The Staff of Mordenren: World of Melarandra, #5

By PD Stewart

The Realm of Lungast trembled as word spread: The Therin have arrived.

With a cloud of dust which could be viewed for miles, they thundered into the realm. Their goal was no less than to destroy their ancient enemy and enslave all who opposed this.

But there is still hope.

Within the Fallen Giant Mountain lies the Horde of Karabine. A horde which spans the ages and holds as many dangers as it does treasures. Here Prince Eric, War Wizard and next in line to be king of the Free-Realm, travels to find a stone. The stone, along with a branch from a rare white oak tree, could be used to create the Staff of Mordenren. With this magic, Eric might be able to push back the advancing army.

However, travelling across an unknown land is not without its dangers. Captured by centaurs, their quest to create the staff could already be over.

Three armies join forces to fight this new foe and attempt a plan of their own. Once again, pages in a book lead a few down a different path in hopes of defeating this enemy.

With Glomain and two dwarves attempting to access a strange magic, and Eric off finding what he needs to create the Staff of Mordenren, all the soldiers can do is hope they can hold off the Therin long enough for one to succeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PD Stewart
• Release date: Jan 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201878788

Book preview

Prologue

Drums boomed, thundering throughout the countryside. Dust clouded the sky as the Therin and their army moved down the new road. Wagons of supplies, and soldiers consisting of all manner of creatures, stomped through the land. Each step, in tune with the drumbeats, brought them closer to their goal.

Pained screams and cries followed the army as it marched by, and not one soul in the foul army paid it any heed. Bodies of human slaves littered the pathway, and the voices would soon join them. Over a year ago, they used humans to create a primary road, making it easier for the Therin and their army of orcs, gnomes, and ogres to travel. Now, their rotting corpses lined the way to the Wall.

The Wall. Once intimidating, as with all the magic put in place to keep the Therin in these lands, it was now a sign of freedom. Before long, it would fall, and weaken the rest of the wards put in place so many centuries ago. No more would the waters in a river drown the young, nor would the cliff smash those seeking to climb down, against its side. What they once feared, the Therin would soon conquer.

Dwarven companions dug and banged away as much of the base as they could. If their enemy appeared on the top of the Wall, Therin arrows flew. Looking up at the high wall, all below it now sneered. No longer did the Therin feel the Wall was impenetrable.

Week after week, the dwarves, along with gnomes, banged away below, weakening the Wall. A few Therin archers, along with the warriors, patrolled the ground. Only two magika’s existed within the Therin ranks. The two had no trouble dispatching those they found who possessed magic inside the menacing building they knew lay beyond the Wall. Alas, the spell to do so weakened them both, and as tradition, sacrificed to appease Tem-Pater.

As the army moved, the Unforgiving Wilderness trembled. Silence filled the forest, as if every animal and bird were in hiding. Therin warriors, and their companions, moved through without fear. The Wall stood in the distance, a wall which was about to come down. Made weak by the dwarves, and to the north, mountain trolls awaited the signal. Adex, warrior leader of the Therin, allowed a smile to pass over his lips. It was almost time to enter the forbidden realm, to finally exact revenge on their ancient cousins, known as the Fair-Ones. Soon, the time of the Therin would be at hand, and the world would know fear.

BLACKNESS SURROUNDED the group. With no moon, the forest area just outside Traybidon was perfect for the ritual. The fire was the solitary illumination, burning high in reverence to their god. Cloaked in black robes, the cowls hung about their heads. No faces could be seen, yet each member knew who the others were. Their society held no secrets; it was their manner. Bringing forth the sacrifice, the members began their low chant.

For centuries, their families worshipped the god thought fallen.

Hidden in the shadows, Tem-Pater, along with his loyal followers, patiently waited. The sign arrived, and they knew their hour was at hand. No longer was there a need to hide their practices. It was their time, and all would know. When silence enveloped the grove, they tossed the young woman into the fire. She had been drugged to keep her silent, however, as the fire licked her skin, she found her voice. With a fearful screech, the fire consumed her, and the priests chanted to their deity. Soon, the time of Tem-Pater would begin.

CHAPTER ONE

Dark thoughts plagued the small band. The centaur’s forced their captives to move at a swift pace. Sharp spears prodded them if any began to slow. Clouds of dust surrounded the group, forcing them to drink water, which they knew most likely to be drugged. With each step, the four captives wondered about their future.

For the first few days, they thought of the two not captured, hoping for a rescue. Once they reached the centaur village their hope faded. Seeing the village, it was clear a rescue would not happen. The centaurs made their home in the middle of the plain. No one could attack without drawing attention hours before hand. Upon approaching the village, Eric glanced about one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of his friends, but to no avail. Hanging his head, the prince wondered if this was how their quest would end.

A week went by, and each day blended into the next. Since their arrival at the village, they had been beaten unconscious, then forced awake, and then whipped. All save Firadon. From the minute they were seized, the centaur’s attention was constantly on the northman. Now, as they sat, forcing down the few vegetables allotted to them, things appeared to be coming to a head.

This day, the one they assumed was the leader of the pack, came into their pen, and stood in front of Firadon. In his guttural language, the leader pointed to Firadon, and spoke. Firadon stood, and his large seven-foot-four-inch frame brought him even with the eyes of the centaur. Eric turned to Gillock and realised by the look on the old wizard's face, he understood every word. What was more surprising, though, was when the centaur finished speaking, Firadon responded. This made Gillock’s face go dark, and Eric wondered what was going on.

Dorien shifted himself to sit between Eric and Gillock, keeping his eyes on the confrontation before him. What is being said? he whispered.

Firadon is stating his title. It would seem our big friend is not from just any northern barbarian tribe, but one from this side of the wall. He is stating his achievements, replied Gillock.

Eric’s eyebrows drew in as he listened to Firadon speak. What did the centaur say to start this?

Turning his head slightly, Gillock leaned over. The chieftain stated who he was and issued a challenge to Firadon Dey, known centaur slayer.

He moved back to his position, and the words hit Dorien and Eric hard. By Firadon’s stance, it was clear he intended to honour the challenge.

The centaur left the pen, with Firadon in tow. Proceeding into an open area of the village, the centaur tossed a large sword to Firadon. It was made of wood, as was the one the centaur wielded, and the three human onlookers soon realised it was going to be the first of many fights.

Centaur’s enjoyed causing pain to their enemies, and it was no different with Firadon. For the next week, they removed Firadon, and a fight ensued. Most times, he was victorious, but the centaurs had a plan. With shouts, a centaur threw their water down, pointed to Firadon, and left laughing.

What was that all about? questioned Eric. Firadon, long blond hair matted from the blood, had kept his distance since it started, but Eric needed answers.

He said our water has a stronger drug in it, and when the moon is black in the sky, real swords will end this, replied Firadon.

It hit Eric then. With the new moon only a few days away, and everything drugged, their chances of escape were slipping away. Centaur designed this place to ensure no one could escape, by any means. Their only solace was the cool nights. Lying out under the stars, while their captors rested, allowed for reflection.

This new quest had been plagued with trouble from the start. They left Hucksley with hopes that this quest would not be too tasking. Everyone knew it was dangerous, but this was more than they had anticipated. Simian died at the hands of a strange marsh witch, leaving Tark the only elf. Although Gillock never stated his importance, Eric always felt there was a reason two elves came on this quest, aside from King Garelin’s insistence. Eric looked to Firadon, Gillock, and the sleeping Dorien, and wondered what was in store. Tark and Aremeth couldn’t rescue them, and it was clear the centaurs’ only goal was to watch them suffer. Kept weak, and confused, it was rare to have a clear thought.

The wind picked up, and Eric pulled himself into a sitting position, allowing it to flow around him. His thick black hair, long from so many weeks of travel and almost matching Aremeth’s in length, was a tangled mess now, and the wind barely moved it. Focussing his green eyes on the darkness, Eric inhaled deeply and stared out into the night. Eric was fit, strong, and young, yet the drug was more than he was able to handle. His thoughts were becoming confused again, and he knew the brief periods of coherent ideas were gone. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and the prince lay back down.

Morning came, and on this day, Dorien didn’t wake. He looked pale, and although he was young, all his companions worried that they would no longer see his green eyes light up with curiosity, nor his blond head twitch when he learned something new. Gillock looked frail as he gazed at the young wizard. A howl of pleasure erupted from the centaurs once they noticed. Centaurs enjoyed feasting on the flesh of their captives, and preparations began. It wasn’t long before a pile of brush was set up under a large spit, and it was clear to the captives what was to come next. Watching as they stripped Dorien, and recognising the young wizard was doomed, weighed heavily on everyone. All, that is, but Eric.

Witnessing the centaurs as they prepared Dorien for a meal was Eric’s breaking point. Although Eric was a few years younger, he always felt a need to protect the naive boy. That need now fed his anger.

The captives had all ingested something, which made it difficult to think. Therefore, they were unable to perform magic. Yet something changed in Eric. His head was no longer groggy, and he could focus more clearly now than he had ever been able to do. Anger filled his body and the fire that only War Wizards possess within raged along with his anger, burning the ropes which held his hands and feet. Standing with intense concentration, Eric channelled a fire stronger than any other brought forth before. It had a single purpose: to burn each centaur where it stood. Before the creatures could even react to the spell Eric had cast, they were aflame. intense, and the screams ceased. Where a few moments ago nearly fifty centaurs had stood, now there was nothing more than small piles of ash. The spell demanded to continue and for a moment, Eric almost obliged but fear crept into his heart, and the spell faded from memory. With a heavy sigh, Eric felt relieved. That particular spell was one he did not know, was quite happy to have it fade away. A War Wizard possessed much power, and most of it designed to destroy. Eric didn’t know why he was able to do what he did, and that thought worried him. What would happen if the power within took over?

Are you alright? asked Gillock, his voice soft and showing concern. The spell Eric cast was one only a fully trained War Wizard could perform. Eric was only coming into his powers and should not have been able to cast it. Gillock began to pace, his tattered robes barely hanging onto his gangly frame. His black hair appeared to have a few more grey streaks in it and Eric wondered if all of this was too much for the old man.

Eric, having finished untying his companions, turned to the wizard. I do not know, he replied honestly.

Sitting down hard, Eric stared at the mounds of ash littered about. A gentle wind came through and began spreading the ashes. Instead of feeling upset, Eric drew comfort from the sight. A large hand rested on Eric’s shoulder, and he tilted his head up to see Firadon.

Sometimes, a king must make a difficult choice, stated Firadon before moving off to help Gillock with Dorien.

The words brought a measure of comfort to Eric. He was next in line to be king, and Firadon was right. Picking himself up, Eric went through the camp looking for supplies.

We can’t stay here, whispered Firadon to Gillock.

Gillock felt Dorien’s forehead and turned to Firadon. I know. Other centaurs may be about. I simply don’t know if Dorien can travel, though, replied the old wizard.

Firadon’s crystal blue eyes looked about and spotted a small wagon. We can put him in that. This plain is mostly hard packed dirt, so it shouldn’t be too hard to travel.

Gillock agreed and set about making a comfortable bed in the wagon. After an hour had elapsed, the wagon was ready.

Well, we know what direction we came in. Best way to go is the opposite. Nothing is more important than getting to that mountain, remarked Eric coming up on the two.

Is there any way to let Aremeth and Tark know we are safe now? questioned Firadon.

A slim figure, light brown hair flowing, came running into the village and it answered his inquiry. Tark sprinted up to the three. I saw the bursts of flame, and assumed you were free. Aremeth is a day away, but we dare not tarry. More centaurs will be about by this night.

Firadon grabbed the arms of the wagon as he scanned their surroundings. We best head to that forest. Tark, find Aremeth, and head that way. You two will travel faster than us, so you should catch up before we enter.

With a nod, Tark turned and ran back onto the plain. Not wasting a second, the trio set about their trek towards the woods.

Hours went by, and the sun was high in the sky. Their target drew closer, and trepidation came to all. When they were nearly upon the forest, Tark and Aremeth joined them. With all the companions together, they took the final steps towards the dark forest. When the sun was beginning to wane, they finally arrived.

In the Central Lands, the forest which sits about where Malena’s fortress still stands gave one a sensation of apprehension as though what they were facing was draining their souls. The one before them appeared to barely let sunlight penetrate, and a mist floated about the edges.

We need to enter, remarked Tark, but his voice held no conviction.

Gillock stared hard into the woods. It appears to go on forever. I presume one way would take us to that river. We’ve already lost much time.

Eric took a few steps towards the border. There is no other choice. We need to get to that mountain as quickly as possible.

Tark moved to stand beside Eric. Tonight, we will camp here. With the dawn, we will enter.

There were still a few hours of daylight left, but no one argued with the elf. Dorien was still weak, and a night’s rest here could only help him.

Watches were set, and a makeshift camp was established. No fire burned, for they didn’t want to attract attention.

Light brown elf eyes stared to the north. There are centaur scouts at the far end of the plain, stated Tark. Something is moving through that forest.

Gillock turned his dark eyes to the region in which the elf spoke. The Therin are making their move on the lands.

All eyes followed the wizards, but no one spoke. They knew this foreign land held many enemies. The Therin topped that list. When night fell, no one really spoke. Instead, all tried to rest.

All of you wake up now, came the agitated voice of Firadon.

Groggy eyes looked about, and each understood why he had awoken them. The sun was just beginning to rise, but to the north, a dark cloud covered the sky. Moving farther onto the plain, the six could see it better.

It extends far over the forest, and towards the east, said Eric.

Gillock’s eyes grew dark. It stretches to the Border Wall.

As if the Therin heard, the five watched as an immense cloud of dust rose into the sky.

What do you suppose caused that? questioned Aremeth his dark brown eyes narrowing.

An odd look crossed Gillock’s face, but he remained silent.

After a time, Firadon spoke. We need to move, he reiterated.

Although fall should be taking hold, midday still brought about a strong heat, one which could make Dorien’s condition worse. There was no telling how it would feel in such a dense forest.

Yes, said Gillock, absently.

I can walk, said a voice.

All turned to see Dorien, pale but sitting up.

Are you certain? asked Eric.

Dorien moved off the wagon, and although weak, he stood on his own. That wagon won’t fit down a trail. Walking I might slow us down but going slow in that forest might be a good plan.

Kid’s got a point, stated Firadon. No telling what we’re gonna find.

Taking the point, Tark motioned to the rest. It’s time to go.

Eric grabbed Dorien’s thin arm, and the group headed into the forest.

Darkness surrounded them as they entered. The strange mist appeared to cling to the edges, but once they were a few meters inside, it dissipated. With cautious steps, the small band moved down the trail. Hours passed, and the forest, stayed the same. Small streaks of sunlight lit their trail, but it wasn’t enough to see into the depths. Forest birds chirped, but not once did they catch a glimpse of one. Even though their heightened senses took in everything around them, the original feeling of trepidation remained.

A chill took hold of them all. The damp, and the lack of sun didn’t help the situation. When they came upon a glade with a stream running alongside, they decided to make camp. Sunshine existed here, and the heat felt good on their skin. Once their camp was set, Eric sat beside Gillock.

With all these trees, it is difficult to see where we are going, he stated.

I will climb one and make certain we are on the right path, said Tark as he joined the two.

Knowing they had little choice, both nodded and watched.

Finding the tallest tree at the edge of the glade, Tark began his precarious climb. With careful foot and hand placements, he moved up the tree. The lack of sun made the limbs slick, but the elf was used to climbing trees, so it wasn’t too much of a hindrance. Once he was within the top branches, Tark marvelled at the sight. The forest extended everywhere he looked. Their current path was heading in the right direction, but he noticed more. Smoke, and from a few various sources. Most likely, they would be coming upon a small settlement during the next day. Climbing down, Tark gave his companions the news. There was only one trail, and deviating wasn’t an option currently. All they could do was hope those they looked destined to meet weren’t hostile.

CLIMBING OUT OF THE water, the dreadwraith howled with glee. During the short trip, it drained all the sailor’s fluids, and the creature watched as the ship sailed into the side of the cliff. Ignoring the sound of wood breaking apart, the dreadwraith turned its attention to the immense cliff lining the water’s edge. The creature knew he was almost fully developed, and that its prey wasn’t that far away. A small stream flowed through the rock face, and the wraith, a creature whose natural state was existing within shadows, once again became a part of them. Within a day, it stood back on the land. Sniffing the air, it caught the scent of the wizard’s magic. With a growl of pleasure, the wraith moved into the land. Soon the wizard it had been tracking all these weeks would be in its grasp.

CHAPTER TWO

Asoft shaking, followed by a voice saying, Try not to move, woke Eric from his slumber. Slowly opening his eyes, Eric looked about and saw the others were doing the same. The sun was beginning to light up the area, and right before Eric was going to ask what was going on, a dark shadow passed overhead. Turning his head slightly, Eric caught sight of a green tail. Now he understood Tark’s message of trying not to move. They were in a small clearing, partially exposed to the sky above. The dragon might not be looking for him, but if it were hungry, they could all be in danger.

For a good few minutes, the group lay still, each pondering their situation. Centaurs could be following, dragons in the sky, and an unknown forest to trek through. All recognised the perils of this journey; nevertheless, each one was hoping to discover the mountain trove without incident. A sentiment that was obviously a dream. This new quest had been naught but trouble since they left the port in Hucksley. Chilled, and hungry, some found themselves wondering if they were going to complete this task set before them.

When Tark told them it had moved off, each one felt relieved. One problem averted, for the time being. Quietly, they packed up their items, eyes constantly scanning the treetops. When Dorien was ready, they moved into more dense trees, and hoped their luck would hold out.

The smoke was coming from over there, stated Firadon, pointing to their right. Are we going to see if they’re friendly?

Walking down what appeared to be a game trail, Tark stopped. I will scout. Keep following this trail. Without waiting for a reply, the elf moved off into the forest.

An hour went by, then two. Aremeth signalled to the group to sit, so the small group stopped for respite and food. Dorien was regaining strength, a sight which made Gillock happy. Sitting down on a log, the old wizard took the dried meat offered to him and observed the rest of the group. Eric was anxious, and for good reason. Soon, the prince would be in possession of a powerful item, and Gillock wondered if he could manage it. Firadon and Aremeth sat in silence, focussed on their meagre food. Gillock noticed that Aremeth’s brown skin appeared to be lighter and wondered if the toll of this quest was causing him to become sick. The southlander did not do well in the cold or damp. Pushing the thought aside he noted the looks. All were anxiously waiting for Tark’s return.

You appear to be a man with a problem, whispered Dorien. The young man sat down next to Gillock and saw the emotion running across his face.

Gillock looked at Dorien. I am simply feeling a little out of sorts, he answered. His response was not a lie. The venom from the dreadwraith was beginning to take its toll, and Gillock worried how much longer he had.

Not wanting to linger too long in one location, Firadon suggested they get moving. Once again, they were on their way, and there was no sign of the elf. Worry crept into Gillock’s heart, but he kept his thoughts to himself. When they found a small flat area, Firadon suggested they make camp, and wait. While setting up, Tark returned. Sitting down on a boulder, he told his tale.

They are gnomes of some kind, with human slaves, he stated. They have a wall of sharp stakes, and on them are decomposing bodies. I presume it is a warning to any who wish to attack, or to the slaves should they be thinking of trying to escape.

The news hit them hard. Their food was diminishing rapidly, and with no knowledge of the area, they may not ever find more. No fire was set, and constant watches were necessary. By morning, their path was set. They must head towards the mountain and worry about food along the way.

Tark continued to scout the area on all sides. Although he was certain the gnomes hadn't seen him, the elf