Pendragon Rising

By Darryl Anderson

Approximately 1,600 years ago King Arthur Pendragon, the once and future king, died. About 17 years ago he was reborn on another world.

On a world named Valherus, Merlin, who is called Mierlien, follows the signs, finds the baby he believes to be the reincarnation of the Pendragon. He saves the baby from monsters and ferries him to earth for Safety. Mierlien hires a woman to take care of the baby. She is a warrior of great skill, and a fierce momma bear. Jason, the Pendragon, is a typical kid with some special abilities. Other than being called on to save the worlds, he also has the power to see into peoples’ minds,, although he can’t really control it.

Although Mierlien is only trying to save one boy with a great destiny, Jason is joined by his two friends. Red, a smart ass with a sharp wit, and David, a nerd or a bookworm or both. They have been friends since kindergarten in their tiny town of Sweet Home and they refuse to let their friend leave without a good bye, even though they don’t believe he is just moving away all of the sudden. Mierlien makes a portal for himself, Jason, and Angie, the woman he hired to watch over Jason. Red and David chase after and make it through the portal.

Once in Valherus the group has to figure why Jason has been called up, what he needs to do, and they need to Save Camelot from a creature named Vaelyr who can control any undead. They are attacked from all sides, beset by treachery, and outnumbered five to one with very few able citizens to fight. If Jason succeeds the Earth will never know and if he fails the worlds may be destroyed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823001793

Darryl Anderson

I was born in the small town of Lebanon Oregon on January 03, 1969, which was the closest hospital to where lived in Sweet Home Oregon. I have always had a penchant for telling stories, but for the early years of my life my mom just called this lying. I love to write, and to create, and to entertain. This was my best way of doing this. As I got older, and the stories continued to inundate my mind, I had to start telling people. Mostly I verbally told them, because I would make it up as I go and the story never came out the same way twice. I put pen to paper, then a really old word processor, and finally into my computer. The reason I started writing them instead of just telling them, so that they would have some consistency when I did tell them. People have asked me where I get the ideas for my stories. I don’t know really. The entire universe of the Pendragon popped into my head when I was trying to sleep one night. The characters of this story wouldn’t stop pestering me until I got up out of bed, put on some clothing, and got up to write everything down. I am not an author, as some have claimed; I am an indentured servant of imaginary creatures and people who force me to write their stories. I didn’t even attempt to publish until I got sick when I was 53. I realized if I die, many of the stories will die with me, and I really like these stories as if they were my prodigy, so I decided to try and publish, along with a lot of support from my family and friends. I hope you enjoy.

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© 2023 Darryl Anderson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  02/23/2023

ISBN: 979-8-8230-0180-9 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-0179-3 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter 1     Jason

Chapter 2     Fight

Chapter 3     Truth

Chapter 4     The Vision

Chapter 5     The Bridge

Chapter 6     The Master

Chapter 7     Hassinar

Chapter 8     Going Home

Chapter 9     Camelot Head

Chapter 10   Camelot

Chapter 11   Welcome Home

Chapter 12   The Regent

Chapter 13   Recovery

Chapter 14   Trouble on the Horizon

Chapter 15   Preparation

Chapter 16   On the Move

Chapter 17   The Siege Approaches

Chapter 18   Under Siege

Chapter 19   Night is Falling

Chapter 20   Midnight

Chapter 21   Dawn Approaches

Chapter 22   Dawn

Chapter 23   War with the Sunrise

Chapter 24   War

Chapter 25   Defeat

Chapter 26   Defeat Away

Chapter 27   A New Day

Epilogue

INTRODUCTION

The sky wasn’t even visible through the dark rain clouds overhead, let alone the constellations. It had been raining in torrents for nearly three full days. Mierlien was wet, cold, and miserable. He wanted desperately to create a fire and sit down for a while, but there was no time to warm old bones. Drudgingly he looked up at the steep mountain, between the trees and boulders, trying to find a path. Using his staff as a walking stick he pushed on, every muscle screaming at him with jolts of white-hot pain. Why can’t it ever happen in a nice warm tavern? Why the top of the Artiplan Mountains? Because if it happened in a nice warm tavern, it wouldn’t be a challenge. He answered his own question, as chilling rain dripped over the brim of his hat and ran down his cheeks in rivulets. The signs had told him about the birth. For the past six months, there had been rainstorms, and these were supposed to be dry seasons. Mierlien had learned long ago to listen to Nature. When she had a message for you, she might be subtle, but she would tell you if you listened. The rainstorms had been just a tap on the shoulder.

No boys had been born in Valherus in four months, although the birthrate was high now. Mierlien knew vaguely what this meant, but the specifics had evaded him at the time. Something was happening, and Nature was telling him that it would happen to a boy. The three days ago the Red Moon arose. It had looked as if the moon had been soaked in fresh blood. That was specific. Mierlien knew that meant the boy had been born, and that he must find him, no matter what it took. Red Moons came and went, pale pink or orange to the naked eye, caused by cloud cover, forest fires, or even the curvature of the planet. This was different. The blood red moon only rose when a Pendragon was born. Mierlien consulted the stars, and read the tea leaves, and even consulted bones. All had pointed to the Artiplan Mountains, but no place specific. These mountains were crawling with goblins, hobgoblins, wolves, and even ogres. Few people risked living in these wild mountains. Mierlien could only think of one village that dared risk existing in this area, and he hadn’t been there in a long time. There was a chance that he was wrong about the location, but the baby was born in these mountains, he would have to be someplace where people still were.

He trudged on through the dark mud, slipping every so often, and using his staff to catch him. If any of the Council of Edinar saw him using such a powerful artifact in such a manner, he would be scolded for years to come. They couldn’t see him. He had outlived the last of them so long ago that the very memory of them was starting to fade. Mierlien’s breath was coming in deep struggling gasps as he made his way. The cold damp air burned his lungs, and he could feel the strain on his organs. Up ahead, near a small rocky outcropping, he saw a fir tree with branches wide enough to shelter him. It was time for a break. He pushed his way through the mud and underbrush until he reached the tree. The roots and rock held back the mud, and the ground was covered in a deep green moss. Mierlien flopped his old body down into the moss, feeling his bones creak, and sighed deeply. Pulling a pure white cloth from inside his dark blue cloak he began to clean his staff. He wiped the mud from the base first, and then meticulously polished each of the many gems in the shaft one at a time. The staff sparkled when he had finished, and glowed slightly of its own accord, casting light blue and green shadows onto the tree Mierlien was leaning back against.

He sat there for a short time, grumbling to himself about his bones hurting and about various states of affairs. He was thinking about giving up and lighting a fire under the tree, when he was broken away from his thought by a thumping and rumbling in the ground. It shook only slightly but enough to tell him that something big was coming up the mountain. The rumbling was coming in rhythmic intervals and steadily grew stronger as it came closer. Mierlien steadied himself and tried to hide deeper in the shadows of the tree, concentrating on the staff until its own glow ceased.

Get movin! We get there late on this one and it won’t be guard duty in Barask. We die. You understand that?! A deep gravelly voice yelled at someone.

Aye! Another voice answered. This one didn’t sound as gravelly but sounded hoarse nonetheless. Get movin hag! Or the gods help me I’ll eat you for lunch before I die! There was nothing audible, but the rumbling sped up and trees could be heard falling in its wake.

Mierlien knew what it was. They were his competition to find the newborn. The hagradon was going to be slow in this mud. Its massive body was shaking the mountainside with every step causing the rumbling Mierlien was feeling. ‘Probably brought it to kill anything in the way’, he thought. He didn’t want anything to do with the beast. Quietly he stood up and started off in another direction. He was still heading up the mountain but not in the same path the hagradon was taking. The hagradon yowled its hatred of the thing on its back, echoing from mountaintop to mountaintop. Go ahead, you dolts. Keep pushing that thing and I won’t have to worry about you. Mierlien said this aloud, not worried about being heard over the noise of the hagradon. His body still ached. He hadn’t rested enough, but there was no time to waste.

He was moving faster than the others were but he wasn’t sure how much faster. The hagradon would yowl once in awhile but it was hard to tell how far back they were. He pushed on past exhaustion. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to go on. His heart was pumping and sweat poured from him mingling with the rain. His breath came in deep painful gulps, as he looked on. The village would be just over the next rise. He pushed himself into motion again, forgetting the pain in his chest. He would deal with that later if he lived through this.

As Mierlien topped the small ridge, he looked through the rain down into a small mountaintop valley, at the small village he had known in younger days. Most of the buildings had fallen down now. Weather and age had taken their toll. The village looked entirely deserted, much like a ruin. His heart sank. He must have been wrong about the location. He moved down into the valley clutching his chest hard and limping. The fields were overgrown with wild vegetation, and the town looked as if it had been deserted for hundreds of years. Mierlien’s heart sunk. Where are you? He asked the air. The hagradon roared loud echoing off the ridges of the valley, reminding Mierlien of his presence. They weren’t far-off now.

As he entered the one muddy street of the abandoned village, Mierlien could see the group with the hagradon coming down the slope of the mountain valley. The giant gray beast was pushing trees out of its path on the way down, getting more annoyed by the close quarters the forest was offering. They were headed direct into the village. Quietly he wondered how they had known the location. That wasn’t important now. Now the child was at stake.

Mierlien limped through the center of the village. Now he was just trying to get away from the others. The boy must be somewhere else. That was at least a comfort. He had to live to get him. He tried running but his chest was hurting to bad. He ducked into a small disheveled shack, hoping to find safety as the others made it into the small village following the same muddy road. There was a loud crash, and the sound of debris falling. Mierlien knew from experience what this sound was. The hagradon was smashing the buildings with its long tail as its masters looked for the infant. Another crash shook the tiny shack he was in. He had to leave before this building was crushed under the weight of the giant beast.

Mierlien snuck out of a large hole in the back wall of the shack, where a tree had grown through it long ago. He looked around trying to find the best path away and got his first good view of the hagradon. The beast must have been a full-grown adult. It was nearly twenty feet tall at the shoulders, a broad head sat atop its thick muscled neck, topped in a bright white skullcap of bone. Tusks swept out from its mouth, like those of an elephant, but thicker and a bit shorter in scale. It had no visible ears, but two small holes pierced the side of its round head. The body of the beast was thickly muscled and as long as it was tall, with a bulky tail stretching out behind it, ending in a large bulb made of solid bone with spikes protruding from it like a monstrous mace. The goblin riding the beast must have been daft or perhaps daring. If the creature were to ever get a chance, he would be dead in a second. Hagradons were known for their memory.

This was Mierlien’s first close-up look at the creatures that controlled the hagradon. They were black goblins, far from their mountains homes in the south. They were hideous creatures about the size of a man with thick hairy arms that looked almost oily black. Their large yellow tusks stuck out from their lips and light green eyes stared dumbly out of flat faces. All of them, save one, carried long swords made of steel. Individually they posed little threat, but there were nearly fifty of these creatures and a hagradon to boot. The leader carried no weapon, to show that he was far superior to his underlings, as he rode atop the shoulders of the hagradon in a small wooden throne.

He could see other goblins milling about and the hagradon swinging its massive serpentine tail at another small building. This building too gave under the blow, splintering into countless shards of ancient rotted wood. The hagradon bellowed a triumphal howl from his tusked head. Mierlien leaned against the building using its shadows to protect him from sight. Inch by inch he moved away from the beast and his controllers. He had to get to the hills on the other side of the little village. He moved from this building to the next, staying in the shadows, as he had seen the Shonin do many times. Before long he was near the edge of the mountains. Looking back he saw the hagradon still knocking down the buildings and crushing them in a blinding rage.

Mierlien turned, about to run into the woods, when he saw a small movement off to his right. He moved slowly in the direction the movement had come from. There behind a tree was a man. Come with me. If you stay here you will die. Mierlien commanded the man in a whisper.

No. He looked to Mierlien then back at the hagradon that was wrecking the village.

Why? Can you not see that you’ll have no village left when they are done? Mierlien tried to sound urgent, but he was curious about the man’s conduct. He hid behind a tree deathly afraid but refused to go when the time came.

My wife and son! They cannot travel yet, and I won’t abandon them! He stepped from behind the tree finding courage in his own words. The man was large, with dark hair and ice blue eyes. He was no doubt a Dorkagcht from the north. He had a nasty looking dagger in his hand and a small leather shield. Useless against the enemies he faced, but all he had. Help me fight them, or go now please. He turned the knife toward Mierlien, but not in a menacing fashion. It looked almost like a plea.

I’ll help. Where are your wife and the child? Mierlien readied his staff, trying to hide the renewed hope within his eyes.

We found a cottage in the trees just beyond that ridge when we heard them coming over the mountain. He pointed behind them.

Let’s go to them now. It’s the best place to make a stand. Hagradon aren’t good at fighting in tight places. Mierlien started to jog in that direction hoping the man would follow. He did. The man passed him and ran through the trees as if it were second nature to him. Mierlien fought off the pain in his chest trying to keep up. Soon he found the small makeshift cottage. It was more of a thatched house. No place for a baby, especially one of this nature.

He stepped inside and saw the woman, a southlander, holding a small bundle that wiggled around. Hello. Mierlien wished he could help more, but held his finger to his mouth that suggested for her to be silent.

Down in the village, the crashing eventually ended. The hagradon howled echoing off the surrounding hills. Fear welled up inside Mierlien. They were still following his exact path, and that scared him. He feared what would happen in the next few moments, but he knew he must face them. The man and Mierlien stepped outside for the last stand. The man readied his dagger and Mierlien pointed his staff towards the men and the creature they controlled. Trees cracked and shattered, and the shrieks of the goblins carried to them on the cool breeze. Within moments they appeared through the trees. The hagradon was growling and bellowing. The creature controlling him shouted curses at everything. The ground shook with each step as they approached the cottage.

The man charged them in traditional Dorkagcht fashion. Everything was up-front to them. Mierlien pointed his staff at a goblin, and a small ball of fire came out. It was a trick of the staff that cost Mierlien no magic. It didn’t look like much and moved slowly. As it approached the goblin it grew faster until it hit him, and flames engulfed the ugly beast. He screamed in his pain but it soon ended as he died there on the forest floor in a smoking heap. As soon as he was still the flame died. Mierlien looked over to see how the Dorkagcht was faring and watched as he ran a goblin through with that wicked looking dagger. Two more goblins lie dead at his feet, their blood contaminating the forest floor.

The hagradon fought with the trees trying to free himself, tearing out bough after bough of hundred-year-old trees. Mierlien pointed his staff at another group of goblins. The staff glowed brightly for a moment before the light faded again. The four goblins within his aim started to writhe in pain as their hearts ceased to beat, causing a chorus of screams from them. As those four fell to the ground seven more rushed forth. Throwing daggers and waving long swords at the dangerous humans. The Dorkagcht picked up a long sword from a fallen goblin and cleaved another’s feet from under him. He fought brilliantly, dodging while attacking and devastating his attackers. Two more of him and the fight would be ours. Mierlien thought.

Mierlien started to cast another spell, seeing the hagradon burst through its bindings of trees. The Dorkagcht was surrounded by eight goblins, fighting heroically. The leader was strolling toward him, calmly smiling. Mierlien raised his staff above his head, and energy crackled in the air. Go now! He commanded.

Master says we kill the boy. The lead goblin cocked his head, smiling cruelly from ear to ear; reaching behind his back he unsheathed a thin black sword and twirled it in his hand.

Mierlien unleashed the power of his staff, striking the hillside with a crashing sound. A blue wave of energy shot forth. Standing before Mierlien was a shape that still looked like the goblin leader, but made entirely of ash, except the thin black sword, which fell to the ground immediately. The trees, the goblins behind him, even part of the hillside had all turned to ash in the wake of that blue wave. Mierlien looked over to where the Dorkagcht was still fighting. Mierlien could see several wounds in the man, no doubt inflicted by the goblins. A pile lie at his feet, one arm hung limply at his side, no longer functional. Mierlien felt sorry for the man. He was about to die at the hands of the goblins, but he refused to admit it. Mierlien turned his attention to the hagradon, and the remaining goblins. Behind him, Mierlien could hear the muffled sound of a baby crying.

Lifting his staff again, and whispering an ancient incantation in his own mind, he cast a simple spell that removed the bindings that held the hagradon blind and bound. This would cost him precious magic, but that staff would help with that. The straps of leather and wood dropped away from the creature, and it roared. It was unlike the sounds it had made earlier, this was a true freed rage as it began to stomp its captors. Mierlien heard a low grown from the side and glanced over in time to see the Dorkagcht warrior fall, joining the bodies of the other goblins lying there, fouling the ground with their blood. Five goblins charged forward, making for the cabin, where the baby was crying.

Mierlien spread his feet and planted them firmly in the dirt to stabilize himself, as he prepared to cast another spell, but then rethought his position. He had plenty of magic to deal with these creatures, but he was going to need all of it soon enough. He couldn’t put the boy at risk for lack of magic. Mierlien had to resort to other methods. Reaching into his robe he pulled a small black leather satchel, filled with a fine silvery powder. Mierlien looked down the hill to the goblins that were charging toward the cabin. Mierlien pulled the string on the satchel and threw it as hard as he could toward them. As he threw the satchel it split open and the silvery powder burst into the air, spreading on the breeze. The powder spread into a fine mist, as the goblins charged through it. With each breath, it went to work, coating their lungs. When in the lungs the fine powder began to swell, each grain growing a hundred times its original size, and filling the goblins’ lungs to capacity. The creatures charging up the hill slowed as Mierlien watched. Fear filled their faces and they tried to scream, but their lungs couldn’t push out the screams. Each began to thrash and panic, hastening their end, until one by one they began to collapse, pawing at the ground. Soon, for them, the fight was over, as they lie sprawled out and still, their black faces still looking up the hill horrified.

The hagradon was doing his part, slamming his body into the trees and stomping his huge feet, trying to squish the goblins that were running away. Their leader was gone and their greatest asset was now an enemy. The goblins did what they were best at. They retreated to regroup in the meadow village, so they could try to regain control of the hagradon. The hagradon gave chase, filled with rage at the creatures that had been tormenting it. The goblin that had been controlling the beast from atop his makeshift saddle, held on for dear life. He no longer controlled the beast and did his best to try to pretend he didn’t exist. Mierlien listened and watched as the goblins scurried down the hill, chased by the thunderous sound of a rampaging hagradon. It was easy to tell they were getting further way just by the sound, and the shaking of the ground.

Mierlien looked back at the cabin. The door was open and the cries of the baby could be heard from inside. Mierlien ran to the door and looked inside. The cabin had only one room, with a bed, an old broken chair, what used to be a table and a crumbling fireplace. Kneeling on the floor in front of the bed was a goblin, its chest was expanding and contracting very slowly, and it wasn’t moving. Mierlien closed the distance in two steps and found the goblin kneeling over a woman lying in the bed. The baby in her arms was crying, and her bright green eyes were locked intently with those of the goblin kneeling in front of her. Still clasped in the goblin’s hand was a sharp black dagger, which had been plunged into the woman’s sternum.

Without taking her gaze from the goblin’s, she whispered. Don’t stand there. Kill it! I can’t hold it much longer. Her eyes were tearing up, and Mierlien knew that she was holding the goblin in a trance, with a knife in her sternum.

Mierlien reached into his robe and removed a small silver dagger. It was only a ceremonial dagger, not meant for combat, but the blade was sharp enough to serve its vile purpose now. Mierlien reached around the goblin and slid the dagger under the greasy black skin of its neck. The thing’s hide was thick, and the cutting was slow. Mierlien thought to slide the dagger across and make one deep slice through the thing’s neck, but that wasn’t possible. The blade was not sharp enough for a smooth slice. Mierlien pressed the blade harder against the goblin’s neck and forced it through the skin with a sawing motion. Soon the goblin began to bleed out in dark red gushes of blood onto the floor of the cabin. Mierlien pulled back on the thing to keep the blood from covering the mother and child and then pushed it backward. It fell frozen to the floor. Its frozen body unable to react, or even scream in pain and horror, simply lie on the floor in that same strange crouching position, as its dark blood covered the floor of the tiny cabin.

Lie still. The woman in the bed was staring up at him, tears rolling out of her eyes. The baby in her arms was screaming as well. Mierlien pulled the knife out slowly, being careful not to nick the woman’s heart, and threw it to the floor with a clatter. Touching his staff to the wound in the woman’s sternum, he began muttering over and over under his breath. A boy needed a mother, if nothing else. A moment later he stopped, lifted his staff and examined the wound. It had healed, with no sign that it had been stabbed. Reaching into one of the endless pockets of his robe, he pulled out a small black pouch with a golden string tying it shut. Opening the bag he took a small pinch of the powder contained within and sprinkled it lightly over the baby. Within seconds his crying had stopped, replaced by cooing noises.

He continued looking at the woman, whose breathing was now coming in labored slow pulls of air. Her breaths sounded wet. Mierlien had healed the wound he could see, but he wasn’t sure if he had saved her. Something else was wrong. He would prefer the baby enjoy the protection of his mother, especially one as fierce as this, but he didn’t know how long she had lain like that, using all of her strength to hold the goblin entranced. Her eyes were closed, as he watched and waited, listening as well to the sounds of the battle down the hill dying down. Mierlien moved the baby off his mother and laid him on the mattress.

Rolling the woman over, he found the mattress beneath her soaked with blood. There was more blood than there should have been for one wound. Mierlien quickly removed the woman’s shirt and found a nasty wound where the goblin had stabbed the woman between the ribs, with an incision about three inches long. It had no doubt nicked or sliced the woman’s heart. Mierlien lifted his staff and began his incantations again, touching the staff to the wound. It didn’t heal and didn’t seal up. He tried again, pushing more magic up from his being and out through the staff, but once again it was no use. This waste of magic would cost him, but this woman showed promise and the boy was important. The wound had stopped bleeding, but would not heal. Mierlien looked at the woman’s face and understood why. He could heal the living if he knew what ailed them, but he could not heal the dead. The woman had succumbed to her wound as he was discovering it. The boy would have no real mother or real father, but he was still alive. It was happening all again.

Without a word Mierlien picked up the baby, who was now sleeping and tucked him close to his body, wrapping his robe around the boy. Listening carefully he stepped out of the cabin and moved to a vantage point where he could see down the hill and into the village. Mierlien couldn’t see the entire village, but what he could see was all but demolished. Dead goblins lie here and there in his field of vision, and it was obvious what had killed them. Each of them had been trampled and stomped to a pulp of shapeless flesh and blood. Mierlien could hear the hagradon still down there thrashing around, but Mierlien couldn’t clearly see if the hagradon was attacking goblins or if he was just finishing taking out its anger on the destroyed buildings.

Mierlien laid the baby in a soft spot of moss behind a tree he was using as cover and stepped out to get a closer look. All but three buildings, lying on the edge of the village, were destroyed. Mierlien could see no goblins anywhere, and if any were left, there wouldn’t be many. Dead goblins lie strewn about everywhere. The hagradon still wore the limp body of his master, strapped into his saddle, flopping limply like a rag doll. Mierlien could wait here and the thing would eventually go away, but he wanted to use one of the non-destroyed buildings for a camp tonight. The thought of camping in the blood-soaked room of the cabin was not only distasteful to the old wizard, but it would be the first place any goblins that had escaped would think to look for the child.

The hagradon was seeking the little goblin creatures that had been giving it pain. It wanted to make sure that they were gone and wouldn’t bother it ever again. It wouldn’t stop until it was sure. Mierlien was no expert in hagradon lore. But he knew enough that they didn’t forget that which gives them pain. It had a simple mind and would not deviate from what it wanted. Mierlien looked to the far edge of the meadow, on the slope going up the other side of the mountain. Mierlien made the branches of the trees there move and wave as if something were walking over there. The hagradon heard the movement and stomped the ground angrily. Mierlien used his magic to snap two branches, and the hagradon charged, sure the goblins were there. The dead goblin on his back bobbed and weaved as the hagradon ran. Mierlien continued this way, leading the hagradon up and over the ridge, which left a path clear of trees in its wake.

The hagradon made its way over the mountain and down the other side tearing a path through the forested mountain. The creature’s strength seemed nearly boundless when it was enraged. Mierlien didn’t like the thought of releasing a wild hagradon in the mountains here, which would no doubt wreak havoc everywhere it went, but it couldn’t be avoided. The creatures were tough, as well as resistant to his magic, and Mierlien didn’t have time to worry about the thing. He stepped back under the tree and the orphaned boy was still lying there, sleeping peacefully, unaware that he had been the focus of a battle where both his parents had been killed.

Mierlien marched down the hill into the village. For the first time since the battle began Mierlien let his guard down, and felt the pain rushing back. His body was aching from the strenuous output, and his chest was still aching horribly. It was a short walk to the closest building. Mierlien searched the building, and as he had hoped there was no sign that the goblins had entered into the building. Mierlien found the remains of a dresser, which still had two dilapidated drawers. He silently thanked the gods for the artisan who made this dresser. Opening one of the drawers he placed the baby into the drawer as a makeshift crib. The baby didn’t care, still under the affects of the relaxing powder, he cooed at the old man leaning over him.

Keeping the building in sight, Mierlien set out around the building looking for old wood. There was no cut firewood because the place had been abandoned far too long. Mierlien looked at the destroyed buildings and came up with enough shattered lumber to keep a fire for the night. Back inside, Mierlien sprinkled flash powders from his robe on the door and windows, to make sure that no one could enter the building without him knowing. Within minutes he had a fire blazing in the old fireplace, and the warmth of it soothed and leached the pain from his old aching bones. He didn’t want to give his position away, so from yet another of the endless pockets, he pulled a small red gem, and laid it on the hearth. Within seconds the gem began to glow faintly. The fire was still putting out the bone warming heat, but the light from the fire was subdued, and the smoke was all but invisible. Mierlien stripped out of his old robes and removed his boots, all of which he placed by the fire to dry for the night. The baby, his powders, potions, and staff, he kept within arm’s reach.

Mierlien had a small dinner of hearty wafers, a mixture of dried meat, wheat, and vegetables, baked into a cracker that would last years if needed. They tasted alright, but not the fair that Mierlien would have wanted if he had the time, or could spare the magic. The fight had taken more of his magic than was wise, and he needed all of it for the events of tomorrow. Mierlien pulled a small bag out of one of the pockets by the fire. Poking a small hole in the end, he tipped the makeshift bottle and placed the tip in the baby’s mouth. The baby ate as if he were starving. Mierlien had spent hours enriching the milk with the proper ingredients and nutrients to make the baby healthy and strong, with elements and items of alchemy that he had contained within his robes. The milk would last a week with the preservatives Mierlien had added, and that would have to be long enough to make the journey.

The morning was announced by a bird flying in through the glassless window, carried by the breeze and the possibility of a bug eating the decaying wood of the house. As the little creature entered the house, Mierlien’s alarm went off with a soft hissing then a pop, as the bird lit on the seal, and disturbed the powder. Luckily the alarm was only a soft noise that Mierlien was trying to hear and did not alert the baby, which would have no doubt resulted in a screaming fit that would have drilled holes in Mierlien’s pounding head, and pulled any goblin within earshot to his location. Mierlien scanned the house quickly, assessing what had set off the alarm, and finding the tiny bird, pecking at something on the old slat floor. The night had not been kind to Mierlien’s old body, with no mattress, but at least the fire had lasted through the night.

Mierlien looked out the window at the ruined village. The carrion birds had found the numerous dead goblins that littered the area. The noise would help to disguise that of his own. There were no buildings blocking his view, since the hagradon had been kind enough to remove all the obstacles yesterday, and Mierlien had a clear view of most of the meadow. Across the meadow Mierlien could see movement, coming down the side of the hill in the path the hagradon had made on its retreat from the village. Mierlien guessed that this would be the rest of the goblin attachment. Pulling a small spyglass from one of many pockets in his robe, Mierlien took a closer look at the precession. Another group of goblins, as large as or larger than the one before was tramping down the hill. In the back, in a bright red robe was a skinny goblin with a crooked walking staff. He was either a tribal shaman or maybe even a wizard of their own. Damn. Mierlien sprinkled the baby with a dash of the powder to make sure he stayed relaxed, didn’t cry, and hopefully would stay asleep.

Mierlien had to work fast. From his robe, Mierlien pulled a large purple stone with a rounded top and a flat bottom. Mierlien found a clear spot on the floor with enough room to perform his task. Glancing out the window, he mentally marked how far the precession had progressed and estimated how much time until they made to the valley floor and began checking the remaining buildings. They would be here soon. Spreading his feet, Mierlien planted the base of his staff into the floor with a loud crack. Almost instantaneously the gems in the staff all began to glow, in order rising from the base of the staff to the tip, casting dancing lights on the walls of the room. The large gem in the tip lit and glowed a brilliant orange, and there was a faint humming sound. Mierlien muttered words over and over under his breath. Few wizards had ever even known these words existed, and fewer still had ever uttered them.

The purple stone on the floor erupted with color, mimicking the orange light from the staff. From the center of the stone, hundreds of tiny lights sprang forth and shot into the air in a swarm and started spinning in a small circle, increasing in speed and growing larger with every second. Before him, a glowing circle formed dancing in the air like a circle of brilliant fireflies. Mierlien’s chest was still hurting from last night and was beginning to hurt worse with the casting of such a powerful spell. The staff helped, but it could not contend with a spell of this magnitude. The pain was starting to shoot down his left arm. He knew this sickness but had not expected it in himself. He cursed his own overconfidence. It would kill him soon if he didn’t heal himself, but he couldn’t spare the magic. This spell would take every ounce of his power, and all of the magic that his staff contained as well. Neither could he afford to waste his magic stones or he would be stuck there with no way home again. He just clung to a tiny hope that his body could resist the sickness of the heart that threatened him. Mierlien removed a small leathery leaf from one of the many pouches in his robe and began to chew it.

The firefly circle widened and grew taller. It cast no heat, but the hairs on Mierlien’s arms stood up and his skin tingled. Soon it was large enough for Mierlien to step through. The leaf Mierlien was chewing was working its miracle, and the pain was subdued, but not gone. Mierlien leaned his old body over, picked up his stone, and grabbed his staff from the floor, before he stepped into the firefly circle, feeling as if he were stepping through a thick membrane that resisted him, but in the end succumbed and allowed him to move through. Once he had made his way through the portal he was standing on a gray bridge stretching out beyond his sight, made of perfectly smooth material even he didn’t know of. The between is what he called this place. It may have had a proper name, but no one had ever bothered to learn it or to teach it to Mierlien. No one, not even Mierlien wanted to be in this place. It had no color, no dark, and no light. It was the color of air if air was not tainted by the colors around it. It would be quite beautiful, he thought, if it weren’t so dangerous. He walked on praying the baby stayed sleeping.

As Mierlien walked along the bridge, walking as fast as he quietly could, he watched the creatures that inhabited this realm searching for their food. They ate the souls of those that couldn’t find their way across the bridge. The creatures were shiny smooth gray things made up of a wide set of gray graceful leathery wings that were an extension of their body, with a slick body, and no head. Their mouths were toward the top of their bodies, with no teeth, but wide gaping holes and a long hooked tongue that Mierlien had seen them use to latch onto their prey. The things glowed with an inner light and blended into the gray uncolor of this place. He watched as they floated this way and that, flapping their wings only occasionally in search of their prey. From what Mierlien could tell, the things were blind and hunted by sound alone like bats. They had floated next to him many times in the past, and as long as he was silent, they paid him no attention.

Lost souls could be found walking this wide long stretch of road. Mierlien wasn’t sure but the souls seemed to travel to this land from the other land, and vice versa. Once you had finished a life in one land clearly you were sent to the other, but he wasn’t sure what the criteria were. There were not nearly enough souls on this road to account for all that had died in two worlds. He often wondered who these souls were, and what horror, or what wonder; they had done to grant them passage on this road. He was passing one of those souls now. It moaned incessantly as it shamble-stepped by. It still resembled the human form, but the likeness stopped there. The souls had no faces, and their bodies were mere vapor like husks. Mierlien wished the pathetic thing luck but pushed it on. The hunting creatures that lived here would eat him as quick as a soul, and it was making too much noise.

The bridge stretched on for miles, and Mierlien had never bothered to measure his steps across the thing. He knew it would take what felt like days to make it through, and he was not afforded sleep in this realm. He had tried to sleep here once. He slept for days, or maybe weeks, before waking up. He would not have ever awakened at all, if it had not been for the scream of a soul being devoured right next to him and struggling to break free. The thing had screamed in his ear and had shaken his living body as it struggled to get past him as it tried to get away from the Soul’s Death. Even at this, Mierlien had to struggle awake and found himself groggy and barely able to open his eyes. When he finally pried his sleepy eyes open, he saw the poor soul forced to the ground, still screaming, as creature latched on and fed on it, leaving not even a corpse. A large swarm of the creatures, which he had named Soul’s Death, headed right for the still screaming soul. Mierlien had made it out of that scrape without being fed on, but only just. It took him all of his strength and several minutes, to regain his alertness after he woke. Since then he had never allowed himself the privilege of sleeping in this place.

Mierlien walked on, chest aching again despite his remedy. He was avoiding the shambling souls who sought him out like a beacon, wishing nothing more than contact with another soul, and to feel what it was like to live again. It seemed like hours since he had entered the between. Mierlien was tired and felt as if he could go no further. He knew he couldn’t sleep, but he could rest. Mierlien pulled his hood up over his head, hiding his features, and tucked the baby close to his chest, inside the robe. He sat as still as he could, refusing to move, and refusing to draw any unwanted attention to himself. He sat for a long time, letting his arms and legs rest, taking in long slow deep breaths and letting the air refresh his body. Without noticing he caught himself trying to drift, inching toward the sleep that would claim him, and probably the baby too. Starting, he forced his eyes open and tried to force his mind awake. His mind was cloudy and was having trouble forming thoughts. He forced his mind to focus on being alert. His mind latched on the thought of a bright blue bag, which was found somewhere in a robe, he remembered that. Concentrating he focused on that bag. Left side, eighth pocket down. His hand, moving slowly, reached into his robe, and went to the left side, the eighth pocket down. He could feel several small bags, but he thought of only the blue one. The other bags shifted away and only one was left touching his hand. Opening it he took a pinch of granules from the bag and snorted it off his fingers.

Almost instantaneously the vigor returned to his body, and his mind sharpened. All sleepiness was blasted from his brain by the powder. Mierlien stood up and began walking as fast as he could as if afraid the sleep would catch up to him. The burst of energy lasted hours, but the fear of sleep was short-lived, and Mierlien settled back into his stride. Somewhere near the middle, Mierlien felt a familiar presence. Here another bridge joined in a tee to the bridge he was on. Every time he crossed this bridge he could feel the foreboding presence watching him. He had once decided to find out where the bridge went but was turned back by magic far superior to anything he had available to himself. The magic not only sent him off the bridge but out the gate back into Valherus. Mierlien was without magic for a month after the encounter. Power like that could only come from the gods themselves. Mierlien had decided then that he shouldn’t try that path again, without several magical artifacts. This time too he felt the presence watching him, waiting for him to step foot on the forbidden path of the second bridge. It took time for him to get past that side bridge, but he didn’t step on it, and soon enough he was passed. The presence ended as soon as he was passed.

He seemed to walk forever on the main bridge, leaving the tee and the second bridge far behind. Suddenly he felt movement. The baby was fussing. The baby had been awake for hours, but had been content with the constant rocking motion caused my Mierlien’s gait. Mierlien tried to rock the baby to keep him quiet but the baby didn’t care. The baby let out a few preliminary grunts to let the world know he was about to cry. The grunts turned into whimpers as Mierlien tried to hurry his weary body across the bridge. He could see the end of the bridge now, but it was so far-off. The baby was starting to cry now. The Soul’s Death all took notice. They were starting to swarm and circle, like sharks to blood. Mierlien was starting to panic. The baby was wailing now, and the creatures were closing in for the kill. There were hundreds of them. He couldn’t let the boy die, and if he died the baby would surely follow, and everything was lost.

He tried to muffle the child as he ran but he was afraid he would kill the boy if he muffled too much. One of the creatures lunged past his head barely missing both of them. Another struck with its gaping maw. It passed through Mierlien’s skin without a scratch and he could feel the thing latching on and sucking. As it attacked, Mierlien felt a deep painful loathing. The creature had bitten his soul and was trying to tear it away. He cried out in pain. He pointed the staff at the thing, but it was used up trying to get here. He ran on, dragging the creature with him, hurting deep within his soul from the creature’s hold, as its wings tried to engulf him to feed properly, but Mierlien’s fast pace kept it from finding purchase on his body. He tried to shake back and forth, which made the pain worse, but the creature held firm. More of them were closing now.

In the blink of an eye, one of the creatures swooped down and settled on the baby in Mierlien’s arms, latching its gaping mouth securely on the infant’s chest. The creature began to feed on the baby, whom was soon to be dead from the feeding. The baby let out an ear-piercing scream of pain echoing into the nothingness of this place. The scream hurt Mierlien’s ears but also hurt his body. The creature yowled as well and darted away from the baby. The creature holding Mierlien retreated as well. Mierlien wasn’t sure what the child had done, but it hurt these creatures as if it were a sharp blade. The pain was still there but it was less. More of the creatures were coming and Mierlien was unsure of how good a tool the boy’s howling could be. They were both drawn and repelled by the sound. He ran as fast as his old legs could carry him. The exit portal was just a few more feet. Mierlien was grateful that he would not have to create the exit, as he had neither the time nor the power to create a gate right now. The exit portals had always been present, the only way for the souls to leave this road.

Another of the creatures dove and swooped at them, but Mierlien dodged. It caught him anyway but not a good hold. Mierlien turned backward and faced the creature. Clutching the infant boy close to his chest, Mierlien dove backward through the portal. The creature’s grip held but it tore. Mierlien and the child went through the portal, but something deep within Mierlien had been torn. Mierlien landed hard on some sort of hard ground. His head bounced off the ground from the impact, sending another shiver of pain to wrack his body. The portal was still open, but quickly closing. The creatures swarmed toward him, but they couldn’t pass into this world.

It took some time, but Mierlien got up and looked around. The bridge was constantly moving so that the exact location he had landed was a mystery. He was obviously in a forest of some sort. Large fir trees spread out before him. He could see no sign of any city. There was a path nearby made of a strange black stone. It looked grainy but it held firm. Upon closer inspection, it was made of many tiny stones that had been glued together with some sort of tar. He took the infant, and his pain, and walked on down the path. The immediate danger had passed. The pain was now starting to sink in. His chest and arm still hurt, and the wound the creature in the between gave him still hurt terribly, although he couldn’t pinpoint a location of the pain. He wondered who could heal a wound on the soul. He doubted anyone could.

He started down that strange black stone path and the world began to spin out of control. He forced himself down into a sitting position and laid the boy carefully on the ground on a patch of soft grass and fir needles. Vertigo was setting in. He knew he was about to pass out. Darkness invaded his vision, and then he was gone. A warm fog of comfort settled over him. All the pain faded into that fog. All except the pain the creature had inflicted on him. He could see that creature even now. It was chewing on something. It had to be a piece of Mierlien’s soul. He cried at the pain of it, but no one would ever know. Mierlien had not cried in many decades.

It seemed like he had slept an eon. When he awoke it was slow and painful. His eyes were fuzzy but less than they had been in the between. Mierlien tried to raise an arm to wipe away the blur, but his arm had been tethered and it hurt to tug on it. Slowly his eyes focused on their own. The pain in his chest was back but it was subdued. His arm no longer hurt. He looked around and saw that he was in a small white room with one large window on the side and an oversized door. Someone had found them. The room was devoid of color, and even the trim and the door shared the same coating of white paint. Mierlien’s mind still felt fuzzy and slow.

Little by little it came flooding back to him. The boy! He bolted upright in his bed nearly tearing the tethers in his arm. A woman in white ran over to him speaking a strange language. Mierlien stared at her for a moment, confused by the sounds coming from her mouth. It was foreign, yet strangely familiar. Using all of his concentration he cast a small spell to himself hoping that his magic was strong enough in this realm. Magic didn’t seem to work here, at least not very well. The spell worked and the woman’s speech started to form phrases and sentences. They seemed strange but he could understand them. Sir please, you’ll hurt yourself. Her voice was slightly harsh but it held genuine concern.

Where is the child? His voice sounded deathly ill to him. Completely detached and barely more than a whisper.

He’s fine. Is he your grandson? She smiled at him. She looked genuinely concerned. He didn’t get hurt at all. We can let you see him in a little while.

No not my grandson. Mierlien was confused. The attire was all wrong. He had been trying to get to the place with no magic. Yet these priests, for that was what they had to be, had healed him. Where am I?

You are in Lebanon hospital hun. You have had heart surgery, and you should rest. She messed with the tether on his arm. If he’s not your grandson, what relation is he to you? There was a slight tone of inquisition in the priestess’ voice.

Mierlien knew this was what he had been looking for. Not magic but medicine. Had this strange land progressed that far? The gods must truly be dismayed that their second could reach them as well as the first. I found him in the woods where I was. He lied. I was hoping to get him to the authorities, but I fell ill trying to get here. Is the boy all right? Mierlien’s mind was coming back fast. Have you been able to find his parents?

Really? The lady in white was astounded. That puts a whole new twist on things doesn’t it? She turned and walked hurriedly out of the room.

Mierlien spent the next two weeks repeatedly explaining how he had found the child abandoned in the woods near town, and that he had tried to get the child to town for the child’s safety. Mierlien also had to explain that it had taken him years to make that ‘fancy walking stick’ and that no one was going to watch it for him. They agreed to leave it in his closet so he could keep an eye on it. He explained all of this to the priest doctors, and to the nurses, and over and over to the local magistrates. They dressed more peculiar than even the high courts of Anderlan. Eventually, he felt better, and they seemed satisfied with his carefully practiced lie, especially since no one had been missing the boy. Another would raise the boy until he was old enough. Mierlien would watch and help to keep him safe in this strange land.

The one question that he couldn’t answer well enough for them was who he himself was. They eventually decided that he was a vagrant, which suited Mierlien’s purposes fine. Mierlien agreed that he was a vagrant and that he was thankful for the bed and the food. After that, they had sent in another of the priest doctors, who did nothing but talk to him and ask him strange questions, which Mierlien decided, were to find out if his mind was healthy. Eventually, he too was satisfied that Mierlien was harmless, with the help of a simple mind control spell, which took way more effort than Mierlien would have liked. Mierlien hated casting spells in this land.

The day he was to leave the hospital he asked to see the boy as he was standing on the steps of the hospital. They agreed since the boy had not come up on any missing children sheets. Mierlien wasn’t sure what that meant, but it seemed to satisfy the magistrates. He was, after all, the one who saved the boy’s life. When the boy was brought to him, he had grown more than Mierlien had expected. He held the boy in his arms and whispered so low only he could hear it. It nearly cost both of us our lives but we did it. Now we can rest easy, aye little one. He smiled at the boy who laughed at him. He had his mother’s green eyes.

In this world, magic was not common, and where it existed it was muted. Mierlien’s magic was greatly diminished in this land, and even simple spells were now extremely difficult. He looked at the lady who was holding the boy. May I give him a gift before I leave?

I don’t see why not. She smiled sweetly at the old man and tickled the boy under his chin.

Mierlien handed the lady a small bracelet covered in small blue stones. To Mierlien it glowed brightly, but he was trained in such things. The stones were scrying stones. They would help Mierlien locate the boy when he needed to. It was simple magic, but even the simplest of magic was radiant in this world. Mierlien smiled at the lady holding the infant. It was on his wrist when I found him, but I didn’t want anyone to take it from him, so I kept it for him. Would you be sure no one takes it from him dear? It may be the only thing his parents had to give him. Mierlien did his best to cast a concerned smile at the young lady.

No one is going to take anything from this little guy. You have my word. She looped the bracelet around the baby’s wrist. I’ll make sure he takes it with him to his new home also.

Goodbye for now little man. It wouldn’t be long before he returned. The boy would still need protection, but Mierlien would need to heal these wounds even more, and he would need supplies if he was to watch over the boy. He looked forward to studying this land again, and its many miracles.

Mierlien turned on the bottom step of the hospital steps, without another word, and walked away from the hospital. He could feel the scar on his chest where they had cut him open. He was still amazed at the skill this world’s doctors had. Mierlien used his recovery time in the hospital, along with some well-placed spells, to learn modern English from a nurse. It was a far cry from the language spoken by Arthur, although the language shared the same name. While lying in that bed for so long Mierlien had discovered a marvel, called television. With it he had learned many things. He was in a place called Lebanon, but not the one he remembered in the east. This one was in a place called Oregon, in a country that had been a colony of the English. The country of England still existed. This world had mastered science and used it to perform numerous miraculous feats. Mierlien hoped his stash of supplies was still there, but he needed to go to a place now known as Scotland to find out.

Over the next week, Mierlien made many new discoveries. Mierlien had some money but found out that the people of this world no longer trusted gold, and often thought of it as fake. Mierlien found experts that could tell his gold was real and exchanged it for the paper currency of this world, only to find out that the value of the currency was not the same everywhere he went. The world