Leviathan's Wake

By Neil Lynn Wise

The worst of Morgans enemies have been defeated, but in the wake of those conflicts many problems remain. To have a future with the woman he loves, Morgan only has to survive attacks by mutant tribes, avoid the deadly embrace of the Hedonae, free an imprisoned ruler, stop a civil war, and liberate Celestines country from the cruel hands of invaders. And on top of everything else, he has lost his best friends body. To conquer these challenges, Morgan will need all that faith, honor, and friendship can provide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469170602

Neil Lynn Wise

Neil Lynn Wise was born and raised in Oregon. A lover of books, he is especially fond of science fiction and fantasy novels. At college he dabbled in military science and commercial art, before meeting the woman of his dreams and settling down to complete a Bachelor’s Degree in Wildlife Science. After working for a state fish and wildlife agency, he entered law school and now practices environmental law on the wet side of Washington State. Neil and his wife Marcie live in the country with their dogs and horses.

Book preview

Leviathan’s Wake

111643-WISE-layout.pdf

Neil Lynn Wise

Copyright © 2012 by Neil Lynn Wise.

ISBN:                   Softcover                   978-1-4691-7059-6

ISBN:                   Ebook                         978-1-4691-7060-2

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

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

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

111643

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

The Hunt

Tar’bal

Androssar

Hawker’s Glen

Revenant

Tau Methos

Malissa

Ardakas

Nosferatu

The Shaman

Merrick’s Wake

War Council

Hugo’s Fall

Llorgau

Landon

Gar’dra’el

Khulankor

Outlanders

Ha’keel

Maelin

Demented Boar

Eve of Battle

Meng’tari

Laroche

Saxhaven

Lofton Far

Tari’sol

Dragonback

Assassins

The Gathering

Skara Thrae

Retribution

Tantagnel

Lugershall

The Last Battle

The Proposal

Endings

Epilogue

Glossary

HA’ASHTARI GLOSSARY

About the Author

Prologue

In the fall of 6012 A.F., a large man stood on a rocky ledge overlooking the city of Saxhaven. He wore heavy boots, sturdy traveling clothes, and a hooded cloak. The cloak merged subtly into the background, its colors and patterns shifting to match its surroundings. A heavy broadsword and two smaller blades were strapped across the man’s back, over the battered traveling pack. The morning sun bathed the cliffs below him in silent fires, and overhead a titanic silver ring arched across the sky. Three half-moons, lingering phantoms in the light of the new day, hung near the western horizon.

The man, his strange gray eyes intent, studied the city below. People and makeshift shelters crowded the central plaza and the narrow streets. Soldiers lined the double walls above the moat and extra guards were stationed at the main gate. The watcher shifted his gaze to the palace keep. Black and white pennants snapped in the chill air above the structure and more soldiers huddled on the wall separating it from the rest of the city.

Morgan Caeda looked to his right, away from the city. Beyond the moat, what looked like a refugee camp spread across the ground between the road to Androssar and the Saar River. Ragged figures shambled through the collection of huts and tents. Trails of smoke from cooking fires tangled in the sky. Crude latrines squatted on the riverbank. Wagons and livestock were scattered throughout the maze of dwellings.

Farther away, on both sides of the road, troops were engaged in practice drills. Judging by the patchwork uniforms and clumsy maneuvers, the soldiers consisted mainly of raw recruits. Mounted officers shouted curses and gestured rudely at the men, their cries mingling with the clank of arms.

The howling cry of a rock ape echoed through the foothills and Morgan turned to look. The call was answered by several others and Morgan frowned. The Targ captured and trained such beasts for battle. Whatever lurked on those slopes lay hidden beneath the mantle of trees, but Morgan had a bad feeling about the sounds.

With a sigh, Morgan swung around to gaze at the soaring mountains behind him. Barely visible above the massive peaks, a silver dot rapidly dwindled into the stark blue. Morgan recalled the events since he last stood in this place. The corruption of Saxhaven’s ruler and people by the Hedonae Malissa. The valiant efforts of his friend Antony to save the city. His reunion with other comrades such as Max and Taurus and meeting the Princess of Skara Thrae. Their flight from Androssar and the encounter with the Mhoul leader Molid. The mad ride across the wind-swept plains of the Ha’ashtari Waste with the mahogany warriors in relentless pursuit. The brief interlude at the centaur city of Carnac and seeing Maelin again after all those years. Traveling through the majestic forests of Aijalon and the siege at Ape Keep. Their capture by the forces of the Mhoul and Max’s deadly harassment of the prisoner caravan to Ragoulgard. Dragoslav and his infernal mind probe, and reliving the horrible memories, long buried, from the massacre at Mogda Thal. The bombing of Ragoulgard and their rescue by the dwarves. The harrowing journey through the labyrinth in Cnoc Thor and the death of his oldest friend. Finally reaching the Mhoul capital and battling Molid and a troll Sire. Being hunted by the sinister fey lion. The destruction of the Dreadspire. Reuniting with Sebastian and the Mons Monachus. The tortured landscape of the Krang Fere Wilderness and the specter of an active Fargate. The overpowering presence of the Lucca and the unleashing of an ancient weapon that drove the Lucca back through the Gate. The return flight on the Monachus airship and bidding farewell to Sebastian.

Morgan felt a grim satisfaction at the fate of Mogda Thal and the Lucca. But his heart ached at the loss of Max. Unable to find his old friend’s body in the end, he could not even give him a proper burial. The flood of memories left Morgan feeling old and tired.

Right back where I started from, Morgan muttered to himself and then raised his eyes to the sky, looking past the silent arch at the dying stars. I hope there’s some purpose in all of this, some higher meaning. Not really expecting an answer, he soon lowered his eyes. May my bitter journey bear sweet fruit, he quoted.

Stretching his side to relieve the cramp of an old injury, Morgan felt the weight of the weapons on his back. Max’s two ebonite swords, and another. An unexpected peace offering from his old rival Michael, the First Knight of the Saan. Upon hearing that Morgan’s sword, Lex talionus, had been broken, Michael offered his own blade, Deus Irae, the Wrath of God. Morgan had refused at first, but both Michael and Sebastian had insisted. Long and heavy, with twin lions forming the hilt and a large red jewel as the handle’s counter-weight, the weapon was a bit flashy for Morgan’s taste, but he did not want to offend Michael. Sebastian had also given him the hooded cloak he wore.

Morgan’s thoughts turned to the Princess of Skara Thrae and his mood brightened at the memories of Celeste and their brief time together. Sebastian had told him that Celeste and her brother had stopped in Kalixalven and were now on their way to Androssar. The monk had also said that Antony had escaped Saxhaven, although Llorgau was still held prisoner in the palace. Morgan said a prayer for the ill-fated Sagamore and wished he could do more. But for him to enter Saxhaven now would be suicide, or worse, if Malissa caught him. The alluring memories of the Hedonae chilled his soul. Straightening his broad shoulders, Morgan resolved to rejoin the woman he loved. With a last look at Saxhaven, Morgan turned toward the western foothills and Androssar.

CHAPTER ONE

The Hunt

The hunting party rode through the forest, the horses’ feet rustling through the carpet of leaves. A lean, scarred man on a massive black charger led them. He had long brownish-blond hair, braided in the northern style, a thin beard, and carried a huge broadsword over his shoulder. Behind him rode a slender lad with dark hair and delicate features. The boy wore a helmet and lightweight armor. His horse, a small paint mare, struggled to keep up with the black. Ten mounted retainers in green and brown followed the mismatched pair. All of the hunters had boar spears strapped to their saddles. No one else but the boy wore any armor.

Fall chilled the morning air and leaves drifted in the slight breeze. Pockets of mist lingered in some places. No clouds marred the cobalt sky with its glistening arch. Dew sparkled everywhere, diamond droplets suspended between dawn and day. The forest, a mix of red pines, black oak, shagbark, rowan, and yew, covered the rugged terrain with a mantle of red, green, and gold. Thickets of boreal bamboo, puzzle ferns, and ironthorn grew in the more open spaces. Rock outcroppings lay scattered over the landscape, pushing up through the tangled undergrowth.

The mare’s rider started to speak, but the leader held up a scarred fist. Benn, he whispered.

As if summoned by the name, an older man clad in animal skins stepped from behind an ancient pine to their left. With his wild hair and gray-streaked beard, he resembled a bear wrapped in buckskin. A row of throwing knives lined his baldric and he gripped a short bow in his right hand. The boy, who had been visibly startled by the newcomer’s sudden appearance, glanced behind him to see if any of the others had noticed. The retainers all politely studied the trees and brush around them and did not meet his eyes. The boy smiled at Benn, who nodded in response.

Boar ahead, the Royal Huntsman rasped, and then paused. He looked at the boy with something like pity. Slaver, I think.

The boy’s white face grew even paler and he swallowed with difficulty. The man on the black turned to him. Merrick, he said sharply.

Merrick’s eyes jerked toward the speaker. He took a deep breath and gripped the reins. Yes, father.

The boy’s father leaned toward him. You are a Prince of Androssar. Today you will act like it. His voice was tight, barely concealing the anger beneath.

But this is Slaver, Merrick retorted. He’s killed three men. Let’s find another.

Are you going to dishonor me? the father growled. Run away and hide?

The father’s tone brought a flash of anger to Merrick’s dark eyes. I’m sorry I’m not like the great Sagamore Rulda, or his favorite son Rolf. I’m a scholar and an artist, not a boar killer.

You are my son, Rulda said. And you will do this.

Have you forgotten what happened to Rolf? A boar nearly gutted him. And would have, but for Gunter, Merrick said.

We’re wasting time with this talk, the Sagamore said and turned away.

Do you hate me that much? Merrick asked softly.

Rulda twisted around, surprised by the question. I’m trying to make a man of you.

A man, Merrick snorted. He spurred his mare past his father. Benn, lead me to my doom. If the Sagamore wishes to be rid of me, who am I to argue?

Benn pointed down a gentle swale. That way. Take care, my Prince.

Merrick rubbed a damp palm on his breeches and clumsily drew his lance from its bindings. Without looking back, he urged his horse forward.

Rulda called after him. You can do this. He dropped his voice and muttered. Even if you are a left-handed weakling.

The Prince kicked his horse into a trot. His armor clanked with the movement and his noisy advance flushed a covey of quail. The birds whirred out of sight. Benn regarded the Sagamore. If the boy comes to harm, Sabine will have your head, the old man remarked.

I know, Rulda agreed, and then lifted his bearded chin. But I’ll not take advice from you on this matter. Mind your station, Huntsman.

Benn merely grunted and jogged after Merrick.

Rulda frowned. Thaar preserve us from women and scholars.

* 111643-WISE-layout.pdf *

Benn stood by the Prince’s mount and stroked the mare’s nose with one gnarled hand. Grunting, snuffling sounds came from beyond a pile of mossy boulders.

Merrick tugged miserably at his breastplate. Benn, what am I doing here? he whispered.

Benn ignored the question and spoke calmly. Remember what I taught you. The boar has poor vision and relies on smell and sound.

He can probably smell my fear even now, Merrick replied with a weak laugh.

I can smell your fear, the huntsman observed. Now listen. When he becomes aware of you, he’ll charge. Then follow your training. Wait until the last moment, the horse steps aside, and then you pivot with the spear, and strike behind the shoulder as the beast passes. Keep the blade vertical, to clear the ribs. Being left-handed, you’ll have to push deeper to reach the heart. Let the horse’s turn power the thrust, just hold the spear steady.

Yes, I’ve dispatched many stuffed boar skins on wooden wheels, Merrick said as he lifted the wide-bladed spear with its heavy crossbar. I just pray this monster knows the rules of the game.

The royals of Androssar have been hunting these woods for centuries. This technique has been developed over countless generations, Benn explained. Don’t worry. It works.

The Prince stroked his horse’s neck. And will poor Seela do her part? She must be as terrified as I am.

Benn raised Seela’s snout and blew in one nostril. The mare flicked her ears toward the huntsman. Seela won’t fail you. She knows what to do.

The old man stepped away as Rulda and his retainers approached. He raised his bow. And if all else fails, I’ll kill the beast myself.

Don’t coddle the boy, the Sagamore said. By the time you two finish chatting, the boar will have wandered off.

Benn turned and bounded up the heap of boulders. His eyes held a deep, dark anger. Rulda gestured to his companions and they rode through the woods, spreading out to either side. Before his father could speak again, Merrick trotted around the rocks to meet his fate. Rulda readied his spear and followed.

The quarry waited in a small meadow, ringed with rocky shelves. Using its curved tusks, the beast rooted out its favorite food–a heavy yellow fungus. Once the morsel was free, the boar swallowed it nearly whole and lapped up the crumbs with its mottled tongue. Craters of churned earth littered the clearing. The boar had located a rich repast.

Merrick almost stopped as he stared at the monster he was about to fight. Nearly as large as Seela, the boar Slaver had a massive head framed by wicked tusks as thick as a man’s arm. The tip of the right tusk had been broken off and the jagged end looked especially deadly. Warty growths covered the face and the small red eyes were nearly buried in pits of gristle. The nightmare skull swung from a powerful neck supported by the heavy forequarters. The short spine sloped to the smaller hindquarters and the tiny, tufted tail. Thick bristles covered the otherwise hairless beast. A maze of scars scored its leathery hide.

As man and horse approached, the boar suddenly threw up its head with an explosive grunt. Steam poured from its nostrils as the beast cleared its nose of dirt. The ragged ears twisted toward the intruder and the boar sucked in the new scents. The beast turned its head from side to side, trying to see what it heard and smelled. Without any further warning, Slaver threw up its tail and charged. A blood-curdling squeal of rage shattered the morning calm.

Breathing hard to keep from fainting, Merrick settled in his saddle and aimed the spear. He fought to keep the point from shaking and tried to ignore the sweat running down his face. His world narrowed to the looming monster. He could feel Seela beneath him, solid and steady, and that calmed him somewhat.

At the last possible moment, Merrick pressed against the mare with his right leg. Immediately, Seela side-stepped to the left, out of the path of the charge. As the boar hurtled past, Merrick applied more leg signals, and the horse pivoted to the right. The heavy spear came around, driven by the power of the horse’s movement. The Prince gripped the shaft with all his strength and saw too late that the blade was wrong. The point tore into the beast’s side behind the right shoulder, but caught on the ribs. The impact twisted the shaft and Merrick nearly lost his hold. He leaned in the high-cantled saddle and tried to shove the spear deeper. But the critical moment had passed, and the wounded boar lurched away from the pain. Digging in its hooves, Slaver spun around, moving with incredible speed for its bulk. The spear shaft slammed into Merrick’s ribs, almost unseating him, and then the tortured wood snapped.

The maddened boar charged and wrenched upwards with its wicked tusks. Seela screamed as enameled daggers tore into her side and belly. The Prince barely managed to move his leg in time and rolled out of the saddle. Despite her grievous wounds, the mare stayed between Merrick and the savage boar. Seela thrashed the boar’s head with her hooves and tore grooves in the tough hide. Slaver shoved forward, under the horse, and slashed again. Seela collapsed on the boar, driving its head into the ground. The boar’s forelegs folded with the weight and for a moment the boar was pinned beneath the dying horse.

The Prince, his helmet gone, scrambled to his feet. He reeled backwards, away from the thrashing animals. A powerful arm seized him and tossed him to the back of Rulda’s horse. Gasping with shock, he clung to his father’s waist. The charger leaped clear and spun around.

Slaver heaved up and threw the horse’s body aside. Gore and entrails covered the tusks and hideous face. The beast cast about blindly, seeking its next victim. An arrow sprouted from its wrinkled neck and the boar squealed in rage.

Not another shaft, the Sagamore roared. You will not dishonor the House of Rulda.

From his vantage point on the rocky summit, Benn lowered the bow. Shaking with anger, the Royal Huntsman slowly reversed his draw. He slammed the arrow into his quiver and stood waiting. Meanwhile, seeing the danger to the Prince, the other hunters had closed their circle. The boar, suddenly sensing it was surrounded, turned and charged the ring of horsemen.

Let him go, Rulda ordered.

The hunters in the beast’s path raised their spears as their mounts moved aside. The boar ran past them, the broken spear heaving in its right side. With a last horrible squeal, the beast disappeared into the forest.

Merrick jumped down and ran to Seela. He sat on the ground and drew her head onto his lap. He stroked her brow gently. Foamy blood ran from her nostrils onto his pants. The mare, eyes wide from her agony, whinnied weakly.

I’m so sorry, Seela, the Prince said. You shouldn’t die like this.

Merrick looked up at Benn, who appeared by his side. Can you save her? he asked the old man.

Benn glanced at the awful wounds and shook his head. She’s done, boy. She was a fine horse, even to the end. I’m sorry.

The Sagamore, his horse stomping and twisting, moved closer. His blue eyes were hard. Too bad about the horse, boy, he said gruffly. But you have a boar to kill.

Merrick and Benn both stared at Rulda. Several of the retainers shifted uncomfortably in their saddles.

Are you mad? Benn growled. The boy was nearly killed and he’s lost his horse. It’s over.

Watch yourself, Huntsman, Rulda said. I’ll only tolerate so much of your insolence.

Benn stepped forward. No, wait, Merrick cried, as he carefully moved Seela’s head and stood. He moved between his father and the old man. He put a bloody glove on Benn’s shoulder. He’s right. I have a boar to kill, he said. The Prince turned and regarded the mounted man. But not for you, or the House of Rulda. For poor, brave Seela.

As he spoke, Merrick looked down, but the mare had died. Rulda grunted and waved to one of the retainers. Give him your horse.

* 111643-WISE-layout.pdf *

Benn crouched as he studied the thicket of bamboo stalks, ferns, and brambles. He’s in there.

Where? Merrick asked. I don’t see any blood trail.

Benn shrugged. He must have entered from the other side. But I know he’s in there. I can smell him.

Merrick squared his shoulder and took a deep breath. He held a spear in his left hand. Then I’ll find him and kill him.

The Huntsman turned to Rulda, who stood nearby. Let your father go first.

Rulda strode forward and shoved Benn aside. We’ll go together.

The Huntsman seized Rulda’s arm. The boy should stay here.

The Sagamore jerked his arm free. Touch me again and I’ll kill you.

Benn stepped back. Be careful, Merrick.

Surround the thicket. Don’t let the beast escape, Rulda ordered.

Rulda and his son pushed between the nearest stalks and vanished. The other hunters began to encircle the area. Benn, with a searching look at the surrounding trees, moved away.

The vegetation was so thick the pair of hunters could not see more than an arm’s length. They stopped and listened every few moments, but the only sounds were the wind in the trees, the rustle of falling leaves, and their own breathing. After a time, they reached a small clearing. Shoving through a patch of ironthorn, Rulda and Merrick stepped into the open. They could see the higher trees beyond the cluster of undergrowth. There was no sign of the wounded boar.

Merrick wiped the sweat from his face with a cloth. A flash of light caught his eye. Rulda happened to be looking the other direction, trying to find their quarry. The Prince searched the treetops and suddenly cursed. At the sound of the uncharacteristic oath, Rulda turned as his son tackled him. Caught off guard, the Sagamore fell and they crashed to the ground, with Merrick on top. The crackle of the vegetation they had crushed nearly muffled the sound of multiple crossbows.

The Prince convulsed and Rulda shoved on him. What are you doing? Get off of me.

But Merrick gripped him with desperate strength and he could not free himself. The Sagamore stopped struggling when he heard another round of bowstrings. Merrick jerked again and blood sprayed over Rulda. The Sagamore rolled them over with sheer brute force. A crossbow bolt slammed into the earth next to his head.

Assassins! Rulda roared. They’ve shot my son!

There was a moment of startled silence and then everything happened at once. Rulda’s companions moved with precision, half charging toward their leader, and the rest turning to search for the assassins. Rulda dragged Merrick under cover and quickly examined his wounds.

Five quarrels had struck the Prince. Two had skidded off his cuirass, one lodged in the back of his thigh, and another in his shoulder. The last one had pierced the side of his neck, passing through and coming out the front. Blood sprayed from this wound, the arrow shaft pulsing with each weakening heartbeat. Rulda tore off his glove and pressed it tight around the bolt, trying to stop the flow. Merrick started choking and crimson flowed from his mouth.

Father, Merrick gurgled.

Rulda held him tight. My son, my son, he kept repeating. Rulda could not remove the arrow without tearing the wound even further and he was forced to watch his son die in his arms. It did not take long.

When it was over, the Sagamore looked up. He was covered with his son’s blood, and his eyes were moist. Five of his guards stood in a protective ring, their swords drawn. Then they heard another sound.

Rulda eased Merrick’s body to the ground and jumped to his feet. The boar! It’s back.

The guards crouched as Rulda drew his sword. Where are the spears? the Sagamore cried.

Before anyone could look for the weapons, Slaver burst into their midst. Blood-stained and carrying Merrick’s broken spear and Benn’s arrow, he was a terrible sight. He caught a retainer on his tusks and tossed him into the air. A second man stabbed him in the side and the boar turned to gore him. Rulda chopped savagely at the beast’s spine with his broadsword. The blade bit deep and the monster twisted again. The blade caught between the vertebrae and was torn from Rulda’s grasp. The boar surged forward and knocked Rulda to the ground. The Sagamore grabbed the tusks, as the beast tried to grind him into the dirt.

Suddenly, the boar heaved to one side and rolled off Rulda. The Sagamore could see a new spear piercing the beast’s left side, driven nearly halfway through the animal. Slaver thrashed briefly and died. A retainer helped the battered Rulda to his feet and he looked around.

Benn stood there and several of the guards waited nearby. Rulda noticed that most of the Huntsman’s throwing knives were missing. Before the Sagamore could speak, Benn walked past him and knelt by Merrick’s body. Tears ran down the old man’s cheeks.

One of the guards, a Sergeant Ash, spoke. There were six of them, stationed in the trees around the thicket. Ash pointed to Benn. He killed most of them, with throwing knives and arrows. We tried to capture two, but they killed themselves rather than be questioned.

Rulda nodded, staring at the Huntsman with new respect. And the boar?

The vicious thing was stalking us. It charged into the thicket, like it knew who was in here, Ash explained.

And you killed it? Rulda asked.

Ash shook his head. Again, the Huntsman.

The Sagamore turned to Benn, who got to his feet. I owe you a great debt this day, Huntsman.

Benn stared at him in stony silence. You killed your son. I’ll take nothing from you, he said and walked away.

Rulda remained where he was, at a loss for words. Finally, the Sergeant spoke again. We found something you should see, he said.

What is it? Rulda asked wearily.

The Sergeant motioned to one of his soldiers, who threw a man’s body at their feet. Ash opened the shirt and exposed the chest. A tattoo marked the skin over the heart.

Llorgau, Rulda hissed, the rage building in his voice. Saxhaven sent these men.

CHAPTER TWO

Tar’bal

Sha’lor woke to a horrifying sight. A single eye, bulging from a hideous face, loomed over her. Wild, rust-colored hair framed the monstrous visage.

Bal’igna! the Ha’ashtari cried and rolled away. Tangled in blankets and appallingly weak, Sha’lor tumbled from her bed onto the stone floor. She fought her way clear of the binding covers and dragged herself to her knees, clutching at the bed frame. Terrible pain surged through her head and her vision blurred for a moment. The headache compounded the agony in her joints. She could feel sweat pouring from her skin and she shuddered. Sha’lor buried her face in the bedding and fought a wave of nausea.

The Ha’ashtari raised her head, determined to face the Lord of Tar’bal. At her first explosive movement, Bal’igna had scuttled backwards like some giant carrion bird. Now he fluttered pale hands at her and made soft, mewling sounds. Sha’lor struggled to focus on the sounds through the waves of pain.

Peace, child, Bal’igna said in the Trade language. Peace. Do not harm yourself further.

Sha’lor took a deep breath. Those were the last words she expected from the Lord of Tar’bal. Perhaps this was some fever dream. She tried to remember what had happened to her. She had been chosen as Shadow to the ta’hoda, a great honor. But the ta’hoda had been killed at Ape Keep, along with her brother Ha’sim. No, the ta’hoda had returned. She had seen him on the road to Ragoulgard. He was in the ruined building in Ragoul, before the goblin bit her. At that memory, Sha’lor looked at her right arm. Twin haloes of blackened skin marred her forearm. The last thing she could recall was Max speaking to her. Something about love and dreams and fantasy. And he had given her his bow. That must have been the dream.

The Ha’ashtari slowly rose to her feet. She swayed slightly but managed to stay erect. Her head still throbbed, but the joint pain had subsided. She took another deep breath and examined her surroundings. She had been lying on a bed in a chamber of reddish stone. A warm breeze stirred the room, coming from an open balcony. Next to the balcony, a waterfall splashed cheerfully down a rocky cascade into a crystal pool. The air smelled fresh and clean. A pitcher of water, a glass, and a pile of towels rested on a table beside the bed. A cabinet with drawers stood near the room’s single door.

More soft sounds drew her attention to her strange companion. The creature was taller than Sha’lor, yet hunched, as if its spine was deformed. Gnarled shoulders cradled the ugly head. Contrary to her first impression, Bal’igna possessed two eyes, as well as a beaked nose and jutting chin crowned with a massive wart. Reddish hair sprouted at random on the head and bushy eyebrows hooded the bulging eyes.

The long-fingered hands fluttered again. There, there. Better now, Bal’igna cooed. You have been very sick, child.

Sha’lor squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She felt the breeze on bare skin and looked down. She was clad only in a short, sleeveless sleeping gown. Her hand flew to her throat, but her soul stone remained. This was not the Tar’bal of legend, and the hunchback was not how she had pictured Bal’igna at all. And would the god of cowards speak in the outlander tongue?

A figure loomed in the doorway and Sha’lor gasped. It was her dead brother.

Sha’lor, Ha’sim cried joyfully.

Sha’lor stared at her brother as he limped toward her. You can’t be in Tar’bal! You died bravely, in battle. What mockery of justice is this? I might deserve this, for failing the ta’hoda. But you? she gasped in the Ha’ashtari language.

Ha’sim faltered, his brow furrowed in confusion. For some reason, he responded in Trade. Tar’bal? What are you talking about?

She thinks this is the Ha’ashtari hell and I am the devil, the hunchback offered.

Sha’lor gestured at the room. The goblin bit me, and I died. This must be Tar’bal. It is definitely not Heaven. She pointed at the chamber’s remaining occupant. And Bal’igna is here, she said, speaking their native tongue.

Bal’igna? her brother said with a laugh. No, that’s only Clive. Your doctor. He has healed you.

Yes, yes, Clive nodded, waving his hands. What he says is true.

Well I may not be dead, Sha’lor conceded. But you are. I saw you fall at Ape Keep.

Ha’sim came around the bed. Sha’lor turned toward him and he gently held her shoulders. I was gravely wounded, but our brothers came for me. They brought me home. I had broken my left leg and some ribs, and injured my shoulders. I slowly healed, even though I still limp. I thought I had lost you. I sat by your bedside for days.

Sha’lor relaxed into her brothers arms. She was silent for a moment and then murmured into his shoulder. I feel so weak.

Ha’sim eased her back onto the bed. He made her lie down and then he retrieved the blankets from the floor. He covered her. Clive appeared at their side, a glass of water in his hand. Sha’lor hesitated and then took the water. She drank it all and handed the glass back to the waiting doctor. She peered at him.

Clive? she recalled. A healer?

Clive nodded eagerly. One of the best, Ha’sim confirmed. He found the antidote that cured you.

Sha’lor nodded at the doctor and spoke in Trade. I am in your debt, healer.

No debt, Clive shook his head. My pleasure. He placed the glass on the table. I’ll leave you now. You’ve much to talk about.

As Clive left the room, Sha’lor turned back to her brother, who sat on the edge of the bed beside her. So where am I now? she asked.

This is Carnac. You were at Shieldaig, the Dwarf city. Their healers helped you resist the goblin’s poison, but they had no antidote. Celeste, Talbot, Tak, and Diomedes brought you down the Seir on the Windrider. At Kalixalven, Tak and Diomedes took you off the ship. Celeste and Talbot went on to Androssar with Taurus. Diomedes contacted Carnac and the centaurs sent an escort. The mor’tari heard of your arrival in Kalixalven and joined the Carnites enroute.

The mor’tari? Sha’lor asked.

Ha’sim smiled. That’s what we call ourselves now. ‘The death riders.’ The ta’hoda’s Shadow and the twenty-four survivors of the battle at Raishon Pass, against the Harriers and the Immortals. A great battle against overwhelming odds, all for the glory of the ta’hoda. The mor’tari are also the ones who came in search of me. And found me, near death, in the forest of Aijalon.

Sha’lor stirred restlessly. I feel horrible. You’re sure I’m free of the goblin poison?

You nearly died on the way here. In fact, you did die, twice. But Diomedes brought you back, Ha’sim said.

Brought me back? Sha’lor repeated. How?

Ha’sim hesitated. He… well…

Sha’lor gave her brother a sharp look. What did he do?

He blew the breath of life back into you, and pushed on your chest, Ha’sim said quickly.

Sha’lor sat up, her head stabbing in warning. He did what?

I don’t understand all of it. Your heart had stopped and… he started it again. He said it was… established medical procedure, Ha’sim quoted.

Sha’lor collapsed on her pillow. Fondled by a dwarf while I slept. Perhaps death would have been preferable.

Don’t say that, little sister. He saved your life, at least twice. And the people here have been very good to you, Ha’sim said.

But I don’t even like him. And Clive is very ugly, Sha’lor protested.

Ha’sim smiled. I’m sure they know how you feel about them. And they were kind to you anyway.

Our tribe would have put them to death at birth, Sha’lor said.

Why? Ha’sim asked innocently.

You know perfectly well why. Deformed children are an offense to the gods and not fit to be warriors, his sister replied.

And yet, here we are in the centaur city, and the deformed ones live and hold positions of honor. The centaurs are the children of the gods and don’t seem to find them offensive, Ha’sim said.

Sha’lor shrugged. It’s too deep a matter for me. I’ve been ill. She suddenly noticed a bow and quiver of arrows on a rack in the corner of the room. The rack looked new. Where is the ta’hoda? Why is he not here?

Ha’sim’s face clouded. The ta’hoda went to Mogda Thal with the shaman Morgan to fight the Mhoul. He has not returned.

Sha’lor struggled to rise. We must go to him. Fight by his side. We are his Shadows.

Her brother gently pushed her back. You must rest. When you’re fully recovered, we’ll find the ta’hoda.

Sha’lor looked again at the bow and arrows. Max gave me those. Made by the elves, he said.

Diomedes had that rack installed. In honor of the ta’hoda, Ha’sim explained.

Suddenly, a small man in swirling robes burst through the door. Sha’lor, he exclaimed. I heard you were awake.

Sha’lor glared at him and spoke in Trade. Diomedes. You blew on me and touched my breasts while I was unable to defend my honor.

Diomedes stumbled to a halt, deflated. But… I, he started and then glanced desperately at Ha’sim.

Sha’lor sighed. But my brother says it was necessary to save my life. There was no dishonor.

No, no. Medically necessary. I would never… Diomedes assured her, wringing his hands.

I suppose I will not kill you then. But do not take such liberties again, Sha’lor warned.

No, never, Diomedes said.

Unless it is necessary, of course, Sha’lor added.

Of course, Diomedes agreed.

There was a moment or two of uncomfortable silence. Ha’sim fought to restrain a smile. Finally, Diomedes spoke. So how do you feel?

Terrible, Sha’lor admitted. But I will recover. And then Ha’sim and I will rejoin the ta’hoda.

Diomedes paused, looking troubled. What is it? Ha’sim asked.

Nothing. It can wait, Diomedes said. Well, your brother’s here and you need your rest. I’ll be going. Let me know if you need anything.

CHAPTER THREE

Androssar

The Windrider glided toward the ancient stone dock. Outside the massive sea wall of Androssar, the crew had dropped the sail and began rowing the vessel into the bay. At the Oarmaster’s command, the port side rowers withdrew their oars, while the starboard oars gave the lean ship a last push toward the dock.

Taurus leaned on the port rail near the bridge. Kevan manned the wheel, guiding the ship carefully forward. Talbot and Celeste stood nearby. The burly Captain glanced over his shoulder. A huge gate of wood and iron was sliding across the opening in the sea wall. The steady breeze rotated two huge windmills atop the wall that powered the gears closing the gate.

Seems like every time I make port, they close the gate on my stern. Last time made sense, since there was a storm. But what’s going on now? Taurus grumbled. I’ll have a word with that old fool Calder.

Talbot studied the city above them. The sun hung in a clear eastern sky, but morning mist shrouded the highest terraces with their fields, parks and gardens. The palace level drifted in and out of view as patches of fog moved past. Waterfalls sparkled where the light hit them. The newer portions of the city basked in full sunlight, stretching from the lowest terrace to the docks. Scattered throughout the city, more windmills creaked slowly round and round.

The flags on the palace are at half-mast, Talbot observed.

Taurus swung around. Who died?

Hopefully, Rulda himself, Celeste said.

Talbot frowned at his sister. Celeste, we’re here to seek his help, not celebrate his death.

If he’d listened to me the first time, our people would be free of the Haggas by now, she replied.

The conflict with Saxhaven has worsened since then. He’s even less likely to render aid now, Talbot reminded her.

What choice do we have? Celeste said.

Talbot shrugged. This seems the best course.

Where are Morgan and Max when you need them? Taurus grumbled. A Legion of Raavs would sweep your island clean.

I believe they had another engagement, Talbot said with a humorless laugh. Something about saving the world from the Lucca.

Taurus snorted. Delusions of grandeur, if you ask me. What difference are those two going to make, against the Lucca?

Let’s not talk about them, Celeste said. We have our own problems, right here.

Yes, Princess, Taurus said.

The Windrider bumped gently against the bags of sand hanging along the pier, and dockworkers secured mooring lines thrown to them. Seidon, the First Mate, shouted orders and the crew began their tasks. The starboard oars slid inboard and the landing planks thudded onto the pier decking.

The Captain straightened and surveyed the docks. Too many ships for this time of year. They should be making their last runs before the winter storms.

Seidon approached. Sea Marshals, Captain.

Taurus followed the First Mate’s pointing finger. Ten soldiers in green and black uniforms marched toward them. Leading the marshals were two individuals, a tall lean warrior and a shorter heavyset man.

Portmaster Calder and Colonel Stenn, Taurus observed. Let’s go see what they want.

Taurus and Seidon descended the landing planks, followed by Talbot and Celeste. The Captain stopped and waited, his hands on his hips.

The Marshals stopped a few paces away. Calder appeared harried and annoyed, while Stenn seemed tense and wary. The Colonel stepped forward.

By order of the Sagamore Rulda, your ship and cargo are now the property of Androssar. The crew and passengers are under ship arrest, pending further orders, Stenn announced.

Taurus laughed. What possible reason could Rulda have to illegally seize my property and detain the crew? Has he imagined some new offense committed by harmless seamen?

Stenn grimaced. For once, it’s not your fault Taurus. Androssar has declared war on Saxhaven. Martial law has been enacted and all vessels under our jurisdiction have been pressed into service to aid in the war.

Celeste stepped past Taurus. Why declare war?

At the sight of the Princess of Skara Thrae, both officials grew even more uncomfortable. Prince Merrick has been assassinated, Stenn replied.

The Princess laid her hand on Stenn’s arm. I’m so sorry. How did it happen?

Rulda and Merrick were boar hunting. They were ambushed in the forest. The target was actually Rulda, but Merrick died saving his father, the Colonel explained.

And the assassins were from Saxhaven? Celeste asked as she dropped her hand.

They bore the mark of Llorgau’s personal guard, Stenn answered.

And you think Llorgau would be so stupid? Taurus asked. To send men that easily identified?

The Colonel shrugged. That’s assuming he cared if Rulda knew.

We all know Llorgau, Celeste protested. He’d never do such a thing.

Stenn held up a hand. It’s not my place to debate this matter. I have my orders.

I regret Rulda’s loss, but that doesn’t give him the right to seize my ship, Taurus said. He gestured at the Thraens. Not to mention arresting royalty without cause. Does he want war with Skara Thrae, as well as Saxhaven?

The Colonel paused. I’ll seek an audience with Rulda. He can decide what to do with your passengers.

We’ll accompany you. I need to speak with Rulda, Celeste said.

And I demand to see him. He’s not going to take my ship, Taurus said.

You’ll remain on your ship until further notice, Stenn ordered.

Taurus stepped toward the Colonel. How about if I throw you in the bay? he growled.

Stenn moved back. Calder scampered out of the way, moving fast for a man of his bulk. The Marshals spread across the dock, hands on their sword hilts. Seidon gave himself room and the Windrider’s crew gathered at the railing, ready for a fight. Talbot appeared between Taurus and Stenn, a dark, forbidding presence.

Take us to Rulda. Let him decide, the Prince said.

And me, Taurus persisted.

And the Captain, Talbot said.

Stenn finally nodded, unwilling to meet the Prince’s feral gaze.

Taurus turned to his First Mate. Stay here and keep an eye on the ship. I’ll be back soon. Taurus looked at Stenn. Lead on, Colonel.

* 111643-WISE-layout.pdf *

Six Sea Marshals led the party from the Windrider down a long hall lined with mounts of trophy animals. Colonel Stenn walked in front. Calder had stayed behind. Heads of stags, deer, and antelope hung at regular intervals along the walls and a boreal buffalo almost blocked the passageway at one point.

Quite a collection, Taurus remarked.

Ever been here before? Celeste asked.

Once, Taurus recalled. Rulda hosted a party for some captains who’d been trading in Androssar a long time. Wait until you see the main hall. It’s a wonder there are any animals left in these parts.

He’s a hunter, Talbot said absently.

Taurus leaned toward the Princess. He’s quick, your brother. The burly Captain nodded toward Talbot. You two have something in common. Hunting and animals and… Taurus trailed off at the look on Celeste’s face. Sorry, Taurus muttered.

Talbot ignored the entire exchange. His eyes cleared and he spoke softly. Why are we meeting with Rulda here and not the palace?

And why did he keep us waiting all day? Taurus complained, glaring at the surrounding marshals. With nothing to drink. Androssian hospitality.

He doesn’t want a public audience, Celeste said.

So what’s he plotting? Talbot asked.

Taurus drifted closer to the Thraen royalty and whispered. Rulda plotting something?

He wouldn’t dare harm us. He can’t afford a war on two fronts, Celeste said.

Absolutely, Taurus agreed and raised his voice. Although they confiscated all of our weapons. No drink, no weapons. If this keeps up, no one will trade at your smelly port town.

Well, someone recently tried to assassinate Rulda. I can’t blame him for being cautious, Talbot said.

That’s stupid. I’ve been trading here since before Rulda even arrived. I’ve no quarrel with Rulda, Taurus protested. Until now.

Talbot stared at Taurus thoughtfully. Aren’t you originally from the north?

Where’d you hear that? Taurus asked.

Maybe even Skorn? Like Rulda? the Prince continued.

Just a nasty rumor, Taurus growled.

Now that you mention it, he does have certain Northlander characteristics, Celeste added.

And when did you first arrive in these waters? Talbot asked.

Taurus held up a hand. Keep your voice down. No one can prove a thing.

Talbot grinned. We’ll talk more about this.

Not if I can help it, Taurus said.

Stenn turned at the next junction and led them down a side passage.

Taurus leaned toward the Thraens. The main hall is back that way. There’s nothing this direction but storage and the balconies.

One party, you said. Did Rulda give his guests a full tour? Talbot asked.

You ask too many questions, Taurus said. I did a little exploring on my own.

Take anything of interest? Talbot asked.

Taurus stopped and the Marshal behind him nearly collided with the Captain. Taurus regained his stride. You calling me a thief?

Talbot shook his head. I’d never do that. It was a slip of the tongue.

Taurus was still glaring at Talbot when they turned another corner. A draft smelling of the sea washed over them. Before long, they neared a large archway.

The main balcony, Taurus explained. He’s probably going to throw us over the edge and be done with it. Although I don’t know why.

The Marshals ushered them onto the wide balcony. The nobility of Androssar had built a pleasure house two centuries ago, carving the structure out of the stone cliffs above the bay. The long flight of steps leading up to the building had also been a part of the cliff. Here the Androssian nobility could indulge in various carnal pleasures, away from public view, and their wives. One of the last of the Sagamores, a noble named Strantor vanSere, had expanded and refurbished the pleasure house, and had died there in a drunken orgy. When Rulda became Sagamore, he ended the tradition. It was more of a hunting lodge now.

A man stood leaning on the railing, looking down over the city. Three other figures waited nearby. Guards had been stationed at strategic points on the balcony. They looked grimly alert. The setting sun painted the entire scene with a reddish cast and turned the water below into flame. Globes in stanchions ignited as the day’s light faded, their bluish glow clashing with the vermilion hues of sunset. Lights also appeared in the city, twinkling like stars cast to earth. The evening breeze brought the smells of stone and water. The air carried a hint of fall chill.

Talbot stared at the sunset. Celeste glanced at him and whispered. Are you sure you’ll be alright?

Yeah, if you go beast on us, this could turn into an international incident. Can’t have you chewing on the staff, Taurus added. Celeste punched the Captain in the shoulder for his remark.

Diomedes’ meditation techniques have increased my control. And the drugs the dwarves gave me help, Talbot hissed through gritted teeth.

You terrified my poor crew the first few nights, Taurus recalled.

If I get angry, I might lose control, Talbot growled.

His companions fell silent.

The Sea Marshals stopped and Colonel Stenn advanced toward the man at the railing. Stenn halted few steps from the man and spoke. The Prince and Princess of Skara Thrae, Talbot and Celestine. And Taurus, Captain of the Windrider. As you ordered, Sagamore.

You may leave us, Colonel, the Sagamore said

Stenn nodded. Sire. He left the balcony with his Marshals.

No one broke the following silence. The only sounds were the wind and faint echoes of the town below.

I regret your loss, Sagamore. By all accounts, Merrick was a fine son, Celeste finally said.

Rulda turned and faced them. He loved books and could barely use a sword. He hated killing, even animals. Nothing like me. The Sagamore paused. And I thought he was a coward. He wasn’t.

Celeste studied the Sagamore in the bluish light. Under his fierce brow, icy blue eyes held pain and loss while beneath simmered a terrible rage. He was dressed Northland style, a furred vest that left his arms bare, leather leggings and knee high boots. He did not seem to feel the chill in the air.

We must return to Skara Thrae. As I told you earlier, the Haggas have invaded, and I fear for my people and my family, Celeste said.

You can’t, Rulda said.

Why are you doing this? Talbot asked.

The Sagamore’s hard gaze settled on the Prince. Talbot, is it?

Yes, Talbot acknowledged.

Returning home, after all this time? Rulda said bitterly. Where were you when your father needed you?

Talbot stiffened. My father never needed anyone.

That’s not true, Rulda said, his eyes distant.

If you are so worried about my father, why’d you refuse him aid? Leave my sister to the Mhoul? And now, hold us prisoner here? Talbot returned hotly. Celeste touched his arm in silent warning.

Isolationism works both ways. You can’t refuse to join alliances, rebuff genuine offers of free trade, and then complain that you’re alone when trouble comes, Rulda said.

Skara Thrae needs your help. It’s time to forget the past, Celeste said.

I see no reason to become involved in a Thraen clan dispute. I have more important matters to attend to. Your people will never change. Consumed with their feuds, they ignore the rest of the world. All they care about is killing each other. Why should anyone help them? They don’t deserve it, Rulda said.

Just like the Northlanders used to be, Taurus said.

Taurus, I’ve tolerated your presence for years, because you’re a good trader and don’t cause too much trouble, Rulda said. But do not speak of my homeland again. You lost that right a long time ago.

Taurus paused, his eyes locked with the Sagamore’s. I want my ship back. I have business to conduct.

As I’m sure Stenn told you, I’ve declared war on Saxhaven. I need your ship, Rulda said.

You can’t do this, Taurus insisted.

One of the three people to their right, quiet until now, stalked forward. He was a blond giant, and he had Rulda’s blue eyes. My father is the Sagamore, he can do anything he wants, he said loudly.

Rolf, the Sagamore warned.

Why do you waste your time with this? Llorgau killed your son. We should be riding for Saxhaven now, Rolf said. I want his head on a pike.

Son, wait for me inside, Rulda ordered.

I’m tired of waiting. We need to do something! Rolf insisted.

Rolf. Inside. Now, Rulda repeated.

Rolf blustered for another moment and then left. Rulda watched him leave, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

Please reconsider, Celeste said.

If things are bad as you say, you’re probably safer here, Rulda said.

We don’t want to be safe, we want to help our country, Talbot said.

Rulda’s eyes were cold. You’re staying here, as my guests, until I say otherwise.

It wouldn’t be wise to antagonize my father, Celeste said.

I doubt if he’s much of a threat right now. Sounds like he has other problems, Rulda replied.

You don’t know our father. You can’t afford to fight him also, Talbot said.

I’ll take that chance. You’re staying, Rulda said, and turned to Taurus. And your ship is mine, for now.

You’re making a mistake, Taurus growled.

This audience is over. The Thraens will be escorted to their quarters. Captain, you may remain on your ship, if you want, Rulda said.

As the Sagamore strode from the balcony, two other people approached. The first was a beautiful woman, with pale skin and dark hair and eyes. She wore flowing blue velvet robes. A high black collar framed her head and neck. Her long hair was piled on her head, held in place with golden pins. Behind her came a slender figure, dressed in black, with a silver helm. The headgear was a strange clamshell affair, hinging at the top and clasping under the jaw. The mask, cast in the likeness of a stern human face, had holes for the mouth, nostrils, and eyes. A rapier hung from the swaying hip.

Celeste turned to greet them. Sabine LaCher. Again, my regrets for your loss.

Sabine nodded and smiled sadly. Merrick was a good boy. Not what my poor husband wanted in a son, but he had other qualities.

Talbot bowed gracefully. Sagess, you’re as lovely as ever.

Sabine offered her hand for a brief kiss. Prince Talbot, it’s good to see you again.

Usually we merely pass through your city, on our way to other places, Talbot recalled.

Looks like you’ll stay a while this time, Sabine said.

The other figure floated in the background, noiseless as a phantom. Talbot studied the second person and tensed. He knew it was a woman, but dangerous, with a predatory aura. Talbot inhaled slightly, to catch her scent. The masked figure sensed his awareness and cocked her head curiously. The light caught the eyes, and Talbot saw that they were a striking green. A gloved hand stroked the rapier hilt.

Sabine’s eyes narrowed and she waved a hand. "May I present LaRoche, my chevalier?"

LaRoche bowed and Taurus took a step away without thinking. We know about her.

These are troubled times, my friends. I’m glad for her presence, Sabine said.

Talbot bowed to LaRoche. My pleasure.

Don’t try to kiss her hand. She’ll put a dagger in your eye, Taurus said from a safe distance.

Captain, please refrain from insulting our hostess, Celeste said.

That headgear reminds me of a Xodarian death mask, Talbot commented softly to Taurus.

Aye, death is all you’ll get from her, Taurus confirmed.

You must intercede for us. We can’t stay here, Celeste said to the Sagess.

Sabine sighed. My husband’s a proud man, and doesn’t handle public disagreements very well. That’s why I suggested a private audience, to avoid him doing something he’d regret later. I have concerns about his course of action and will speak to him. However, I make no guarantees, he’s nearly mad with grief and guilt.

Guilt? Talbot asked.

He blames himself for Merrick’s death, the Sagess explained. And his life.

Rolf was the favorite, Talbot noted.

Iosus preserve us if anything happens to Rulda, Sabine said. I love my eldest dearly, but he cannot rule.

"Are you sure it was Llorgau that