as he tumbled forward onto the hard floor.

He was out before he struck the stone.

* * * * *

Chapter 3

Bredan started as he came awake. For a moment he did not know where he was; he must have dozed off while absorbed in his recollections. The familiar stink and the clinking of his chains quickly reminded him of his reality.

He was about to try to fall back asleep when he heard something, a soft footfall from outside his cell door. Alert now, he straightened while carefully trying to keep his chains from making noise. He did not know how long he had slept, but from his thirst he guessed that it had not been long enough for another meal period to come. In his current circumstances, any novelty in his routine had to be respected with his full interest.

The lock worked and the door swung open. The light from outside revealed someone that Bredan did not recognize, an older man of maybe sixty years. His beard was solid gray and trimmed close over a heavy jaw lined with old scars. He was dressed in a dark cloak over plain clothes that would have fit in just about anywhere in the city. He seemed rather nondescript overall, if one didn’t catch the look in his eyes or the way he moved.

The old man carried a stool which he set down in front of him, just out of reach of Bredan’s chains. He left the door open behind him, allowing a bit of light to enter the cell. Even in that weak illumination Bredan could see that the man’s hands were rough and calloused, confirming the impression that he’d picked up earlier. Despite his apparent age, this man was a warrior. There was something else about him, something vaguely familiar that he couldn’t quite place as the man sat down and looked at him.

Hello, Bredan, he said.

Where’s Glori? Bredan asked. What have you done with her?

My name is Pentar, the man said. I apologize for the rough treatment you’ve been subjected to. I was away from the capital when you arrived, and the members of my organization felt it was better to wait for my return before speaking to you.

Who are you, and what do you want with me? Bredan asked.

Pentar leaned forward and folded his hand together. As I said, I’m Pentar. As to what I want, that is a more… complicated question. But I want you to know, that we are not your enemy.

Bredan rattled his chains. If this is how you treat your friends, then I’d hate to be your foe, he said.

"I understand how you feel. The nature of our meeting like this… it is regrettable. But there are reasons for our actions. We have learned to be mistrustful of things that look too good to be true. Even after we found out who you are, what you are."

I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bredan said.

Have you ever heard voices in your head? Maybe a dream that seemed too real to be a dream, but too strange to be real? Or received messages that no one else could see? Maybe in a book, or a scroll, or even scrawled onto a wall, perhaps.

Bredan just stared at him.

I see that you know what I am talking about. Pentar smiled, the scars near his mouth the only thing keeping him from having a grandfatherly look to him. You’ve probably thought that you were going mad. You’re not mad, Bredan. It’s the world that’s gone mad.

Bredan circled his head to give their surroundings an exaggerated attention. Again, you’re not really making a good argument here with all this. He held up his shackled wrists.

The bindings are necessary, for now. My associates told me that you were quite… difficult… to secure.

If I could get free, you’d see how difficult I can be, Bredan said.

His bravado failed to shake Pentar’s calm. What if I told you that we knew your father? the old man said.

I’m not sure I’d trust anything you’d say right now, Bredan said.

Prudent. But true nevertheless. Your family name, it isn’t Karras. Your father wasn’t the only one to change his name, after what happened. Those that survived the purge… finding a new identity became an exigency for those of us who did not elect to continue after the sundering of the Order.

You mean the Silver Gauntlet? Bredan asked.

Pentar shook his head. I can only imagine what propaganda those wizards have fed you. I’ll tell you the truth, Bredan, but it will take time for you to see it as such. He got up, grimacing slightly as he bent to pick up the stool. I apologize for breaking your connection to the Book, he said. Like the chains, it is necessary until you are ready to listen to what we have to tell you. There are wardings embedded in these walls that interfere with your power. Don’t worry, we haven’t permanently damaged your bond. We would never do that, even to an adversary. He turned to the door. We’ll talk again soon.

Bredan had stared at Pentar as he’d spoken, but as the old man started to leave, he thrust forward until his shackles drew him up short. Wait! Tell me… please. What happened to Glori? Is she all right?

Pentar looked at him with an expression that might have been pity, though it was impossible to be sure in the poor light. I’m sorry, Bredan. We never meant to hurt you.

If you’ve killed her, I swear…

We didn’t kill her, Bredan. You did.

Bredan felt an icy chill penetrate him to his core. No. You’re lying.

I’m told that you struck out blindly with your sword before you could be taken. Again, I’m sorry. Pentar retreated, closing the door behind him.

No! You’re lying! Bredan screamed. He thrust to his feet, yanking on his chains with all his might as the lock was worked. You’re lying! He lunged toward the door, but the chains failed to give way and he fell to the ground. He hit the bare stone hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

The old man lingered on the far side of the door for a moment, listening to the wretched sobs that came from within the cell. Then he turned and silently headed back the way he had come.

* * * * *

Chapter 4

The Temple of Hosrenu in Severon could hold its own against the Apernium, the Royal Palace, the Aureate Circle, and the other examples of monumental architecture that dominated the skyline of Severon. The temple grounds were dominated by the domed expanse of the Great Library, flanked on one side by the ivy-clad mass of the University and on the other by the more practical lines of the Factorium. Those great edifices were surrounded by a cluster of lesser petitioners, structures small only in comparison to their noble neighbors. Men and women of all races, united in the simple robes of their calling, walked between the buildings, carrying with them an air of dignified quiet that offset the hustle and bustle of the city beyond the wall just a stone’s throw away.

Quellan and Xeeta sat on a padded bench inside one of the smaller buildings, a three-storied gray block known as the Rectory. It had once served as living quarters for the temple’s priests, but as