Einkil

By James E Thomas

Tyranny stirs beneath the largely peaceful kingdom of L'reon. Orc and goblin raids on towns have been increasing in frequency for no apparent reason. Within the valley of Mrawn lies the city of Fomrian, defended primarily by skilled duelist and elf-friend, Oren Fireforge. For the most part, Oren manages alright in the defense of Fomrian, but with the size and frequency of raids on the rise, his fall is inevitable. On that day, when Fomrian's defender fell, his cousin Einkil, a librarian in training, will take it upon himself to follow in his cousin's footsteps and become a defender of his home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667857336

Book preview

Character

Descriptions

Einkil Jadeheart Fireforge: Dwarf, 52 years old, 4’9", Short well-groomed beard and hair, hair color—black, eyes—green, often dressed in brown and green robes and boots

Oren Fireforge: Dwarf, 102 years old, 4’10", long well-groomed beard and hair, hair color—brown, eyes—brown, often dressed in an oversized gray tunic that conceals chainmail and trousers with steel toed boots

Shuko-Ahn: Elf, 137 years old, 6’1", hair braided down his back for 2’, hair color-silver, eyes—gray, often dressed in lightweight blue robes with thin mail armor underneath and shoes

Granor Fireforge: Dwarf, 205 years old, 5’, split braided long beard and no hair, hair color—black, eyes—green, often dressed in a gray tunic, trousers and smith’s apron with boots

Heina Fireforge: Dwarf, 206 years old, 4’7", short, well-kept hair, hair color—red, eyes—green, often dressed in a blue tunic, trousers with a smith’s apron and boots

Terean Fireforge: Dwarf, 413 years old, 5’6", no hair, hair color—N/A, eyes—orange, often dressed in an orange tunic, trousers and a smith’s apron with boots

Jada Fireforge: Dwarf, 49 years old, 4’9" short hair, hair color—brown, eyes—brown, often dressed in grey tunic and trousers with shoes.

Cerlu Amberheart: Dwarf, 100 years old, 4’9", long braided hair, hair color—brown, eyes—blue, often dressed in yellow robes with a satchel slung across her shoulder

Kirin-Tor: Human, 32 years old, 5’7", short hair kept shoulder length, hair color—blond, eyes—brown, often wearing leather armor and trousers with steel toed boots

Kagiso Naru: Human, 38 years old, 4’11", very short curly hair, hair color—black, eye color—green and brown, often wearing brown robes with a satchel slung by his side

Feykro-Ah: Elf, 206 years old, 6’11", long hair, hair color—brown, eye color—ash, often wearing a green/black/brown tunic with leather armor underneath, trousers and shoes. Extremely skinny

Merec: Human, 60 years old, 5’2", bald with a large mustache, hair color—red, often wearing a fancy blue and purple tunic and trousers with shoes

Races:

Dwarf: Short, stout and fierce, often have long beards and gruff voices. They are known for excellent metal-work and masonry as well as tenacity in battle. They mature at about age 60 and live to about age 800

Elf: Tall, graceful and wise, often have medium length hair and gentle voices. They are known for innate magical ability, combat prowess and fine metal-working. They mature at about age 100 and live to about age 2000

Human: Mid-height, ambitious and intelligent, have any kind of hair and voice. They are known for extreme adaptability, insatiable ambition and wits. They mature at about age 22 and live to about age 90

Halfling: Short, cheerful and kind, usually have short curly hair and high voices. They are known for excellent food, fantastic music and trustworthiness. They mature at about age 20 and live to about age 100

Gnome: Very short, inquisitive and introspective, usually have short hair and surprisingly deep voices. They are known for tinkered contraptions, medicinal ability and guile. They mature at age 30 and live to about 300 years of age

Orc: Very tall, straightforward and cantankerous, usually have braided hair and gruff voices. They are known for their insane strength, battle prowess and berserk fury. They mature at age 20 and live to about age 75

Ogre: Extremely tall, surprisingly quiet, dull, usually have no hair a loud bellow-y voices. They are known for strength that rivals the giants and taking sadistic pleasure in the torture of other beings. They mature at age 5 and live to be about 80

Giant: Extremely tall, philosophical, war-bound, usually have long greasy beards and no hair. They are known for their war-bound society, unthinkable strength and deep thought. They mature at about age 40 and live to about 1500 years of age.

Goblin: Very short, savage and sly, have no hair. They are known for cannibalism, brutality and natural wit. They mature at about age 3 and live to approximately age 30.

Calendar:

There are five days in a week: Newek, To-in, Midek, For-en, Endek

There are thirty days/six weeks in one month. One year is eleven months long.

Spring: Fresleaf, Sturen

Summer: Fulleaf, Kaaman

Autumn: Leafal, Acroan, Russetfol, Harnova

Winter: Baretree, Qion, Loern

Languages:

Elven: A graceful, flowing language that to most would sound almost like poetry, even when spoken normally. The typical speakers are High, Wood and Moon elves. Dialects include Wroenc; a mountain dialect and Brih; the coastal dialect

Dwarvish: An abrupt, quick paced language that would sound to most to be a continuous state of arguing. Typical speakers are Mountain, Hill and Deep Dwarves. Qeuaca is the dialect spoken by the few dwarven port towns.

Common: An amalgamation of several different languages including dwarvish, elven and goblinse; created by humans and the most commonly spoken language in the world. Taught as a second language by almost every sentient race in L’reon. There are several dozen different dialects, primarily among the nomadic tribes that dwell in Grele Region.

Gnomish: An energetic string of oddly pleasant words with clicks and chirps integrated in to identify word tense. Spoken primarily by gnomes. There are no known gnomish dialects.

Goblinse: A rough chattering language spoken by goblins and kobolds. Powerful goblin and kobold warlords have been known to develop their own dialects for superior communication in combat. Known dialects include; dialect of Warchief Brgee of the Goblins and Warchief Ashetei of the Kobolds.

Orcish: A grating, almost crude language in comparison to the other languages of L’reon. Spoken by primarily the orcs and the giants. There are no known Orcish dialects.

Quitch: A unique blend of common and goblinse that makes use of Elven grammar, developed and spoken by the Halflings. Quitch is the second most common language in L’reon and when most learn a third language-Quitch is it.

In general, most sentient beings will be able to speak their own language and common.

Prologue

Snow drifted lazily in the wind, gradually making its way to the sweeping hills of Mrawn Valley. It settled on the mighty oaks that stretched into the sky and the young saplings that had yet to grow. The snow fell in colossal sheets, painting the whole region a picturesque collage of gentle green and striking white. It also fell silently and impartially on the dwarven village of Fomrian. Fomrian was nestled in the safety of the hills and tucked beneath the shadow of Jade Mountain. The mountain loomed over the village of Fomrian like a stoic, resolute guardian and the dwarves of Clan Fireforge were proud to call the place home. The mountain was named for its copious amounts of jade. (The dwarves aren’t known for their creativity in names. They call things as they see them.) While exceedingly common and worth very little, the dwarves of clan Fireforge loved the green stone. The mountain was comprised of nearly all jade. When the sun is at its zenith the whole valley would light up in a magnificent emerald green.

The dwarves of Clan Fireforge had settled the valley many decades ago. Throughout the many generations of Fireforges in Fomrian, only a handful had become warriors. This is strange because most dwarves are born with iron in their bones and courage in their blood. Fireforge dwarves, however, are known for excellent metal and stone-working. Their craft is of quality, even among dwarves. Still, this is not what they boast about when meeting strangers, their boast is in their extensive archives of history. Rather than the courage and iron of their kin, their passion burns for art and for history.

One notable exception would be Oren Fireforge, Fomrian’s steadfast protector. Oren is an undisputed master of the longsword and one of very few dwarves to win the respect of the elves of Nerenah. In the year 1040, he had traveled through the sharp winter snow to the great city, Nerenah. Oren made the trek to compete in a martial tourney for the title of Grandmaster, or if you were a bladesinger, High Bladesinger; a bladesinger is the elven title for an undefeated master of the blade. Oren bested not one but two of the elven bladesingers before his eventual defeat. The elves, bladesingers in particular, he had defeated were none too pleased to have lost to a dwarf. The bladesingers were outraged not that they had lost, but their status was revoked to ‘merely a master’ by a duelist they did not respect. Bladesingers who entered the tournament understood that if they did not claim the title, they would lose their status as bladesingers. To them, however, it was an insult beyond imagining to have it taken by a dwarf. Upon defeating the second of the bladesingers in the tourney, Oren secured his place in the finals. Oren rested and enjoyed the crisp, cool winter air while waiting to see who he would face in the finals, anticipation seemingly lost on the serene dwarf. Oren didn’t have to wait long to find out. He was set to duel renowned bladesinger Shuko-Ahn. It was a match that was as unusual as it was exhilarating. Most duels between masters were decided in mere seconds. Not so with Shuko-Ahn and Oren. Masters of the blade mutually understand that an inviolable imaginary line called their reach rests between them. To violate that boundary is to invite death, or in this case defeat. Contrary to what was expected, the combatants took their time. They made no mistakes atwix them. Back and forth, the grueling match ensued, neither Oren nor Shuko gave even a millimeter. Their skill was perfectly even, a master’s reach is only fatal if there is a difference in skill. So great is a master’s skill that even the difference of a hundredth of a second is all the gap needed in for a master to have victory. There was no difference in skill between them. Feint right, swing low and ready to block was met with, sidestep, parry and riposte. The match continued, back and forth, ebbing and flowing. Fire burnt bright in the eyes of the competitors until the nineteenth minute of the duel. Then, Shuko coughed. The cause didn’t matter, the opening was there. Oren pressed and delivered the winning stroke. In the instant he carried the stroke through, several deep melodious horns blew out low melancholic notes that made it seem as though even the wind was disappointed at how the match ended. The horns marked minute twenty. They had exceeded the time limit, and the stroke had not connected when the horns blew.

By default, the winner was Shuko, as all draws were given to the tourney host. The elves always hosted. Shuko was unlike the majority of elves. He shared their pride; but this dwarf, on this day, had challenged that pride. He knew that he lost that battle and he had come to understand Oren’s heart. Oren was true and noble and most of all humble. When a master crosses blades with someone who lives by their sword, they cannot help but to understand their opponent to their very soul. Oren had also come to understand Shuko’s heart. Shuko was valiant and honorable and uncommonly reasonable for an elf. Had this connection not been established, Oren would have been surprised to see Shuko approach him after the match.

The elf bowed low and spoke I am honored to have faced such a worthy adversary, and am proud to say, I lost

Oren, understanding what it meant for an elf to lay down his pride, countered, My stroke was far too slow; I was aware of the rules and concede defeat. In truth, the blade flew so fast that it wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Only Oren’s mastery stopped his swing from connecting in the instant that the horns sounded. Aside from that, I took advantage of a cough. If it was down to solely our skill with the blades, a battle between us might go on for days and elves can stay awake longer than dwarves.

The reply was measured and calm but sincere. You honor me master dwarf. In battle, orcs and goblins don’t care if you cough or sneeze or trip. A master is not only the apotheosis of skill with the blade, but an eternal opportunist. When one sees an opening, one tends to strike.

You deserve the title as much as I. Oren looked briefly at the setting sun. I must be returning to Highmoon Inn; I leave at first light. As much as I’ve enjoyed crossing blades with true warriors, leaving Fomrian unprotected has rather worn on my mind. Rest well High Bladesinger.

And to you. replied Shuko.

Oren proceeded back along the bustling streets of the great city, drawing malicious stares as he went, not that it bothered him in the slightest. He entered the moderately sized inn and returned to his rented quarters for a well-earned rest.

Oren awoke just as the sun crested the horizon and bathed Nerenah in a gentle golden hue. Oren smiled at the sight. It wasn’t unlike the emerald light that bathed his village once a day. He didn’t take long to pack, all he had was a few rations and his sword. Oren was eager to depart mere minutes upon awakening. Stepping outside, he found Shuko waiting for him. Shuko stood from his position of rest, addressing Oren. He was holding a bundle of cloth.

Shuko spoke rather abruptly and directly. Here, take this. It isn’t the same as the title, but you deserve something. He then presented Oren with a longsword. It was suited perfectly to his height at 4’10" and its balance was without flaw. The sword’s blade was also a very faint tint of green with a broad quillon. Just below the quillon was a mahogany dyed veren (dried and cured fibers from Kōan trees, an elven specialty) wrapped expertly around the handle and ended on a small jade pommel stone to complete the hilt.

Oren gaped in awe I cannot accept such a gift, walinth blades are worth far more than some words in front of your name, and my clan would be outraged to see me carrying an elven blade.

Nonsense! A warrior of your caliber deserves a blade to match. I’ve had it specially inlaid with jade in honor of your clan. Shuko stopped, looking thoughtful. If your clan had access to walinth, they’d have made a blade equal to this for you by now. Shuko paused for a second time and continued, However, if such a blade would cause a rift between you and your clan, I understand if you must refuse.

To Shuko’s surprise, Oren grew pensive. His brow furrowed in thought, deepening gradually. Oren spoke, I’m sorry and I thank you. I will gladly accept this blade. I was ready to turn down your gift because of dwarven pride, my pride, even after you had set yours aside. Oren dipped his head and thanked Shuko in traditional dwarf fashion May this blade ever defend true friends and never be used for evil. Oren raised his head and continued. We dwarves are always griping about elven pride, myself among them. Now Shuko, I’ve learned something valuable from one of the elves so I complained about. With that, Oren accepted the blade and slung it across his back. Blades of this quality take weeks to make. How did you get it crafted in one day? asked Oren, his right eyebrow raised cynically.

The blade was already made, I requisitioned this one long ago, but misspoke its specifications. As a result, the blade was too short for me to use to its utmost effectiveness. I requested another blade. Shuko held up his own walinth sword and continued, I wanted to give something to you for your sportsmanship. I immediately thought of this sword and I noticed that the blade is perfectly suited to your height. All I did was have a jade pommel inlaid in place of the sapphire one.

You, my friend, stated Oren, are a very strange elf. I’ve not known elves to mis-speak.

Oren smiled broadly and launched into a traditional elven farewell. May our roads bring us together again one day High Bladesinger Shuko-Ahn of Nerenah, only once in the time of silver moons does one meet a true friend.

There were many replies to this farewell based on trade and social standing. Shuko replied with the bladesinger’s response: And may the roads we take ever lead us to the defense of those who cannot defend themselves.

As Oren left, eight elves, including the two former bladesingers he had defeated, cast him glares that could chill an ogre to its core.

Chapter One

Einkil awoke as always, to the sound of Oren’s sword practice. Even in the snow, Oren refused to miss practice, much to the irritation of his clanmates. Ever since Oren had returned from the tourney in Nerenah five years ago, he’d been very unpopular in the village. Still, the village needed him. The other Fireforges were unable to beat back the orc and goblin raids which were growing in frequency. There certainly wasn’t another in the village who could handle the occasional troll or ogre that wandered in. In light of this fact, the council had set him to the task of training worthy successors, though there wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that the council simply didn’t want an ‘Elf-Friend’ as their defender.

Einkil personally did not understand why his kin despised the elves. In youth, he’d followed along, but his naturally inquisitive nature bested his upbringing. Why did elves and dwarves despise each other? Einkil assumed it had started thousands of years ago with a friendly rivalry, but too much talk behind closed doors bred festering ill will towards their neighbors in the north. Now it was hatred, simply hatred. Hatred because elven craftsmanship was equal to or even better than theirs. Hatred of the troves of knowledge the elves so greedily kept. Hatred of their control of walinth deposits. Most of all, hatred of elven pride. Though, if you were to ask Einkil or Oren, dwarves were equally prideful, equally greedy and equally to blame for the feud that existed between the two races. This shared mindset often drove Einkil and Oren into one another’s company.

Since Oren first learned how to fight with a blade 24 years ago, Einkil had constantly pestered him for some lessons. Though the exact conversation changed from year to year, most