Kingdoms Bound: Rising Rebellion: Loth The Unworthy, #2

By Charles Eugene Anderson

For fans of Conan the Barbarian and Robert E. Howard, a blistering saga of swords, sorcery, and rebellion where redemption and vengeance collide.

Shadows of Gold: In the decadent labyrinth of Mordale, haunted by arcane feuds and crawling with demons, the barbarian Loth grapples with his own darkness. Can he forge uneasy alliances to banish the city's shadows, or will he succumb to the whispers of his blood-soaked past?

The Path of Truth: Echoing the icy winds of Conan's adventures, Loth ventures into a perilous frozen realm. Through blizzard-whipped peaks and ice-entombed caverns, he confronts forgotten evils and unearths ancient secrets, forging a legend that will rise with the first thaw.

The Savage Quest: Loth walks a warpath carved from vengeance, determined to tear down a sorcerer's tyrannical reign. Whispering woods, bone-chilling catacombs, and cursed relics stand between him and victory. Can he rise from the ashes of fury and forge a triumph forged in the searing fires of damnation?

Prophecy's Fire: In the shadow of Ravenskar's iron fist, orphan Vushi fights for freedom alongside Loth. Bound by fate and desperate courage, they face ancient conspiracies, sorcerous alliances, and Mordek's demonic pacts. Can their fellowship pierce the darkness and ignite a rebellion that consumes the tyranny?

The Amulet of Khoraja: Never before revealed, this new story thrusts Loth into a whirlwind of betrayal and unexpected loyalty. Can he navigate the perilous landscapes of his own heart and emerge into the dawn of a new destiny?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mad Cow Press
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223090809

Charles Eugene Anderson

Charles Eugene Anderson lives in Colorado. Chuck is a former teacher. He now spends his time writing, hanging out with his pup, Champ, and learning how to bake. More about Chuck at http://charleseugeneanderson.com

Book preview

Kingdoms Bound

KINGDOMS BOUND

RISING REBELLION

LOTH THE UNWORTHY

BOOK 2

CHARLES EUGENE ANDERSON

MAD COW PRESS

Copyright © 2024 by Mad Cow Press

Kingdoms Bound: Rising Rebellion is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, places, incidents, or living or dead persons is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

CONTENTS

Shadows Of Gold

Mordale

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

The Path Of Truth

Clan of Kharth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Prophecy's Fire

Ravenskar

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

The Savage Quest

Zorath

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Interlude

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

The Amulet of Khoraja

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

About the Author

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Found a Typo

SHADOWS OF GOLD

MORDALE

PROLOGUE

Beneath the cloak of a newborn evening, where stars themselves seemed to hold their breath, a vibrant throng gathered in the clearing, hearts ablaze with hunger for untold tales. The campfire stood defiant against the encroaching night, its leaping flames a bold beacon.

At the fire's edge loomed Talmak, stature carved from legend, weathered cloak whispering of far-flung realms. His ancient eyes held fervor of untamed lands. In gnarled grasp, a mug of ale sat like a loyal companion, foam akin to tempest seas, testifying to countless tales untold.

The crowd, fresh as grass-adorned dew, leaned forth - a field of souls ready to be sown with seeds of valor, treachery, and redemption's strife. Their gaze, fixed on Talmak, blazed with unspoken promise of journeying beyond mortal-trod lands into fierce battles of spirit.

With a gesture commanding the elements, Talmak drank deep of liquid fire, steeling himself. The onlookers stirred, eagerness crackling like electricity, a silent drumroll of myriad hearts.

By old gods and far realms, Talmak boomed, voice raw yet echoing ages, tonight a tale unsung you shall hear - of Loth, bound not by iron-forged chains, but by honor's shackles, a spirit cast to the winds!

His words seized their spirits as he wove Loth's fall from grace - damned by his own hand, not another's. He spoke of cities where darkness dwells in men's hearts, of forbidden sanctums where shadows whisper, of battles for redemption's embrace.

As mug emptied and the fire roared renewed, Loth the Unworthy became the story of ages - his tale a legacy etched by flame and shadow into the hearts of those who would listen, dream, and remember.

But it was in the accursed city of Mordale where Loth's true test awaited, Talmak continued, his voice dropping lower. For beneath Mordale's grandeur festered dark forces that fed on the downtrodden, empowered by plundered mystical gold.

The crowd drew breath as one, enthralled by the depravity hinted at.

In glittering temples, vile rituals fueled by stolen coins and treasure echoed through lightless catacombs, the chants audible only to those forsaken souls chained in service, sentenced to endless midnight excavations in search of more gold to feed insatiable demons.

Talmak's eyes flashed in the firelight as he wove a gruesome tapestry of greed and occult bargains struck by Mordale's shadowed elite. The listeners felt a chill creep into their bones that had nothing to do with the night's encroaching air.

Loth's path promised horrors untold in Mordale's rotted veins underneath its gilded veneer. Foul magics awaited him, ready to ensnare his very soul. But honor's wounded cry can stir even the weariest heart. Loth would see righteousness blaze again in Mordale or be damned trying!

With those ominous words hanging in the air, Talmak took another long draught of ale, moistening his throat from conjuring such malevolence. But the crowd's wide eyes betrayed their eagerness to follow where the tale led into darkness. They knew redemption awaited on the other side, lit by Loth's valiant heart.

CHAPTER 1

The city of Mordale rose from the bleak plains like a demon emerging from the smoke and fire of the underworld. Its twisted spires and jagged walls clawed at the shadowy sky. Mordale was a cesspool of villainy and sorcery, a crossroads for thieves, assassins, and practitioners of the dark arts. Narrow alleys wove through its bowels like a labyrinth, flanked by decrepit buildings with boarded-up windows. Beggars and lepers held out their rotted arms from muddy doorways, desperate for a few coins. The air was thick with the stench of decay, unwashed bodies, and the exotic aromas wafting from its seedy taverns. Mercenaries with cruel eyes lingered on street corners, hands drifting to the tips of their swords.

In Mordale, gold could buy a man's death as quickly as a flagon of ale. No righteous person dared set foot within its accursed walls. But evil and corruption ran freely through Mordale's twisted streets. Its shadowy temples hid unnamable rituals and beings not of this world. Dark magic seeped from its very stones. Mordale was a lawless, godless place, a monument to the depraved minds of men, steeped in ancient sins too hideous to speak aloud. This was a city of shadows, secrets, and infernal danger.

The Black Rat Tavern stood at the city's fringes, where even the most hardened men feared to tread. It was a decrepit old inn tucked away in a narrow alley at the end of a lightless cul-de-sac. The rotted wooden sign creaked in the foul wind, its faded image barely depicting the eponymous black rat. Dried blood stained the worn front steps. Inside, the air was choked with rancid smoke and the sour stench of unwashed bodies. Grim patrons hunched over their drinks, faces obscured by tattered cloaks. In the corner, a man with a missing eye quietly strummed a battered lute, singing a dirge-like tune.

The barkeep, a bald brute named Grol, obsessively polished a stained mug behind the bar. His meaty hands could just as easily crush a man's skull as clean a glass. A serving wench wound her way between tables, keeping her eyes downcast as drunken men groped at her skirts. Upstairs, muffled sounds drifted from behind closed doors as the inn's seedier patrons satisfied their baser needs. In The Black Rat, few questions were asked, and no laws were enforced. It was a place to drink, whore, or plot your following sinister deed cloaked in anonymity. For the right price, a man could buy almost anything within these walls, whether a temporary escape from the law or a permanent escape from this world. The Black Rat was just one of countless cesspools of corruption that thrived in the shadows of Mordale.

The creak of the door pierced the din of The Black Rat. All eyes turned to see a hulking figure duck beneath the low door frame and step into the murky inn. He was clad in fur and leather, with a savage longsword strapped across his back. Ropes of unkempt black hair framed his hardened face. This was Loth, a wanderer and warrior from the northlands. His eyes, one the color of ice and the other obsidian, scanned the room cautiously.

In one meaty fist, he clutched a small scroll bound in vellum. The parchment was marked with strange runes and sigils that seemed to shimmer in the firelight. Loth's intense gaze fell upon Grol behind the bar. Without a word, he strode towards the counter and slammed a few copper coins down. The barkeep silently slid a grimy mug of ale to Loth. His curiosity piqued by the unusual parchment, Grol could not help but ask in a low rasp, What business brings a Northman to these parts?

Loth raised the ale to his mouth and drained half the mug before lowering it slowly to the scarred wooden bar. In a deep timbre, he replied, I seek the one they call the Dark Tongue. This scroll is for his eyes alone.

The atmosphere in The Black Rat grew even more tense at the mention of the Dark Tongue. Notorious in these parts, yet unseen by most, to utter his name invited peril. Loth's quest was dangerous if it involved seeking out such a shadowy figure. Grol weighed his options momentarily before gesturing to a door near the back of the inn. You'll find him downstairs, he grunted. If he chooses to see you.

Loth nodded grimly, tucked the scroll into his belt, and moved toward the door. This midnight errand would lead to riches, glory, or certain doom.

As Loth reached for the back door, a slurred voice called out, You'll not last a minute with the Tongue, Northman!

Loth turned to see a burly man push back from one of the tables. His face was ruddy from drink, and he wore expensive but tattered finery - clearly a fallen nobleman. I've broken stronger men than you over my knee, the man boasted, swaying as he stepped towards Loth.

Several patrons chuckled grimly. Loth said nothing, staring at the drunk with odd, mismatched eyes.

Undeterred, the man continued his tirade, The Tongue will eat you alive, fool. What could a thick-skulled barbarian want with the likes of him?

In two quick strides, Loth closed the distance between them, moving with surprising agility for one so big. He grabbed the front of the man's shirt and lifted him clear off the ground. The drunk let out a pathetic squeak of surprise.

Loth brought the man's face close to his own and growled, I've torn the tongues out of those who spoke to me like that, pig.

The drunk trembled. Loth held him a breath longer before dropping him roughly to the floor. The nobleman scurried away in humiliation.

Loth adjusted his sword belt. My business with the Tongue does not concern you. He shot one last withering glance around the room as if daring anyone else to challenge him, then descended the steps without another word.

The onlookers returned to their drinks, the mood even more grim than before. This Northman was not one to be trifled with. What dark purpose brought him to seek out the notorious warlock below?

CHAPTER 2

The wooden stairs creaked under Loth's weight as he descended into the musky darkness below The Black Rat. He could hear the sound of dripping water and faint scurrying that he hoped was vermin. Sturdy doors lined the corridor, with flickering candlelight spilling from the cracks.

The final door opened with a deep groan. The windowless room was lit by candles sitting atop a large oak table draped in dark purple. Ancient runes decorated the stone walls, symbols from an age that predated all known religions. Books were stacked haphazardly in corners and covered topics ranging from engineering to theology. At the far end of the table sat a slender man wrapped in layers of purple and black robes. The colors seemed to swirl like oil on water around his form, his face painted white by the flickering candlelight. Cold blue eyes gazed back at Loth intently as if laying bare who he was inside.

I've been expecting you, Northman, the man rasped in a serpentine voice. This was the Dark Tongue himself. Do you have it?

Loth closed the door behind him and unrolled the scroll, holding it up in the candlelight. The Dark Tongue's eyes glinted greedily at the sight of the markings.

Give it to me, he commanded, rising from his chair and holding a bony hand. Loth hesitated before placing the scroll on the table and sliding it toward the warlock. This parchment was his ticket to deciphering the ancient map he carried, but dealing with sinister sorcerers always took a risk.

The Dark Tongue snatched up the scroll, scrutinizing the cryptic symbols and muttering under his breath. Loth stood silently, awaiting his verdict. After an eternity, the Tongue raised his piercing eyes to meet Loth's odd-colored ones.

Yes, I can unlock the map's secrets for you, he hissed softly, for a price...

Loth raised a brow, his face remaining passive, as the Dark Tongue continued to speak, his voice low and silky smooth. You see, Northman, knowledge is not free. I can show you the way, but you must help me with a little task first.

Loth knew better than to trust the warlock but needed the man's expertise. What kind of task? he asked, his voice steady.

The Dark Tongue's lips curved into a cruel smile as if he were deciding how best to use her in some obscene torture ceremony. There is a woman, he said slowly, deliberately. Something lurked behind his gaze—a gleam of malice and lust, like a wolf sneaking up on an unsuspecting girl. She is a witch, like myself. I have been told she has something of mine that I want back. Bring it to me, and I will decode your map.

Loth didn't like the sound of this. He had dealt with witches before, and they were never to be trusted. However, Loth had come too far to back down now. Where can I find this woman? he asked.

The Dark Tongue's icy eyes glinted with malevolence. She dwells in this same city, to the north, near the Keep, in a dwelling not unlike this. Her name is Nesophi, and she possesses a grimoire that I require.

Loth crossed his arms over his broad chest. And what is so special about this book?

The warlock traced a finger over the scroll's cryptic markings. Let's just say it contains certain...the knowledge I wish to reacquire. Bring me the grimoire, and I will unlock the map's secrets.

How do I know this isn't some ploy to steal the map for yourself? Loth asked suspiciously.

The Dark Tongue laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. You don't. But I am the only one in this cesspool of a city who can decode it. Make your choice.

Loth weighed his options. He needed the warlock's skills, but tangling with a witch was risky. Still, the lure of discovering what lay hidden on the ancient map was too great.

I will retrieve this grimoire, Loth rumbled. But know that if you cross me, you won't live long enough to regret it.

The Dark Tongue waved a hand dismissively. Just bring me the book, and our transaction will go smoothly.

Loth turned towards the door. As he grasped the handle, the warlock said, Do not underestimate Nesophi's power. Tread carefully near her dwellings.

Loth pushed the door open, sunlight briefly falling into the candlelit room. It's she who should not underestimate me, he said.

The barbarian exited, leaving the Dark Tongue chuckling quietly in the gloom. Loth hoped his confidence was not misplaced as he set off for the lair of the mountain witch and her ancient magics.

As he walked through the city's winding streets, Loth's mind was filled with doubt. His mission was to bring the grimoire to the Dark Tongue, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being used. Who was this Nesophi? And why did the Dark Tongue need her book so severely? These were questions that Loth couldn't answer, but he knew he had to be cautious to make it out of this alive.

Loth moved through the narrow alleys, avoiding the main thoroughfares where prying eyes might see him. He did not fully trust the Dark Tongue's instructions, but heading north towards the imposing citadel that loomed over Mordale seemed the logical place to start searching for the witch, Nesophi.

The city took on an even more sinister cast as the sun sank below the jagged horizon. Shadows deepened in the spaces between buildings. The few people Loth passed moved quickly, faces hidden beneath hoods, as if afraid of being caught outside after dark. An undercurrent of fear permeated the air - fear of those who wielded power in Mordale, both seen and unseen.

Loth's hand rested on the pommel of his sword as he walked. He cut an imposing figure, his northern furs and hardened features standing out from the local folk. Whispers and glances followed him, but none dared impede his progress.

At last, the citadel fortress came into view. Torches flickered atop its parapets, where guards kept ceaseless watch. Loth studied the edifice. Somewhere within was the witch and her prize. But how to find her?

Loth spied a tavern built into the citadel's outer wall, likely catering to off-duty guards. A plan formed in his mind. He would start there and see what information he could glean about Nesophi from the loose tongues of soldiers in their cups.

Steeling himself, Loth strode towards the tavern, The Whispering Witch Inn. He pushed aside the door hanging and was met with a haze of smoke, the smell of stale Ale, and raucous laughter. If answers awaited anywhere, it was here.

Loth chose a shadowy corner table. When the harried barmaid arrived, he tossed her a coin and said only, Ale. And information. These men of Mordale were strange to him, but gold and drink often unlocked even the wariest tongue. He had to tread carefully, but the secrets of the witch waited to be discovered.

CHAPTER 3

As Loth pondered his next move, a voice spoke up behind him. You're a fool for asking about Nesophi.

He turned to see a tall, muscular woman regarding him coolly. She wore leather armor and had a large battleaxe slung across her back - a fellow barbarian from the northern wastes. Her blonde braids marked her as coming from one of the hill tribes.

And why is that? Loth asked gruffly.

The woman folded her arms. Meddling with that witch will only bring trouble. What possible reason could you have for seeking her out?

Loth debated how much to reveal. I made a bargain with the Dark Tongue. He requires something in Nesophi's possession. In return, he will help me unlock an ancient map.

The female barbarian scowled. Ha! You're an even bigger fool for trusting that deceitful warlock. The Tongue looks out only for himself.

Loth bristled at her words. You dare question my judgment? I know not who you are, but it is not your place to tell me my business.

She met his odd-colored eyes levelly. I am Shi of the Ice Bear clan. And I know enough of the Tongue and Nesophi to say your quest is madness.

Her bluntness took aback Loth. He was unaccustomed to being rebuked so openly, especially by a fellow northerner. But inwardly, her warnings about the Tongue and the witch gave him pause. Perhaps she was right...this bargain was more dangerous than he had reckoned.

Shi shook her head. Be warned. The Tongue already knew your name the day you entered that den.

The words sent a chill through Loth's heart. He swallowed hard. Tell me more of Nesophi.

The savage's face contorted with hatred. Long ago, Nesophi was a revered shaman of our tribe. She wielded her power to dominate and control us all until she was banished from our lands. But before her exile, she cursed the tribe with visions of the She met The Tongue here and exiled him from the Keep. For two decades, he has been trying to return the Keep. He lives in The Black Rat and tries to convince every new fool who comes to town to challenge Nesophi.

Loth listened intently as Shi revealed more about Nesophi's past. This was a valuable insight into the witch's origins and ties to the Ice Bear clan.

If she was banished from your lands, how did she come to dwell here in Mordale? Loth asked.

Shi took a long draught of ale before continuing. After her exile, Nesophi made her way south, eventually ingratiating herself with the ruler here. She used her magic to gain influence and power in the city. Though few dare speak it aloud, she enthralls the Citadel's lord.

Loth thought back to the warlock's instructions. The Tongue told me Nesophi resides near the Citadel. It seems she has ensconced herself deeply within the halls of power.

Shi nodded. Indeed. And the Tongue has good reason to resent her presence here. Long ago, when he first came to Mordale, Nesophi detected his meddling in the arcane arts. She revealed his dealings to the Citadel's lord and had him stripped of his position as a court magician and exiled to the gutters.

Now, Loth understood the full depth of the rivalry between the two magic wielders. The Tongue burned for vengeance against the witch who had reduced him to skulking in a basement tavern.

Shi pressed her point. This feud is not your concern, Northman. Walk away before you get trapped in the machinations of their twisted game.

Loth sat back, his mind churning with this new information. Perhaps his mysterious map was not worth being entangled in the dangerous feud between Nesophi and the Dark Tongue.

Loth sat in contemplative silence as Shi's words sunk in. This was a tangled web, and the barbarian was beginning to think pursuing the Tongue's task was not worth the risk.

As he stared broodingly into his ale, Shi leaned forward and spoke, her voice low. I can see the doubts in your eyes, Northman. This is not your fight. But if freedom from the Tongue's manipulations is what you seek, I have a proposal.

Loth met her intense gaze, gesturing for her to continue.

Help me rob the Witch of her ill-gotten wealth, and then we can both shake the dust of this accursed city from our boots. A ruthless glint shone in Shi's eyes. You are skilled in arms - together, we can liberate Nesophi's treasure hoard from Waelmore Keep.

Loth weighed her words carefully. You would have me turn brigand and thief?

Shi slammed a fist on the table. After what Nesophi did to my people, she deserves far worse than a few missing trinkets. And think - with her gold, you can buy the Tongue's aid without becoming his pawn.

Loth could not deny the sense in her words. If they succeeded, the witch would be weakened, Shi would have her justice, and he could secure the warlock's help on his terms. And yet, attacking the stronghold of one so powerful was no small risk.

Sensing his hesitation, Shi pressed on. I have been watching the Keep. Only a skeleton guard will be posted in two nights' time when the moon is dark. We can scale the western wall under cover of night and steal into the tower unseen.

She outlined her knowledge of the Keep's layout from her surveillance, pointing out hidden entry points and likely locations of the treasure vault. Loth had honed his skills infiltrating mountain keeps in his homeland - if anyone could penetrate Nesophi's fortress, it was him.

Well, Northman? Are you with me on this raid? Shi extended her arm.

Loth clasped her forearm in the warrior's gesture of agreement. I'm with you.

Shi grinned fiercely. Excellent. We strike in two nights. I will find you here, and we will make final plans. She rose and left the tavern, her step lively with anticipation.

Loth's course was now set. He would turn the tables on the Tongue and Nesophi - with the witch's gold in hand, the warlock would have to give him the map's secrets. And soon, he would be free of this accursed city.

CHAPTER 4

Loth weighed Shi's brazen proposal, intrigued but wary. Robbing the fortress of a powerful witch was no small risk, even for two skilled northern warriors.

You speak of liberation, yet you seem to hold little love for this Nesophi, Loth observed. What is your true grievance with her?

Shi's eyes hardened, her mouth becoming a thin line. Wordlessly, she drew off her leather gauntlet and extended her right hand. On her palm was a faint marking