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Osric's Wand: The Wand-Maker's Debate by Jack D. Albrecht Jr. & Ashley Delay

WARNING!  This book is not DRM-free!

The Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
Price: $3.07

"I just want to be a dude." Osric says.
"Oh, but you can't!  That would make a boring story!"  Boom!  The earth shook and things exploded.
"Oh noes!  I am trapped under a pile of rubble!"
"Not today!" Buzz Lightyear comes swooping in and blasts away the rock.
"Fine!" Osric pouts.  "If you're going to be like that, I guess I will save the world!" And he flies away on a dragon.

Note: This is not a true representation of the book in anyway.  Some characters and event are loosely based off of Osric's Wand but are heavily screwed for comedic effect.  Also, Buzz Lightyear is a purely fictitious addition on the part of this editor

What did this book not do well?  We will get to that, but first... the good.

Teh Good (yes I wrote "teh" on purpose):
I was drawn into this book right from the start.  A mystery is afoot and though not a lot happens at first, the author draws you in by describing the world and the character's thereof.  Now, this is not the type of dry description you would see as a caption on a painting, but the description of the painting itself.  A picture is worth 1,000 words, and though the author does not use that many (though I never counted them, so if there is a 1,000 word description, don't hold it against me) the world feels full of life.  This is what made me fall in love with the book right from the start, because the writing within me surges with passion and is humbled in respect of an author who can describe something so vividly that I am pulled into the world to a point where I don't want to leave.

If the description is what sold me, the dialogue is what kept me reading.  I have seen (and written, sadly) enough slap-stick dialogue to notice good writing in between the ""s when I see it.  The author uses humour fabulously as the characters foil off of each other that will keep you engaged and interested in what they have to say.  A number of times I caught myself laughing without realizing it and my wife had to ask me what was so funny.  If a work of art gets me laughing or crying (or illicits any other strong emotion, I guess) I give it two +s, or thumbs up.  Whichever you prefer.

I enjoyed the author's use of the third-person omniscient POV.  It have seen this done very poorly in the past, and this was a beautiful refresher.  Though it was told from such a perspective, I still felt like I was engaged in the story-telling, and not reading as if engaged in an out-of-body experience.

Teh Bad (no, that was not a typo):
"Why is there any bad, Daniel?  If you gave this book 5 stars, shouldn't it be perfect?"
While this is a good question, I also have a good answer (well, at least I think it's good).  I have never before rated a book 5 stars because of this very question.  The problem is that I can be cynical enough that there is always room for improvement.  Unless I would rather read the book through in its entirety than eat, work, and any other business that is required of my body, I don't know if it truly deserves a 5 star review.  That being said, I was torn for a while in deciding whether to rate this 4 or 5 stars.

Now for my reasoning (finally, I know.  Get to the point already, eh?)  It is better than most books that I have rated 4 stars. (Yes, all that build up for such a simple reason.)  Though it has some faults I believe it is an exceptional book.

The first fault it has is probably also what I liked the best about this book.  Sometimes the descriptions and world-building elements can be lengthy enough that it breaks up the action quite a bit.  This happens less and less as the story progresses, but this is probably due to the fact that more "action" is happening.  This bring me to my second problem with this book.  Not a lot happens.  Yes there is some action and fighting and stuffs, but that doesn't make it an action driven tale.  The backbone of this story is not the story itself but the world-building.  The plot doesn't jump all over the place, but it isn't as it seems.  The story starts out telling you it will be about a guy trying to prevent a war, and then its about some mysterious wand... but that's not actually the plot of the book.  A lot of this is set up (I presume) for the second book, but the plot is actually about dragons (say no more to prevent spoilers).  The reader only finds out about the plot about halfway through the book, and the action doesn't pick up until the final quarter.

This plot/action issue has its good and bad points.  I was not initially impressed by the "I'm going to save the world" plot and was almost happy to see that, in the end, that is not what this book was about.  I also though, given the length of the book, that this plot would have to be rushed in order to get through it by the end.  Because of this it is almost better that the plot is not as it first appears, but instead there is a single conflict that is resolved nicely by the end.

Conclusion:
This book is beautifully written and despite the minor plot disruptions, it is one of my favourites.  It is full of colourful description, humorous dialogue, and some great concepts when dealing with magic and its various elements.  Oh, also talking animals.  That's a thing.

Special Note:
Despite all of this, unfortunately I cannot recommend that you purchase this book.  The only purchasable version is a DRMed Amazon file.  I had a chat with author Jack D. Albrecht Jr. who told me that at the time of publication they did not know about the evils of DRM and subscribed to the lie that it helps prevent piracy.  Since then the authors have realized that DRM is not a good idea, thus their second book The High Wizard's Hunt is completely DRM-free as will be any future works.  I received a DRM-free version of this book directly from author Jack D. Albrecht Jr. and I would encourage you to contact him if you want a DRM-free version of this book.

Where you can find it:
Amazon

Glanderxe - Chapter 14

Tiyhak waited at the edge of the void in silent meditation, attempting to focus on Kno Arian beyond the River West. Nothing but Pharosh... nothing but nothing. That land devoid of all things spiritual, all things immortal, all things truly alive. The advantage of the Pharosh was plain, but every advantage comes equally yoked with frailty. Their spiritless bodies stalked the land like silent assassins, waiting patiently for the right moment to strike. There had not been an attack in the North for many generations, but who was to say that they did not stalk the fortress now while Tiyhak sat at their borders. Not even Emperor Klychawk in all his might could even pretend to perceive their presence, his spiritual eyes being blinded by their physical exclusivity.

What disadvantage could the gift of spiritual silence have... or was it a curse? There was but one way to kill the servants of Klychawk: twice. Piercing their bodies was not enough, for they lived on in the realm of the spirit. Two live, two chances. The Pharosh only had one life to claim. Being vacant of spirit had the advantage of stealth but was coupled with such a great frailty: one life, one death, one chance.

What use was it looking into the void beyond the River West, for unless the Pharosh were suddenly gifted spirits from Heaven, nothing would be found there: no life, no spirit. Tiyhak knew not where they were now nor where they would be, but Mert Whatley and Kyra of the Tallri were not so lucky. He knew they would be here. He had seen it... the only question was when.

Travel within the spirit realm was light and limitless, without time as a factor, but time had some advantages of its own. The spirit of Mert travelled the land from the frozen north of Keltone, to the swamps and deserts of Coaniariam, from the urban lands of Glanderxe in the east, to here - the edge of the Void. Why had Tiyhak picked this place to make a stand? Did Klychawk, the god of death, even know the answer to that? Something had drawn him here. A longing in his spirit drew him to this place, a longing for the death of Mert Whatley. Tiyhak would not kill him twice; once would suffice. His spirit-lust was kindled by the taking of his first slave, the allmarach of flesh. What a better candidate would there be for his second kill, second slave than Mert Whatley of Glanderxe.

***

It had been so long since I was home. So long since I saw the face of my mother, sister... Farah. They say home is where the heart is. Where was my heart now? I saw it crushed, beaten down by the words of my love, and left to drown in her tears which pooled in the dust outside the Bailey house. I was happy to leave it there until I could return and claim in once again, claim her once again, but the further I got from the home the more I realized how deceived I was.

I could see my heart there in the dirt at Coere Ghante, but reality won over more and more with each passing day. Was it love that pushed me on, striving to reach my goal? My heart was not left behind, but came with me. I could hear it beating inside my chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each beat torturing me with the truth: the only thing I had left behind was my loved ones. The heart is said to be the centre of love, but was it love or loyalty that my heart beat for?

As the clear blue sky shot into the entrance of the cave, the stone being chipped away by my companion, I was warmed by its presence once again. My time under the mountains of Keltone had been glorious in its own right, but I didn't belong cooped up in some cave like a beast. My journey had taken me further than I expected into lands previously unknown to me, but the Great Road once again awaited. “The journey has been pleasant my friend.” Though I could no longer lie to myself, I could still lie to him, this man accompanying me who was barely more than a stranger.

“Has been?” Cargh looked offended. “I have pledged my arm to Lady Eyes. Where she goes, Fioreh will follow.”

“I needed a guide out of the mountains, and you have provided magnificently on that front, but now my journey carries me onward to the River West.”

The man stood obstinate and ready.

“Beyond here, I go to meet with the Pharosh. Is that really a journey you want to take?” I did not want it to seem like I was pushing him away, though I kind of was. Kyra had made it plain that she would not return until I was rid of him. Though I could not explain it, some part of me wished to see her again, to make sure that she was okay. Perhaps without a family to care for, my heart sought another.

“Kho Arian is no place for one of the allmarach, but I cannot return to my people having broken an oath forged in steel.”

“How long do you aim to stay with me?” Though I did not know why, I feared what his answer might be.

“An oath of steel is not easily broken. Never will I leave you until death or defilement of the Rock. If your mission is still true, my arm belongs to Lady Eyes.”

“Very well then, Lady Eyes, lead the way!” I said mockingly, though I don’t think Cargh caught my jest. He seemed content to be led on a journey by a length of steel, a feeling we did not share. Lady Eyes and I held a special bond, but nothing like the bond of the allmarach with their weapons.

Cargh worked at concealing the breach we had made in the side of mountain, hauling stones bigger than a man his size should be able to. I helped him for a time, but was soon distracted by the surroundings. The grass stretched out before us like a blanket of beauty covering the ugly ground beneath. The field before us was greener than I imagined grass could be, fed by the mighty river which flowed before us. Trees poked up here and there speckling the blanket with beams of life, stretching their boughs to the Heavens, attempting to reach their Maker in a gesture of praise and thanksgiving.

This was one thing I enjoyed more about my current companion than my last. The Thief had led me from the lush lands of the surface into the dark dampness of the Keltone dungeon. Cargh brought me from the cold dark caverns back into the light and beauty of Glanderxe Coessarde. We would not remain here forever though, for the Coessarde of the Pharosh was my goal: Kho Arian across the River West.

We reached the road quickly which had been visible from the breach we made in the mountainside. I remembered that last time upon this road, riding atop my horse, the Tallri riding beside me on an animal not rightfully hers. The journey would be much slower without my stead. She had probably long been torn apart by wolves at the place I left her. Though I hadn't had her for long, she was a good horse and served me well. If the wolf attack that night hadn't left me so crazed, she might still be with me. What a cruel trick this trip had played on me thus far. Stolen from by Kyra, attacked by wolves, lead north by trickery, hunted by Klychawk, trapped beneath the mountains, and now reminded of the one grief I had forgotten: my horse.

Though we had travelled along the water's edge before, our trip under the mountains had sent us backward on the trail... not that I was surprised. Nothing about this trip had gone as I intended: always two steps forward, one step back. By the time the sun began to set, the river was visible in the distance, that glowing ball of light in the sky sinking beneath the shimmering waves. In the low light I saw a mighty bridge extending from the great road across the river. The bridge appeared to be fashioned entirely of smooth-topped stone. How many men had it taken to carry all of that stone down from the mountains and suspend it in such a way that it bridged the land-gap but did not dam the water? Giant pillars of rock extended from the belly side of the bridge like legs on a monstrous beast.

As we drew closer, I noticed that the bridge was not entirely of stone as per my original perception. Wide bands of metal stretched around the rock, seemingly holding the stone sections together in a semi-organized fashion. The stripes of steel on the rock behemoth stretched out for miles, farther than my eyes could see. Giant rock formations sat atop each metal strip like doorways into a portal, transporting the traveller to a distant land.

I knew that Kho Arian lay somewhere in the void beyond this unlit path stretching across the water, but something was holding me back. I didn't want to enter the land without Kyra. She, though deceptively so, had been my guide, and it almost felt like I was cheating her. As I took my first step up onto the great stone bridge, I felt dirty. Where was Kyra? Could she not put down her difference of religious opinion for the sake of her life? I was not the only one hunted by Klychawk.  He hunted her as well. If her words be true and the Pharosh were the only ones who could help us, she may very well die by stubborn religiosity.

These thoughts did not leave my mind as we progressed along the cold stone, the low-light of the sun now distant with the rising of the moon. With the darkness came new lights, not of the sun or moon, but what looked like giant fires in the distance. As we drew closer, I saw that these flames stood atop giant stone pillars which stretched out across the horizon like the wall of a great city. The water subsided as it touched the low beach of the Kho Arian shores before the rising walls took over the land. As I continued on, awed by the masterpiece before my eyes, I would have walked right into the water if it were not for Cargh. Holding out his arm to block my way, he forced me to refocus on... nothing. The bridge we had once been travelling on abruptly ended but a stone's throw away from the walls. A black bird swooped low, bridging the gap, and I shivered, not from the cold but in remembrance of the nightmare I had experienced yesterday... or had it been a daymare?

“We can go no further.” His word provided no extra knowledge to me, for my eyes could see plain enough that the bridge had ended.

I looked at him confused. “Why... this bridge doesn't make any sense. Who would build a bridge out into the water, but not finish it?” I was a little bit angered, having come all this way just to be turned back by a deceitful masonry defect.

“This stone and ironwork has the mark of the Pharosh. Surely they built this bridge.”

“Surely, but they clearly don’t use it. What purpose could this possibly serve?”

It serves my purposes quite well. A voice reached for my ears from out of the wind.

“Cargh...?” I said in hesitation. This voice did not sound like my armour-clad friend, but who else could be speaking?

“That was not me.” The man drew Fioreh from his back and grabbed for the axe at his belt with the other hand. Though he held no torch, the great fires in the distance, and the soft glow of Fioreh provided ample light to see by. “Show yourself! I can fight no coward!”

I drew Lady Eyes from my belt and watched the bridge behind us before the voice spoke again. “If it’s a fight you want...” I saw a soft purple glow emerging in front of me... “then a fight you shall have!” As the being continued to materialize before me I saw a purple ball of lightning begin to form in mid-air. Soon the hands which fashioned it were fully evident as the body of the man who had attacked that allmarach in the forest so many days ago emerged. Not wishing to be stuck in that state of paralysis I had seen the previous victim of this magic in, I ducked. The lightning launched over my head in a steady stream, crackling and sparking through the night. I heard the “caw” of a bird, but no longer cared about its idle threats. This terror that stood before me was real, and it was trying to kill me.

Cargh used the opportunity afforded to him by the attacker's poor attempt to stun me and charged toward him. Before Cargh could reach the man, he was stopped up short by a long blade coming out of the night, seeking to do him in. His momentum forward was so great that his duck under the swing led into a roll before he came up and turned around to face this new assailant.

Warrior faced warrior, blade faced blade, allmarach faced allmarach as the previous victim of our attacker's power emerged. Cargh's eyed grew wide as if seeing a ghost and I charged at the man who had caused his change in demeanour. The spirit-allmarach spun around to block my swing. Steel hit steel in an impressive display of sparks that looked like fireworks in the night sky. I took on a defensive stance, attempting to learn the techniques of my enemy before engaging fully. He attacked and I parried, being pushed back toward the edge of the bridge. I hoped that Cargh would come to my aid, but then thought better of such hopes. My companion had an attacker of his own, that voice in the night that had first emerged.

Though I was a knight of Glanderxe, my arm was untrained, and the lack of training showed. I barely was able to keep my limbs attached as the spirit-slave's sword-arm swung with brutality and violence, seeking to accomplish the will of his master above all else: my death. As if things couldn't get any worse, amidst the cacophony of the battle, I heard a wolf cry. A chill went down my spine and fear manifested itself in bumps rising from my skin. My thoughts turned to the Horn of Riul which bounced about in the movement of battle, fastened to my belt. If I could only get a break from my attacker, perhaps I could reach for the horn and give it a blow. Though I was not entirely convinced of its effectiveness, in my last encounter with wolves it had proved beneficial.

I was not a religious man, but even if I had not made prayer a common practise, now was a better time than any to start. Cargh would kill me himself if he ever found out I prayed to Riul, and Kyra would do the same if I called upon the Rock. I held no favours either way, but simply wanted to remain alive. Whichever god could provide for me better concerning my life, that would be the god that I chose. As if answering my unspoken prayer, someone came to my aid, though it would not have been my first choice. Which was the worse monster, the allmarach with the sword, or beast which now jumped upon the back of my attacker, claws slashing and teeth digging into spirit flesh?

I fell backward onto the rock as the allmarach was launched into me from the wolf who had attached itself to his back. During the fall, I peered over the shoulders of the wolf and saw Cargh, paralysed in a hold of purple lightning. Was this the end?  I had seen it before, and soon Cargh would be resigned to the same fate as the spirit who had been besting me at sword-play. Myself? After the wolf was finished with its spirit-dinner it would have want of real flesh, me being its next victim.

My back hit the cold stone and my head hung aimlessly over the water below. I watched the wolf ripping at the allmarach on top of me and watched our first attacker approaching Cargh, one step at a time, eager to replace his dying slave. No sword would save me from this death, not even Lady Eyes, for what could battle a spirit but spirit alone? Reaching for the horn at my waist, I held onto one final hope that Riul would come through for me. Grabbing the horn, I ripped it from my belt and, bringing it to my lips, let out a blast that I feared might even shake the very foundations of this bridge, sending the whole battle tumbling into the waters below. Perhaps that would be best. If I was die, at least I could die knowing that I took my enemy with me.

I heard a mighty boom from behind me moments before what seemed to be a giant boulder came whizzing over my head, landing just inches in front of me, finding its target in the beast who ravaged its prey atop me. The boulder split into a thousand tiny pieces, like glass touching intense heat, sending the wolf reeling backward. I wriggled backward in haste, not willing to remain beneath the carcass of my attacker any longer than I had to. Rolling from beneath the dead weight, I got up and faced the direction of the noise. A bridge now stretched toward me like a great stone tongue from the shores of Kho Arian. Atop the stone was a line of giant barrelled contraptions, sparks flying from atop the steel casings. Humanoid shapes stood behind the canons of varying girth and height. Though it was hard to make out in the low light, they appeared to have reptilian features.

Though the sight intrigued me, it may have been better for me to have remained hidden beneath the dead man. As if answering my call to attendance, a mighty glass ball came toward me from one of the mighty cannons. It hit me squarely in the chest, knocking me backward to join the wolf on the stone floor. The beast beside me was struggling to rise as I landed on top of it. There I was, face to face with my greatest fear, the fangs of the canine inches from my face.

No man would believe what happened next if they had not seen it. Before my eyes the wolf began to change, taking on a new shape and form: the form of Kyra the Tallri. I had no time to think long of this strange occurrence, however, before noticing a change of my very own. All at once I noticed a void, like part of me was missing. As far as I knew I could still walk and talk, but something unexplainable, deep within me was gone.

“You do enjoy wrestling me to the ground, don’t you boy? There are better ways of getting attention from women, you know.”

Normally I would have responded, but I was too dumbfounded for any words to form, and if I had said anything, my words would have been drowned out by the crack of another cannon, and then another. I looked up to seem the first boulder crash into Cargh, breaking him from his trance like state and toppling him onto the ground. The other boulder aimed for the only one remaining standing, but did not reach its mark. At the sound, the man ceased approaching his prey and vanished into the same night from which he had once appeared, leaving nothing but purple wisps of smoke behind.

Rise of the Aligerai by Kira R. Tregoning

A DRM-free Urban Fantasy tale

The Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
Price: Free

Would you rather have wings or hold destructive magic at the tips of your fingers? In Rise of the Aligerai you can do both! The first in an urban fantasy trilogy (I presume. Kira R. Tregoning shows that she is editing the second book as well as writing the third... so at least a trilogy anyway.)

This is a story of parallel realities... but not really. It's a story about some college girls just trying to find their place in the world... but not really. Well, what does the description say? "Sita Newbury and her college roommates must protect both Earth and Corá from soul-stealing occultists or face the destruction of both worlds." I guess that's the best we're gonna do.

If you have read this plot synonsis, you have read the book. Don't get me wrong this is very lengthy book (164,000), especially for the price tag (free)... but is it a good book? I put that book at the top of my to-read list because I haven't seen any hype at all about it, and thought it deserved at least one person to read it and say what they think. I guess I am that one person.

Tregoning gives a thank you in the forward of this book for all those who helped her via beta-reading, editing, or just general encouragement. The editing quality of this book really shines, as I don't think that I found any poor grammar or spelling (not that I was reading with the criticizing eye of an editor, so there might be a few poorly placed commas or something). For such a lengthy book this must have taken a lot of time and I applaud Tregoning for doing this. There is nothing worse than struggling through poor editing to try to find the gem underneath. With the poor spelling/grammar out of the way, the read is free to find the gem... but there is no gem here.

Tregoning has a great idea for a great story, but that's where the greatness ends. There is such great potential in this story for mystery and suspense, but the writing style throws that out the windows. It is told from a third person omniscient perspective to the point that the reader becomes very omniscient. There were a few parts in the story where the potential of a plot point or character drew me in, but soon enough the mystery was revealed to the reader in very plain words... and usually more than once.

For example (Minor Spoilers): At the beginning Sita Newbury is attacked. She then goes to college afterwards like nothing happens and the reader is left wondering what that was all about. Once arriving there they meet some guys (because who wouldn't as a girl at college). The story switches perspectives to one of the guys (the attacker from the beginning) who avoids eye contact with Sita as to not be recognized. Nice hint, but not obvious. Then we switch back to Sita who thinks, I recognize that guy, but where from? not bad, but making it a little more obvious. At this point the reader knows that this guy is the attacker so the writing can go one of two ways A) reveal them to be who the reader thinks they are B) throw in a twist and be like, "actually, just kidding! You were wrong!" Tregoning chooses the former, but in a really bad way.
"That guy is bad news! He works for the enemy."
"I knew I recognized him! He attacked me house."
"That's right, that was him."
"What? He attacked your house?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
--Scene--
"You know, she remembers you attacking her house."
"Well I did, so good on her for having a memory."
--Scene-- The next morning
"I can't believe he would attack your house!"
"Well, he did."

This is a glaring fault of this book that rears its ugly head time and time again. The reader is not left with any suspense at all. Though sometimes the characters may not know what is going on, the reader does, so it makes it less interesting when they find out, making the story predictable. One of the main drives of a good plot that keeps you reading is wanting to know what happens next. If you already know what happens next, why are you reading?

The second problem with this book is coupled with the first in that again I think it stems from the writing style. Everything is explained vs. shown. If the reader and characters need to know about a concept, there will be a dialogue section explaining it in great detail leaving a dry taste in your mouth. After the explanation nothing more need to be said because the other characters make sure to ask all the obvious questions along the way and clarify multiple times just to be sure that the reader gets it. Often-times concepts are explained more than once by different characters in different situations.

And the third problem? This book has basically one character... But wait? doesn't the book description say "Sita Newbury and her college roommates?" Sure it does, but there are all one character. There are 5 girls who are part of this Aligerai, but they are all the same. All of them are the happy go lucky pre-teen squealing-at-everything-in-site-because-I-can person. Despite the fact that I find these people annoying in real life thus have no desire to encounter them in a fictitious world, I saw no reason to have five of them. The story would have worked just as well with just Sita Newbury at college. When they are all in a room together talking, it really doesn't matter which one of them says what because they all will pretty much say the same thing in every situation. For the first third of the book I didn't even remember their names because they were always together and talking, so it was basically irrelevant.

The Conclusion:
With all of these problems, why then did I give it 2 stars? Well, I thought about it for a bit, but I don't think that it deserves one star simply out of respect for all of the work the author put into this. If someone sat day at their favourite text editor one evening, wrote until their fingers bled, opened paint and scribbled or a while for cover-art, and then posted the book... that is a one star review. This book is well editing, the plot is well thought out, it had some neat (though not new) concepts when it comes to magic and for this it deserves 2 stars.

Where you can find it:
Smashwords
Amazon (cost is $0.99 on Amazon)
Kobo

Glanderxe - Chapter 13

How many times must I wake? The great expanse between sleep and consciousness is less pleasant than either extreme, no matter how bad the nightmares may be. Night terrors sap the soul and leave the body less strengthened by the aid of sleep, but daymares are worse still. What is a nightmare to a waking man but a fleeting memory, yet what is a daymare to the awakened but the inescapable terror of living?  Such is the terror that no amount of pinching or slapping can pull you from. There is, however, one terror greater still, the dreams of the in-between, that place between asleep and awake.  It is in this place that I fear the most, not knowing whether to run from the living terror I'm in, or incessantly slap myself until my skin is raw, trusting that it’s a dream.

I awoke yet again. This time was it real, or simply another deception of the mind? Was this raven who stood atop my chest a living terror or a foolish apparition who could be fought by a simple blink, or pinch, or slap. Those eyes seemed real enough, floating inches from my own in the darkened chamber, low light reflecting from the crystal balls. The jolt to my mind was followed quickly by my hand rising to strike the bird from its place while shielding my eyes with the other. It took flight before my swing made contact, soaring into the blackness.

My legs came around to touch the cold stone floor, rising from my place of sleepless rest. This must be a dream, for I had no will of my own to follow that beast into the surrounding night. To direct ones dream would be a thing of beauty. Don’t do it, Mert! Go back to sleep! But of course I wouldn't listen. My feet carried me across the cold stone, one step at a time, picking my way through the sleeping men around me. A healthy dose of glutinous consumption, whether it be of food or drink, would knock any man off their feet... but not this man. Nothing seemed to hold greater power over me than the mares of night, day, and in-between.

Following the bird to the chamber beyond, I saw it disappear into the shadows which edged the great Colosseum. As I approached, a voice spilt out of the blackness. “What are you doing?” Ravens don’t talk, and I was happy for it. Their eyes say enough to fill a whole nightmare on their own. Luckily for me, this nightmare was not heightened by raven words, but ended by the realization that I truly was awake. These were the words of Kyra the Tallri.

If by day, my reply would have been swift, but how can one speak when awoken rudely by a demon-spawn of the sky? Nothing clever came to mind, nor did I ponder what she meant by her question before responding with the dumbest thing I could have said. “I was chasing a bird.” That would sound stupid if we were still in the forest, but what a greater lunatic I seemed speaking of birds in this mountain tomb.

She revealed herself from the shadows, showing that it was truly her, thus dispelling any fear that might have remained that I was still in a dream. “No, boy, what are you doing with them!” Though she spoke in a low tone, her words bit the air in disgust aided by her accusatory point to the chamber I had come from.

“Well...” I thought, the cloud of the dream quickly fading, but not quick enough for my liking. “I thought I would enjoy a nice meal before we continued on, and they didn't seem to mind. Though the dried out deer definitely beats that sewage water we drank on our way north, nothing can compare to freshly roasted meat and a cup of warm ale to wash it down.”

“The only thing that would make that meal better is poison.” Usually when Kyra made such outlandish statement they were laced with mockery and jest. This time, however, she sounded more convinced of her words than I.

“No, I like my meat without poison actually.” What a juvenile thing to say, though this time I could blame my quick tongue and slow wit on the rude awakening I had received. She clearly wasn't in a joking mood. “Why would those men poison me? They seem fine enough and have honoured me more than I have been since becoming a knight. Lady Calwen could learn a thing or two from these mountain men.”

“They are the allmarach, worshippers of the mountain.”

“Yes, I've gathered that. Catch up, would you?” Usually I was the one speaking and her the one replying with mockery. I thought it was about time to give her a taste of her own medicine, though she did not take it as I expected, but instead like a child spitting the medicine back out in her mother's face.  She slapped me. Never before had she raised her hand to strike me, and such an act caught me off guard which I'm sure was her intention.
“They are the enemies of the Tallri. We hold beauty and love in the highest order. Those perkoh defile Riul's creation with war, blood-lust, and destruction.”

“Oh, and they also worship the rock. Did you forget that part? I'm sure that Riul is pleased with their worship of the creation over the creator.” She never backed down when speaking in jest, so why should I... but I had never hit her.

“We must leave at once! For all we know, these men could be in league with Klychawk.” Her gestures were so animated that I thought she almost believed what she was saying.

She may have seen some sort of logic in her words, but I only saw humour and almost failed to stifle a laugh. Was she truly so afraid of these men that her common sense was failing? “Surely that must be it because before we left that beautiful forest behind we saw one of these men murdered in cold blood by a servant of Klychawk, or were you sleeping for that part?”

“I admit that I know not what happened there, but I do know what will happen here if these men see a Tallri within their sacred mountain. If you choose to stay with these allmarach, I will leave you in their hands. Perhaps with your new sword you can fight off Klychawk yourself!”

“Perhaps so, with this new army of mine!” I stood a little taller with pride. They respected me, and I them. Though at first they were the farthest thing from honourable in my eyes, the naming ceremony had given me an entirely new perspective.

“Army?” She did not even pretend to stifle her laugh. “They are not the organized group of knight you are used to, boy, but simply a band of barbarians with sticks. You are not one of them any more than that sword is part of your arm, though you may like both to be true. You think they respect you, based on a gift given, enough to die for you?”

“They like me more than you ever have!” Was I trying to convince her, or myself. I didn't want to leave these men. For the first time in a long time I felt at home, accepted, wanted. The Pharosh could wait a few more days... but could Klychawk? Though it was true that I didn't know what type of danger stalked us, nor whether Klychawk even knew where we were, neither did she. What right did she have to tear me away from my new-found friends based on paranoia.

“Well, when Klychawk comes knocking on the lid of this coffin, and Lady Eyes doesn't sweep him off his feet with her beauty, you will find no help from me. The only ones who can help us are the Pharosh, and I aim to claim that help before we are no longer in need of it, trapped in coffins of our own.”

She turned to go, but I called out to her, almost afraid to wake the men in the room beyond. “Wait!” She did not turn around, but stood, waiting to see what words I had to convince her to stay. Though her belief that the allmarach were in league with Klychawk was unfounded, she would not see it differently unless an alternative was provided. “How do you expect to leave this mountain? The way forward is well forked and winding. Who better to lead us through than one of these men?”

She remained silent for some time. What was going through her head? I remember many times as a child sitting with Farah, wishing I knew what was going through her head. The mind of a woman is not quickly nor easily traversed, even by those who have the pleasure of spending time there. I did not have such luxury, though I wished now more than ever that I did. “Fine.” She replied simply. “But you will not see me until that perkoh is gone. This rock provides enough shadows for even the worst assassins to remain concealed.” Before she took her last step into the darkness, she continued with just as much bite in her words as before. “Keep that in mind with the allmarach at your side... or your back.”

***

Brynd stood and addressed the men who waited expectantly. “Mert Whatley seeks an advocate to lead him out of the mountain of god. Though his time here was brief, it is remembered. He carries with him Lady Eyes, the first sword of the Protector. Who would like to honour her legacy by leading her to the world beyond the mountain?”

The room was silent for quite some time. I didn't know any one of them better than the other, and they certainly knew not a lot about me. What would I do in such a situation? If only I knew what it was like to be part of a tribe of warriors, but alas I could not relate with them... and never would be able to. Curse that Thief. “I shall answer her call and guide Lady Eyes to the land above.” I looked to see the man who spoke. It was the axe-man: Cargh.

He stepped out from the crowd and pulled his newly acquired sword from its sheath. Approaching Brynd and I, he knelt. “May the Rock guide my path, and Fioreh, my arm. I pledge my services to the great warrior, Lady Eyes, and her mission is my own.”

Brynd spoke again. “Lady Eyes, what is your mission?”

Lady Eyes? Oh wait, that’s me! What a strange culture this was. How should I respond to that? Am I to be a representative for my sword? Personifying a sword can only go so far... can't it? “I have heard from Lady Eyes, and I... uh... she wishes to travel to the River West. Too long has she been trapped, surrounded by rock.” That sounded awkward.

“Cargh Fioreh.” Man and sword stood as Brynd directed them before turning to me. “Mert Whatley Lady Eyes.” If I had known that my sword would become a type of surname for myself, I would have chosen a lot differently. “Go forth, with the blessing of the Rock who stands firm.”

“The Rock stands firm.” The company spoke that familiar phrase, yet this time it was not in joyous cacophony, but in a low and sombre tone.

“... stand firm,” I said with them, mumbling out the last half of the phrase as I was caught unaware.

Cargh turned to look at me while sheathing Fioreh. “Lead on, Mert Whatley Lady Eyes.”

Oh boy. How long will that awful name follow me around. I don’t even want to think of what Kyra would say about that!

***

The walls sparkled like a thousand stars in a sea of black. The torchlight bounced from one diamond to the next while playing tag with the darkness. The shadows shifted before us like a great pool of ink spilt, waving through the manipulation of the light Cargh held in his hand.

The further we progressed through the winding passages, the more gems glistened to life as if conjured up by the torchlight itself. Such untold treasures lay beneath this rock, but despite having no tool to pry it from the mountain’s maw, I didn't know what Cargh would think of me using the rock as a means of personal gain. If I am tempted by the treasure within these walls... I laughed to myself, thinking of the the Thief and how much she must be struggling not to pry each and every gem from the stone.

“You will not see me until that perkoh is gone...” she had said. I peered into the shadows behind us hoping to spot a glint of light bouncing off her eyes or see the shadows shift differently in revelation of her position. How great a distance did she follow us from? Did she follow us at all? This new companion of mine was strangely silent and it almost made me miss the way she would criticize my naive juvenility.  Almost.

Turning around, I watched my silent company as he led me past another corner, yet another winding path into the unknown caverns of this fortress. I had no trouble believing that Kyra could remain hidden from eye and ear alike. Not only did the shadows provide ample cover, but the sound of metal clanking as Cargh's armour rubbed against itself with every step shrouded any noise the Thief might have made. He was not outfitted as amply as Brynd, but a fair amount of armour hung from his every limb, glinting in the low torchlight. Not only did his armour reflect the light, but Fioreh’s orange glow could be seen from within the open sheath on his back she now called home. “Why does she glow orange?” I thought to myself before realizing that I had said it out loud.

Cargh turned his head back to me and made to reply. “Fioreh?” He asked simply. This man was eloquent when in the company of his own people and knew all the right words to say, but without ritual to direct his tongue he seemed awkward and hesitant.

“Yes. Lady Eyes glows a clear blue, but Fioreh is orange.”

“Indeed.” He turned back, concentrating on the route before us as if to make no more comment on the matter. Time seemed to stop.  The next few moments, remaining silent, felt like a lifetime. “She is of firestone.”

I suppose that is some form of explanation. It wasn't my intention to merely learn about the sword but perhaps start a conversation. Clearly such intentions did not translate. “What is firestone?”

Cargh remained silent once again as if contemplating whether to answer me. Soon his words broke the air like soft thunder from a distance, rumbling for a time before dissipating once more. “It is of a time before me from the depths of the mountain, long ago buried by the lake of fire. Below the fire-flooded passageways, there were many a stone exotic and unique. One of these was firestone.”

“Fire-flooded...” I trailed off into thought before finished the statement. “...by the Pharosh?”

Suddenly, Cargh turned on me as if spoken to by a demon, eyes mixed with fear and hate. “Where did you hear such things!” The thunder of his voice drew closer, rising in volume and rumbling the walls of the rock for longer before fading beyond in idle echoes.

Clearly I had done something to offend him, though I knew not what. “I am sorry, man, I meant no offence. I speak out of ignorance, simply guided by what the Tallri told me.”

Spittle from his mouth was launched to the floor where it formed a bitter pool or disgust. “Those servants of Riul have no place speaking of the Rock! None is greater than that in which we stand, and not even fire could penetrate her mighty stance! The Rock stands firm!” The rumbling grew closer as his words battled with each other in the air.

“The rock stands firm,” I replied, without really knowing what I was saying. Perhaps that customary response would calm him some, though I knew not its meaning.

“And don’t you doubt it!” He said with finality, his voice settling a little.

I did not wish my next phrase to come out as a challenge, or even be perceived as such, so I waited a while, letting the silence between us calm his nerves a little. “What is the true origin of the lake of fire?”

“The great forge was brought to us by the Rock, mighty in strength and wisdom. The fire in his heart burned so great that it spilled over, rising from the depth of the mountain. The fire was given to us by the Rock to craft mighty weapons with which to vanquish all who defile his name.”

“The Tallri?” I said, almost to myself, but no words could be kept secret with walls of rock all around that ricochet and twist speech to greater heights than intended. Kyra may have seen advantage in the shadows, but such amplification left no room for secrecy.

“They defile the name of the Rock calling him just a creation of Riul. The Rock stands firm beneath such cruel accusations.”

“I’m sure it... uh, he does” was all I could say. I had no place in this battle of the gods, for I subscribed to neither one or the other. As my hand sunk down to my belt I could feel the cold surface of the Horn of Riul, almost wishing I could hide the trinket from the man. Whether it truly held power over nature, I was yet to be convinced, but I didn't want to offend this man any more than I already had. Alas, having nowhere to put the horn save for where it was fastened, I left it alone. What cause did I have to worry? In my time with the allmarach none had mentioned or even noticed the horn. If it did hold any power or meaning, these men were ignorant of it, and I had no desire to cure such naivety, though the silence did provide ample time for conversation. Too ample. What could I talk about with this man that would not offend? “Tell me more of Fioreh.” If I had learned one thing in my time beneath this rock it was that these men had no shortage of words when it came to swords.

“Forged of firestone, she burns the flesh of her foes. Many tales could be told of her might and valour in battle.” Pride seeped through his words.

“Tell me a tale then.” Finally, something to keep this man talking. It would be a dry journey, indeed, if he remained as silent as he had been.

His eyes went glassy like recalling a memory. “Ahbin, Tal, Dubnam, Freas” he recited the first four names of his sword from memory while pulling her from his back, a low orange glow passing through the shadows. “These were the first four arms of Fioreh. Ahbin was a brutal man. They say his blood ran colder than that of the enemies he left in his wake. Lacking family or friends, no manner of love or mercy held him back from his trek to rid the world of evil. With the Rock as his guide and Fioreh, his strength, he would venture beyond the mountain each night to hunt out those that plagued the land.

“One night, while on the hunt, he heard voices in the distance behind a great rock. As he drew closer, he saw quickly the cause of the commotion. A small band of Pharosh had come across the River West and were mining the rock from the low-lying hills. Their large machines could be seen by the light of the moon.”

“Large machines?”

“Indeed. The Pharosh used to fashion giant machines which bore into the rock before placing that vile black powder in the deep holes. Through this defilement they would blow large chunks of rock from mountains and hills before carrying them away to use for whatever vile schemes they would conjure up.” I could tell by his tone that he was getting agitated again. “The rock is to be honoured, not abused! We mine rock with rock, nothing more. This has always been the way.

“Such monstrous contraptions angered Ahbin and the fire in his heart fed the flame of Fioreh. Man and sword, warrior and warrior, charged into the fray, catching the Pharosh off guard. The machines were destroyed as Ahbin struck at their limbs until they began to fall apart, one piece at a time. Soon the battlefield was littered with the dead, machine and Pharosh alike. As Ahbin reached for the final Pharosh that day he shouted, ‘You cannot crush the Rock! The Rock stands firm!’ before plunging Fioreh through his enemy. She reached her flaming hand through his back and into his chest, burning the flesh around the wound. It was a slow death for the Pharosh that day as their flesh burned with every wound inflicted. Ahbin left many of them writhing in pain, the flame of Fioreh torturing them as the burn spread through their bodies.” Cargh was breathing hard when he finished the tale. He swung his sword as if reliving every moment of the brutal battle.

“Firestone...” my thoughts trailed off with the possibilities. What magic was this that could burn flesh with steel? Such a great sword deserves the respect of those names there inscribed... but in the end it is still a sword; nothing but a tool in the hand of a warrior. What can a sword do without one to wield her but burn the ground she lies upon, hoping that some unlucky enemy would trip over her. I did not speak such thoughts of course, for I did not wish my flesh burned by the wrath of Cargh. Not wanting my thoughts to take over the conversation I was eager to get my companion talking again. “And what of Lady Eyes?”

The little man gave a laugh, putting Fioreh back in her place upon his back. “She is but a trinket compared to Fioreh. A silver sword, that is all.”

“Do I not hold the first sword of the Protector?” How did this man have the right to talk so fondly of his own blade yet call mine a trinket? “She must have some great tales of her own?”

“Nay. She is but a child in the warrior's ranks.”

“I will make a name for her then!” I said with pride, eyeing her like a precious gem.

“Your arm is hers to direct. You make no name for her, but she will carve a path herself through the enemies of the Rock.”

“Certainly...” Though my words agreed, my heart did not. A sword would never control me, no matter how beautiful she may be.

The silence that followed was now welcome. If this man was simply going to insult Lady Eyes, I would hear nothing of it. I covered every inch of the blade with my fingers as we continued down the winding path through the mountain. She would prove greater entertainment than Cargh. The things we could do together! What adventures we would have. I imagined Klychawk himself standing before us, and me plunging Lady Eyes into his heart, breaking it forever. Beautiful women... breaking hearts seem to be their employ. Why could Farah not wait for me? Why must I continue on this journey in a strange land with strange people instead of living in Glanderxe with mother, Miranda, and Farah at my side. The more I thought about this mission, the worse I felt. My longing to return home was growing by the day, and it seemed like every corner I turned reminded me of Miss Farah Bailey. My heart was warmed as I saw light up ahead, seeping through the cracks around a giant bolder which blocked our path out of this mountain. Soon I would reach the Pharosh, and soon I would return home.

In Whole or in Part? (A story of the armour of God)

“Get out!” She screamed. There were definitely better greetings to come home to after a long day of work. Work. That’s where I was, or at least that’s what everyone thought. My life used to be easy, living the monotony of working toward the American Dream. There was more money in the bank than I could count and the numbers continued climbing, matching my pace up the ladder of success

The climb was hard, long and tiring, but I wasn’t afraid of heights. Each rung was even harder to hold onto as they became wet with moisture from the clouds. The puffs of white in the clear sky looked so beautiful from the ground, but there is nothing beautiful about them when you travel day and night, vision obscured, not knowing up from down, clothes drenched in sweat and moisture, barely clutching the wooden beam which keeps you from falling.

How foolish I had been, how foolish indeed. I always dreamt of Heaven above the clouds: a place of peace and relaxation. What does the head of a mighty corporation do all day but rake in the cash and sit in their chair eating candy? I didn’t know... and never would. It was like God looked down at my ladder, laughing at my pitiful attempts to reach him, before plucking my fingers from the rungs and releasing me. I watched my Tower of Babel fall, and with it my dreams.

“Take up the whole armour of God,” I heard my mother say while I lay there, crippled on the ground. She had taught me well, but I never listened. I wanted to be a warrior, conquering the world in one mighty sweep of success, but I couldn’t hold it together. I charged into battle and my armour fell off leaving me exposed: the very thing I hated. If only I had remembered the whole armour. “Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness.” I was not standing, though. I could not stand, legs broken from the fall.

The shield of faith was the first to go. I remembered the day so clearly. Dressed for work with all my armour, I arrived at the office early per usual. Why did I come so early? Was I such a hard worker, striving to succeed where all else failed? I could fool them as they watched me climb the ladder, but from below all they saw were the clouds. Only I knew what happened behind that shroud of puffy magic... well... Claire and I.

She had more power over her dad than I ever thought possible. I had heard of only children being reduced to spoilage, especially by fathers who had more money than time, but never saw it in action. Stuck at the bottom of the ladder, struggling to climb that first rung, to be noticed from within the crowd, I noticed her. She walked into the office, commanding the room with a gaze she clearly inherited from dad, who needed no words or actions to dictate his control. What he wanted was law, and no one could tell him what to do or think... except for his daughter.

Dropping that shield of faith I had held so long, I watched as she disappeared into the boss’s office. I remembered to carry that shield around, but what more did it do for me than weigh down my ascent (or lack thereof) up the ladder. If I ever hoped to reach that first rung, it might serve me better as a paperweight.

As a plan formulated in my head, I felt my belt of truth begin to slip from my waist to my knees. Quickly scanning the room, I hoped no one had noticed. Life had been so hard for the wife and I. She deserved more than this: an absent husband stuck in a dead end job. Kids, a car, a house, the white-picket fence; that was our dream and we were no closer to accomplishing it than we had been 10 years ago, so full of youth, ready to take on the world. I looked up at the first rung on the ladder from my place atop the shield, watching Claire leave the office that day. What harm would it be? Just a few lies and no one would known. They could fall behind me as I climb the ladder. I just needed a jump-start to get going, then my skill would carry me the rest of the way.

It started out slow, after all, what did I know about wooing a young lady? I hadn’t been on a “first date” in 10 years. Come to think of it, she wasn’t really that much younger than me. As I get older, age seems less of a factor. At 18, 5 years was too many to count, nevermind it being illegal. I didn’t want to go to jail for going out with a minor... but at 35? Thirty didn’t seem that young at all, and Claire didn’t think that 35 was too old... and neither did her dad.

More work was never a bad thing if it meant a promotion, a raise, one more rung up that ladder, the white-picket fence closer. I began to stay later at the office to work on the special projects my boss had me doing, not noticing how dishevelled my armour looked. At the office I ignored it, but it was my glaring fault when sitting down to a late dinner with my wife. I came in exhausted and dropped my bags, breastplate swinging uncontrollably having no belt of truth to keep it in place. Sitting at the table, she asked me how work was while kissing me, a kiss I didn’t deserve. The lies began to trickle out of my mouth like a leaky faucet, but it wasn’t long before the pipes exploded and my world was flooded with an uncontrollable torrent.

I was doing this for her, wasn’t I? I was doing this for us... at least that’s what helped me sleep at night. We had moved out of our downtown apartment and finally purchased a house. I was so happy when we unpacked our first boxes together and went out to eat at the fanciest restaurant in town that night to celebrate my promotion. Third promotion. Third rung, climbing into the clouds. Then in happened. Why now, in the middle of a nice meal with my wife? In such a big city, what were the odds that Claire would be working here. I had never thought to ask her about her personal life too much, and if I had I wasn’t really listening.

The shield of faith I had stood on for 10 years had gotten me nowhere. Still in that downtown apartment, still no kids, no house, still miserable. Putting it down was the best thing that ever happened to my family... but not to my armour. Trusting in God got us nowhere, but trusting in my own wit and deceitful schemes... that’s when I started climbing the ladder. The belt of truth quickly followed as I lied to my wife, hating every minute of it. Could she see that I had misplaced my shield and my breastplate was rattling freely as I shook in my skin like a child seeing a ghost? The breastplate was next, the belt of truth no longer holding it in place. I left righteousness behind in my pursuit of success, meeting with Claire more frequently as I climbed the ladder faster and faster.

I had felt the sting in my flesh before, the sting of burning arrows, but never this strong. When I dropped my shield for the first time the Devil saw his opportunity and shot me once, then twice, but I didn’t flinch. No pain, no gain, right? Now with no faith, truth, or righteousness, I was exposed, naked before my attacker. Exposed, the very thing I hate.

Claire came to our table, being our server that night... or at least she was supposed to be. When she spotted me with another woman, the only thing she served was a healthy dish of fiery arrows from the anger rising inside her. I was at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but I didn’t want any of the food. The plates at this restaurant looked like Heaven, but they had the bitter taste of Hell. The salad bar favourite was “Revenge: a dish best served cold.” As I continued to the main course I saw my plate of choice: adultery marinated in lies. It fed my body well, but the bitter taste left me empty inside, keeping me coming back, my hunger for success never satisfied. Now came the dessert. I knew it was coming, though I never wished it this way. After eating so much entree, how could I have room for dessert, but Claire didn’t care. She heaped anger and jealousy on my plate in giant mounds and like a slave-driver forced me to eat. I didn’t know how much she usually made from tips, but if there was a way to give negative tips, tonight would be the night. Why should I pay for this meal I don’t want, being forced to eat by a waitress who now despises me.

I had heard of second-breakfasts, but never second desserts. When taught about spelling I was always told that the difference between desert and dessert was the extra “S” because you always want more dessert. How wrong that theory was. My second dessert was one of sadness, hurt, pain. Tonight’s second dessert was served by my wife once we got home. I didn’t know what to say, and neither did she. I don’t think she even cared if I ate my dessert, she just kept heaping it onto my plate, making me stare at all the pain I had caused her. I thought the plate would break beneath the weight of all the dessert, but it never did. The only thing that broke was her heart... and mine.

The next morning I tried to put on my armour and get ready for work, but could not. My shield had been gone for some time and my belt was at work, probably in the garbage can by my desk. The breastplate or righteousness? It had been falling off in pieces ever since the affair started, but the last piece fell on the floor of the restaurant last night and I didn’t have to energy or care to pick it up. What did I have left? The helmet of salvation and shoes of readiness, the gospel of peace. On second though, I just had the helmet. Those sandals of peace had been lost last night as I struggled beneath the gaze of my wife, hurt and disappointed. I just wanted to make everything okay, but what could I do? Throwing on my helmet, not caring how lopsided it was, I headed to work.

The hot summer sun of the morning heated the asphalt of the parking lot up like a solar oven. I had never noticed before with my shoes on, but having lost those sandals of peace my feet were raw by the time I reached the door to the office building. Stepping into the elevator I stared at the buttons until my vision blurred. Up or down? I had been going up for a long time, climbing higher and higher on the ladder of success, but where would I be going now? I pushed “up” in hopeless expectation and was rewarded with the gift I deserved. Without armour I was stripped of everything, pierced by the arrows of the devil, barely able to keep that helmet on my head. I was greeted at my desk by a note from the boss to see him in his office. I had been receiving similar notes over the past could of years, while I climbed the ladder, but somehow this time I didn’t think it would lead to a promotion or special project.

The boss shot more arrows at me, and I couldn’t ward them off. Fired: I was finished, defeated, launched from the ladder I had climbed, using his daughter to reach such heights, leaving my armour at the bottom, untouched. I had climbed so high and now I fell, recalling the past couple years of my life, reliving the past as I fell one rung at a time. I remembered the loss of my sandals, breastplate, belt... where was my sword? It must have fallen off when I took off my belt that first time. Not only could I not defend myself, but I couldn’t fight back... and it hadn’t even occurred to me. Creating the illusion of work, I drove around town until quitting time before returning home.

“Get out!” She screamed. There were definitely better greetings to come home to after a long day of work. Work. That’s where I was, or at least that’s what everyone thought. Not really. Who was I fooling? Not myself. I lost all my armour, my job, and now my wife. There was no better place for me than at the bottom of that ladder I had once climbed. “A little leaven leavens the whole lump.” Once I took that first piece of armour off, there was no turning back. What is a warrior without his shield? What is a breastplate without the belt of truth to keep it fastened in place, and what is a sword without a belt to keep it on? What use are sandals when the rest of you is exposed, and a helmet... I took it off in despair and looked at it. Did I even deserve this helmet? Saved by grace and killed by stupidity.

I heard a voice from the Heavens call down to me. “My son, put your armour back on... and don’t take it off this time.” I struggled to my feet and redressed, not knowing what else to do. As I reached down to grab the final piece, the shield of faith, an arrow came whizzing through the air and instinctively I lifted the shield to receive it. The arrow struck hard and true, leaving me unscathed. The climb would be harder, being weighed down by all this armour, but at least I would survive this time. I took my first step, no longer hopeless and defeated, but clothed in salvation, righteousness, peace and faith, wielding the sword of the spirit to challenge all that may come against me.

The Emperor's Edge by Lindsay Buroker

A DRM-free Steam-punk Fantasy tale


The Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
Price: Free


There once was a woman named  Amaranthe Lokdon.  She loves her job as an enforcer, hunting down thieves and all manner of evil that may cross her path.  One day she is called on specifically by one of the higher-ups in down to do a special project.  Imagine her excitement!  ... And you'll have to imagine more than that, because that's all I'm going to tell you about this wonderfully crafted story by Lindsay Buroker.  Oh, and one more thing.  there is an assassin   His name is Sicarius.   You will have to read it to find out the rest... the question is, should you read it?  Short answer: yes.  Long answer: read the review, okay?

Buroker does a good job at setting up the story and putting in place elements that will play well into the story later on. The characters are pretty good, though often predictable, but I enjoyed the humour in the dialogue spurred on by different backgrounds and world views. I am quite amazed at how good the book is despite the fact that not a lot happens. There is a single plot thread that develops slowly throughout the story, but though the pacing is a little slow, I was impressed that Buroker kept the tale engaging throughout.

I was not completely convinced by the plot.  Amaranthe Lokdon devises this plan off of the top of her head, and it definitely feels like an off-the-top-of-her-head plan.  It didn't convince me, and I am glad to see that, though this is what drive the story, Buroker didn't just have the other story characters go along with it "just because that's what the story's about, okay!"

All in all, the plot points that were unconvincing and left me hanging, asking "Why" in the first half of the book were rectified by the second half. The biggest problem I had throughout was "Why is Sicarius even hanging out with these untalented folk and entertaining such an unconvincing plan?" I was happy to see that this was tied up nicely by the end and it didn't not leave me in want. I will say, however, that such seemingly glaring character flaws and plot holes at the beginning of a book could turn a lot or people off, thus they would never finish it and find out that it is actually good. It kind of gave me that thriller feel where you don't really know the whole story until the very end (and even then a lot is left for your imagination... or for the other many books in the series ;) ).

The Conclusion:
A good fantasy read. I didn't find anything in Buroker's writing to make her work stand out from the crowd (other than not being awful like many self-published indies these days. ;) :P). She didn't do an excellent job at description, action, dialogue, plot, characters, and all things that make up a book, but rather a well rounded good job. IMHO this is better than doing excellent at one thing (i.e. description) but completely failing at another (i.e. dialogue). If you like fantasy/steam-punk this is for you.

Where you can find it:
Smashwords
Amazon
Kobo

Glanderxe - Chapter 12

What is a man to do when given a gift and asked to feast with cowardly barbarians? Refuse the gift? Reject his own wants and needs by turning up nose at a hot meal? Though the company had not won me over with their hospitality, they were a necessary evil to endure while enjoy meat and mead. I had been seated to the right of Brynd as his guest of honour, and though his feelings toward me were not reciprocated, my time at Glanderxe - forced to entertain the juvenile ramblings of Sir Yoyde - had taught me how to endure the company of those less honourable than myself.

As I sat there enjoying the food - not sure where they got meat underground - I felt like a spy infiltrating their ranks. A Judas. An outsider. How could such men survive beneath the Keltone mountains? It seemed from their pale skin that many years had passed since they’d seen the sun (if they ever had), their faces appearing like ghosts behind thick unshaven beards.

Though I was the guest of honour they mostly left me alone, too busy with their own partying to bother with “the outsider” from Glanderxe. I thought that perhaps I would get away with grabbing a nice warm meal before continuing on my trek, but those plans were quickly thwarted as Brynd stood up beside me. (Not that I minded, because did I really even know where I was going? These barbarians most likely know more about the rock and path beyond than I did. Could it be that they would prove useful not only for filling my belly with a nice meal, and hand with a beautiful sword, but also my head with knowledge of my surrounding, not only aiding my soul but my quest?) “Men!” The words struggled to release themselves from behind a mighty mask of hair, but once penetrating the perimeter blasted the surrounding area with strength and power. “We gather this day to celebrate!”

Arms shot into the air all around the chamber: some holding mugs, others weapons, and still others finely roasted legs of the animal they had been devouring. The raised arms were coupled with raised voices in reply to their leader.

“To celebrate the strengthening of one,” he signalled over to the axe-man of the Colosseum fight, who stood as if directed to do so, “and the birth of another!” Was his other hand gesturing toward me? What could I do but stand in response? If I was to blend into the crowd, this was not the way to do it, but refusing his gesture could be perceived as yet another defilement of their customs (of which I was still quite unaware). As I rose the cheering began once again for a time, before subsiding to allow Brynd to continue. “Cargh, step forward!” the axe-man left his place at the table and came to stand in front of Brynd. “You have won a great victory this day. Have you any words?”

Cargh bowed his head slightly to Brynd before turning to face the company which now fixed their gaze on him. Pulling his newly acquired sword from his back and turning it slowly in hand to reveal an orange glow reflected in the metal by the torches in the room, he spoke in a low, respectful tone. “He was a good man. A good man... with a good sword.” He ran his gloved fingers along the edge of the sword caressingly. “She has served us many years, and served us well. Ahbin, Tal, Dubnam, Freas...” His fingers moved along the edge like reading from a scroll. The names continued as his digits glided along the steel, stopping at the final name Fior. “It is in his memory that I stand here today: the memory of a warrior and the sword he held. She is a blade, forged within the fire of the mountain of god by those who have gone before us. Her swing is sure, this warrior. Directed by the fire within, she seeks out all that challenge to quench her flame.” His voice rose higher and higher, cascading over the crowd like a mighty torrent as he screamed those final words. “In memory of the arm she directed before mine, I name her Fioreh!”

The crowd cheered as he stretched the blade out in front of him and slashed the air a few times with great finesse and might. “The rock stands firm!” Cargh shouted as he danced around, sword in hand.

“The rock stands firm!” came the reply from the crowd as the shouting turned to joyous laughter caused by the bonding of warrior with warrior - man with blade. The undisturbed din continued for some time, weapons of every kind stretch to the rock-face above in celebration while others clanked mugs and glasses, drinking in joy. Finally Brynd lifted his hand, silencing the room once again. “Mert Whatley of Glanderxe. You have become a warrior this day, sacrificing your blade for another. Though no blood was spilt, a price was paid, a price greater than many would pay. Have you any words to say?”

What did they expect me to say? I knew nothing of their customs but what I have seen. Was I to dance around like a lunatic as Cargh did before me?

Pulling the sword from its sheath as I had seen the axe-man do, I gave the blade a thorough inspection. When first gifted it by Brynd I noticed the warn blade shone blue with the light’s reflection but paid little attention to its intricacies. Running my finger along the blade, as I had seen Cargh do, I felt every notch and inspected every scratch. I followed the edge of the steel from tip to pommel before noticing the sole name etched in the fine blade. “Brynd.”

“You hold in your hand the first blade the Protector,” Brynd spoke of himself in a hushed tone like referencing another. “I forged her myself from the ores found in the depths of the mountain.”

“The first sword of Brynd, gifted to me by the Protector himself.” I repeated his words for the whole company to hear. “Forged from the ores of the mountain of god. She is Lady Eyes, her blue eyes piercing the heart of any man who dare look into them. She rushes into battle like a mighty torrent, knocking men off their feet with her beauty.”

There was a brief pause before the gathered company began to cheer. “The rock stands firm!”

“Right, the rock stands firm.” I said with half-hearted stupidity. Luckily the cheering was so loud that no one heard my blundering words. I gave Lady Eyes a dance through the air for the amusement of the crowd, though I was not as graceful as Cargh. She was much lighter than my previous sword, and though short in comparison, what she lacked in reach she made up for in speed.

The little dance was short-lived as I felt stupid swinging my sword without an opponent to test her against. Joining Cargh in front of Brynd, I waited to see how this strange ritual would progress. The crowd died down as we made our way out of the great hall through twisted, until passageways. Surely I would not have known how to proceed through the mountain, for the route forked many times past this great hall and getting lost would have been inevitable.

Though I had many questions, including our destination, I stayed silent as the company around me. We continued to descend deeper and deeper into the rock until a light glow could be seen ahead. Approaching the chamber, the path grew brighter as if we stalked the sun itself.  Soon torches were no longer needed and I could feel a great heat rising from below. A mighty sea of fire stood before me bubbling and spitting. Though I had no desire to draw any closer to this pool of liquid death, I followed Brynd and Cargh at the head of the company until they stopped at the edge of the lake. Brynd turned to the crowd and said in a low, respectful tone, “The mountain forge awaits.”

Cargh stooped down, dipping the tip of his blade into the fire. After a moment he lifted it out and I saw the heat rise half-way up the steel from the bright red hue that was eminent on the surface and surely hot to the touch. Taking the blade over to a large, flat-topped rock he placed it down and began to scrawl something into the hot, soft metal with a white gem he had taken from atop the stone. I watched him concentrate on his work, not only out of curiosity but also knowing that I would soon be mimicking his actions. A great cauldron stood at the far end of the chamber we had descended into, encased on three sides by rock, one side by fire. After finishing his work, he approached the cauldron and dipped the glowing blade into the cool water-bath. Steam rose from the sword as it touched the water, cooling quickly. Once receiving the blade from beneath the waves he inspected it and spoke, listing off all the names there inscribed for a second time. This time, however, he did not stop with the name of the blade’s previous owner Fior, but read one final name, the name he had thus inscribed into the blade, “Cargh.”

The blue-glow of Lady Eyes turned red as I dipped her beneath the fiery waves, following suit. Heat from the pool travelled up the length of the blade, through the pommel, and into my hand. I did not let go, I couldn’t. The burning of the blade matched the burning of my skin. We felt the pain together - man and blade, warrior and warrior. One fused into the other to create one being, one arm, one sword. The-red hot glow of Lady Eyes matched the burning that crawled up my arm as I drew her from the fire and set her down on the stone. With my other hand I grabbed the white stone and placed it on her skin, pressing in lightly being careful not to damage her smooth complexion.

Man was bound to sword through fire, and now bound by name. Having finished my inscription, I brought her to the cool waters within the cauldron and dipped her beneath the waves. I felt the chill crawl up the blade and into my arm, returning the feeling to my once singed nerves. Drawing her from beneath that wet salvation I lifted her for the company to see, a smile spreading across my face. Lady Eyes was mine, and I was hers. Never before had I been so proud to claim a sword as my own. “Brynd,” I began, reading the names, though they weren’t many. “Mert Whatley,” I finished, my smile growing broader if that were possible. The partying company of before now stood sombre and respectful before us, acceptance in their eyes and excitement in their hearts, but none were more excited than myself. A sword, a sword of my very own. This one held meaning, a name, an inscription. I danced around, much like Cargh had done in the chamber above but I had been afraid too. Nothing held me back now, no fear or shame, feeling like a husband with his new bride, no care in the world. Laughter erupted from the crowd around me as they watched me make a fool of myself. “The rock stands firm, indeed,” I heard from within the crowd, though I knew not from who, nor did I care.

Glanderxe - Chapter 11

The water was warm and comforting, its soft waves caressing my bare chest. The new morning sun shone bright and clear, glistening on the surface of the water like a sea of diamonds. Travelling by night deprived me of a well-needed rest. Closing my eyes, the water surrounded me like a woman’s embrace, her warm breath tickling my neck with passionate whispers - the wind.  A leaf glided from above brushing my cheek like wisps of beautiful hair. Such pleasure almost made me forget where I was, taking me back to a place and time without care, worry, or fear.

Oh how I missed Farah. Why had I left her like I did? Come for me now, or not at all. Those words. So pure. So true. How could such pain come from those sweet lips of hers? Those tears. Such sorrow. Such pain. What a noble knight I turned out to be. I could not leave my family for Miss Farah Bailey, but for Lady Calwen... What a child I was to refuse love in favour of loyalty and honour.  A knot formed in my stomach. My soul tortured - I forced myself back into reality, opening my eyes. My breath was quick and heavy as I let out a groan, clutching my stomach with both hands.

Attempting to clear my mind, I dove under the water. Cleansing one’s body was simple when water was plentiful... but the mind... she was a different beast altogether. I tried to trick her, ignore her, leave her in the dust of the road... but I could not. She stalked me at night and taunted me from the shadows by day. My sword-arm was trained and ready to fight the beast, but what use was steel against the mind?

My head rose from beneath the waves, but the beast followed me. I had but one defence against her: one defence practised and refined. I ran. Ran from the water. Ran for my clothes. Ran for the trees. Ran for Kyra of the Tallri.

“Are they upon us?” She stood up in a flash, dagger unsheathed and ready.

I looked at her for a moment, catching my breath before realizing what a I fool must seem. “No. Nothing like that. No need to worry, Thief.”

She hesitated before putting her weapon away. “Why do you run?”

There was no logical answer I could give to that question. Two choices stood before me and neither were very favourable: tell the truth, what a fool I would be for it, or lie unconvincingly. I chose the latter. “Oh, no reason...” I stammered out, the lie still forming in my mouth. I could say I was simply enjoying the forest, but was I to seem like a deer prancing among the trees?

“No reason?” Her brow arched upward in well-deserved bewilderment. “Men do not run for no reason.”

“I saw the quick work you made of that spirit deer. I may be faster than you on a horse, but you clearly best me on foot. If I have any hope of catching you, should you run, I must practise the craft til my speed matches or bests your own.” That would be believable... wouldn’t it?

She laughed, signifying that I had succeeded in making my lie believable enough for her. “You are such a boy, Mert. Such wild dreams you have! If you spent all day practising your craft with the other boys, chasing each other in the streets of the great city, you would still have no chance of besting me.”

I decided to let her insults pass me by. At least I was out of that situation. Not wishing to return to any discussion of such things I quickly changed the subject. “The water is warm this morning. You should bathe before we continue on our journey.”

“We journey along the banks of the River West. The water will always be with us, and it remains warm year-round. There is no need for urgency.”

I had heard her mention the perpetual warmth of the water before but was uninterested at the time. I was no more interested now than before, but for the sake of conversation and to take my mind off of Farah, I posed the question. “How does it remain warm through the passing of the seasons?”

“If you believe the locals, beneath the river there is a lake of liquid fire.” She said with a bitter tone, though I knew not why.

“And do you believe the locals?”

“I believe all that is revealed to me by Riul and nothing more. If there is such a lake beneath the river, I cannot say. I can say that the perpetual warmth is not an act of Riul but the Pharosh who tamper with her creation.” Her eyes filled with fire as she spoke. I had never seen her angry before, as she seemed to favour mockery and guile. “Men build cities where trees should be, but the Pharosh engage in greater evils than this. They tamper with the very fabric of creation, bending and twisting it to their will.” She spat on the ground in disgust. “The River West will never freeze, nor can in be forded, for further out the current is great. There is but one way to cross the river, this not by the design of Riul, but the will of the Pharosh.”

I remained silent for a moment not wanting to add to her anger. We continued in silence until I saw her countenance soften. “The only way to cross the great River West is by the main road to the south.”

Now it was my turn to become agitated. “The main road! We have travelled north from the main road, and now you say that we must return south? You said the northern route was shorter.”

“Aye. To reach the river it is shorter. I said nothing about crossing it.” She smiled at me through her deception, her natural countenance returning.

“What purpose would reaching the river prove if it cannot be crossed?”

“You revealed your destination to be the River West. I got you to the River West. If there is fault in the direction it doesn't lie with my ability to lead us, but your ability to communicate.” I wanted to slap that sly grin off her face.

“Oh, so now that you desire to see the Pharosh you take us in the correct direction. What was your intention before? To get us lost in the wilds of the north?”

“I am Tallri. We don’t get lost, however, if you wish to, you can find your own way to the Pharosh.”

My mind raced with words. So many words. Unkind. Unbeneficial. Untrue. Eventually, after my head had cooled some, I spoke. “You are right. We must travel together and any dissension between us will not work in our favour. I merely misunderstand the need to travel north.”

“It was your decision to take the northern route, and I did not lie. We did indeed reach the River West.”

“Let’s just go.” I said in disgust. It was plain that she would not be moved from her position. The only thing that more ranting and raving would accomplish would be more insults directed at me for being like a child throwing a tantrum. “The sooner we get moving, the sooner we will get back to the main road. You must swear to me that you will be truthful henceforth.”

“I will remain truthful as I have been. I am hunted the same as you. It would prove unprofitable to lead you anywhere but to the Pharosh.”

I could not speak to her any further. Her countenance annoyed me. How could she be so deceptive and yet claim that it’s my fault? She was right with one thing, however. Nothing was keeping me with her any longer. She had returned my money to me and I really just wanted to be rid of her. She had dragged us past the mountains, past any semblance of civilization, to a place where animals appeared as spirits, companions turned on one another in cold blood, and water was unnaturally warm. No such things were heard of in Glanderxe Coessarde and I longed to return to familiarity, comfort, and family. My loyalty battled with my sanity, pushing me forward. I followed the Thief simply for lack of another sane alternative. She had led me here, and only she knew where our destination lay... or so she said. I did not trust her, but grudgingly followed her lead.

I remembered on the journey north that the way had been perilous and unpleasant. The way south was from a different world completely. As we walked among the trees, beauty all around, my emotions were calmed a little. At least the journey would be pleasant in contrast to my companion. Her external beauty hid the beast she was beneath, and I hoped that the forest would not hide a similar deception.

The climate was unchanged as we progressed. Whether day or night, it remained the same. No longer did we suffer by day and shiver by night. Firewood was of plenty and water was easier to find than sunshine on a clear day. The dried meat of the spirit deer served us well, causing me to almost forget the bland staple of the frozen wasteland.

As the sun rose above the mountains before us I silently praised the goddess of nature though I worshipped her not in practise. Covered in snow they look ominous and unpleasant, but with the greenery of life their appearance was inviting. Drawing closer I saw water cascading down the rock, dipping its toes into the mighty River West. How could such beauty exist in these desolate lands? This forest deserved to be populated by beasts of every kind. In my mind’s eyes I saw children chasing one another beneath this mighty canopy, bird’s nesting on the clefts above, deer grazing in the fields beyond, woman washing garments by the shoreline. This place of beauty deserved so much more than a handful of spirit deer.

The Tallri led me beneath the mighty clefts, rock rising high to my left and water from above cascaded to my right. We travelled into the mountains, surrounded by rock and water, through this tunnel of nature for but a moment before a stone wall stood before us. “The mountain pass lies to the east through the snow and wind. There is but one other way to reach Glanderxe Coessarde beyond - beneath the mountains.”

Below there would be no trees, no light, no beauty. I peered through the wall of water to my right watching the sunlight glisten trying to capture a final taste of the beauty. “What lies beneath these mountains?” I was almost afraid to ask. It was foolish of me to expect the beauty of the forest to last forever, but I was not ready to leave. It had captured my heart and I longed to remain.

“That I cannot say. No Tallri has ever journey beneath the Keltone. It is said that the locals created caves and tunnels beneath the surface to escape the harsh conditions which surround these hills.”

“Harsh conditions...” I mumbled under my breath. The forest was far from harsh though the land beyond was. I saw no sense in leaving, but loyalty pushed me from the dream of making a house among the trees away from all worry and care. “Lead the way, Thief.” I said while I looked back at the forest.

“Stay close, boy. I don’t have to go looking for you.” I turned around to watch her disappear behind the blanket of water that cascaded down from above. I followed her through the liquid wall not knowing what lay on the other side. To my surprise, a small outcropping of land dipped into the River West and atop the earth stood a monument of rock much the same as those I had seen on our journey north.

Kyra stepped within the circle of rock and I watched as she gathered a stone from the monument. It sparkled with all the colours of the rainbow as the sun caught it on every side - the biggest diamond I had ever seen. She held it in the palm of her hand at the centre of the stone structure. I saw the light bounce from her hand to the tops of the five pillars surrounding her, where smaller replicas of the stone in her hand stood. The light travelled around the circle of stone, completing a circle of light before launching a beam at the wall of water we had passed through. As the light touched the rock-face beyond, the earth began to shake and I heard the sound of falling rock.

The Thief quickly replaced the stone in her hand and led me back through the wall of water whereupon we were greeted by an opening in the rock-face which had previously stood obstructing our path. In haste we entered through the opening as rocks began to fall all around. We had no sooner made it through that the rock closed in behind us thus sealing our fate to the road ahead.

***

Dark. The fallen rocks behind me fused together like liquid steel in a melting pot; no cracks between the stones, no light seeping through. Damp. The waterfall above crawled through the rocks, perspiring with the effort. Damp stone above. Damp ground below. Musty. Such clear water above brought life and hope, joy and desire. This same water below fell from the roof forming pools of immobile muddy stench. Light. Not natural, but from a torch. Radiating from the stick in Kyra’s hand, it travelled into the distance before us fighting against low-hanging rocks from the ceiling above.  The steady glow moved with us. One step. Two steps. Three. Following our lead... or was it I who followed this luminescent guide?

What once had been a torrent from above was diminished to a steady drip, a slow trickle. Drip. Drip. Drip. We travelled deeper, and the ceiling lifted, or did the ground descend? Drip. Drip. The path broader, the ceiling higher, the ground dryer. Drip. The angle sharper, the light dimmer, the beauty... gone. One. Final. Drip. The forest, the waterfall, life - all gone. Why had we entered this stone coffin? This would be my death. No one would hear my final gasps for air, final cries of pain, finally going insane. The rocks would ricochet my death from one end to the other, sharing joy in my pain. The gossip would increase until my last breath, then subside with no more to say, nowhere for my cries to go.

The sound. Was I going insane already? How long had we been travelling within this death-hole. How deep had we gone? It couldn’t be... but the sound, steel on steel - unmistakable. The rocks passed the gossip to my ears, sharing sounds of a battle below. First the steel, and then the cries: not shouts or sorrow or fear, war-cries, voices of a mighty host. Voices from the deep. Voices from the dark. The smell of sweat and blood combined. The smell of adrenaline. The smell of battle.

Around the corner there was a glow, a glow of life, a glow of hope, or maybe a glow of danger. The Thief put out our torch, cautious of what lay ahead. I crept behind her, stealth being our tool of choice. The sounds grew louder, the smells stronger, the light brighter. The shadows were now our friends, not knowing the nature of the company before us... until we rounded the corner. A great company was gathered in a circle, two men the entertainment. There was yelling, cheering, battle cries in this Colosseum beneath the rock. I watched as axe hit shield and sword his flesh, the blow not fatal but crippling. A pool of blood joined the fray from the leg of the one with the axe.

“Come on!” yelled a heavy voice. “It’s just a scratch!” The two men separated, regaining their strength. Sword held high, the one reached the crowd with a gesture of triumph eliciting cheers of joy and encouragement. Others booed and threw rocks at the dirt beneath his feet, waiting for the wounded to rise to the challenge.

His leg was wounded, but his pride was not. “THE ROCK STANDS FIRM!” He yelled above the crowd, raising axe above his head and slashing the air with ferocity.

“The rock stand firm!” The crowd gathered around the two combatants cried in delighted response as the axe-man rushed for the one with the sword, his mighty weapon swinging above his head. Sword met axe and sparks flew. The shield was launched forward toward the axe-man’s chest, but he dodged backward with the grace of a cat and charged again. The sword stuck high, and the axe-man ducked low, sliding beneath on his knees. Without rising from the ground he flung his axe behind him striking the sword-man in the side. He rose from his knees as the sword-man fell. The crowd began to cheer even louder, almost deafening from the distance I sat.

The axe-man reached for the fallen man’s cast aside sword and turned him from belly to back. “How can a man fight without his sword?” It did not come out as a question or taunt. His words were bold and believable as the crowd fell silent.

It seemed like hours passed, but it was mere seconds. The sword-man spoke from his fallen position, his words now audible above the silence. “The sword is the man and the man the sword. This man cannot fight.” The axe-man reached down to the sword-man’s ankle and removed a brass anklet. Raising it in his fist he shouted, “The rock stands firm!”

“The rock stands firm!” came the hearty reply from the crowd as they began to cheer and gather around the victor. The partying in the camber lasted but a moment before the crowd made their way from the rock Colosseum through a high tunnel, presumably to a chamber beyond to carry on the festivities, leaving the defeated man lying in a pool of his own blood on the ground.

My heart beat heavy in my ears, adrenaline rushing to every joint and sinew. It was this coupled with my heart for the fallen that guided my next action. Despite the shock, and perhaps horror that I could see on the face of the Tallri, I stepped out from the shadowy blanket which held us in safety and charged toward the man who lay alone in the chamber beyond. I presume that she would have called after me, if not for her will to remain concealed. Paying no heed to her nor anything else around, I entered the chamber and knelt beside the dying man. “You’re hurt, man.” I told him, as if such information was not already plain to him. It was less for his sake than mine. It served me well as an awkward introduction, but better than I could have fashioned without adrenaline rushing through me.

“The rock calls for me.” His eyes glazed over like in a dream. “I see it reaching... reaching... reaching... opening its mighty maw to receive my blood.”

“Come man, we must find you some help.” Feeling sorry for the poor lad I reached down to help him from the cold stone on which he lay, but he pushed me back in a fit of rage. “You do not cheat the rock! Let me do my part in feeding its lusts!”

Too much blood. Too much blood spilt on the ground. His spirit would be lost soon, his mind already gone. What could be done for this man. I was no doctor or healer. My mind was lost, swimming in a sea of hopelessness as I searched for some piece of decency within this wreck to latch onto, some source of life to keep my mind afloat. One of these men had died already. I was reminded of the scene in the forest where a poor man’s life was taken from him as that beast spat on him, wrapping him in his own blood - hopeless and fearful then, hopeless and fearless now. This man had died like any good knight would, with honour. Though I knew nothing of him, I could do nothing but respect his swordsmanship and willingness to die.

His final breath was heard, that final breath as silent as the night sky. I almost felt like I could catch it as it passed slowly from his breast mingling with the musty atmosphere in this casket of stone. He would not cheat death, though he was dealt a cruel final chapter. I heard the words of Sir Kherine, captain of the guard, in my ears. “A knight always dies with honour, loyal to the end, sword in hand until his final breath.” No worse boon could be given than was to this man in his death: relieved of his sword, stripped of his honour, left to die like a fleeing coward. I had seen it all. This man was robbed of his final dignities, was no coward but left as one, naked without his weapon - honour and life pried from his frigid grasp.

The man within me wanted to weep, the knight within wanted the scream, to avenge this poor man’s death. Hearing the voices in the room beyond, sounds of mirth and laughter, the knight won over the man. Drawing my sword, I let out a shrill cry, not of sorrow but of rage, and rushed from the Colosseum.

The chamber beyond was filled with men and mead before my voice was added to the scene. I came rushing in like a senseless lunatic, swinging my sword above my head in a fit of rage. The mighty cry passed from my lips and travelled to the far corners of the room, silencing all it passed over like waves in a mighty pool of water. My chest rose and fell, heavy with breath, fuelled by the fire within. “Cowards!” I screamed. “Children! Leaving a man to die without his sword!”

At first I thought no one was going to answer my cry, then I saw him. A short but mighty man stood from his place at the head of the table. Clad in more iron than I thought possible for such a small man, every joint creaked with the sound of iron against iron. His voice came out low and commanding. “Who enters the rock and defiles our customs?”

“Mert Whatley, loyal knight of Glanderxe.” Such a title should command respect, not that I expected much from these little men based on their show of honour I had just witnessed.

“Knight. You are not in Glanderxe any longer. Your words from the south hold no meaning, and your sword no power. I am Brynd, leader of the allmharach, protector of the rock, and this is Keltone, the mountains of god.”

“This man’s blood cries from the rock and I answer. You will not treat him as the cowards you yourselves are.”

“Cowards!” the little man laughed. “There can be but one victor. When the lust for blood calls, it must be answered.”

The axe-man from the brawl stood to his feet. “That man...” he pointed a defying finger at the Colosseum beyond, “is no warrior.” He pulled the blade he had stolen from the dying man’s possession from his belt and held it high. “A warrior needs a sword.”

“And I aim to claim it for him, if you don’t mind.” I took a step toward the man I had come for, now revealed from within the crowd. A reply came, but not in words. The room was filled with standing warrior, weapons drawn and ready. “My quarrel is with this man!” I pointed to the one with the stolen sword. “Step aside, all of you, and no harm will come.”

The room was filled with laughter and the first man who had spoken replied. “A boy, playing at knight! Come, boy, join your comrade in his death. Even a knight knows when he is bested.”

My adrenaline fell a little. I knew that though the little man insulted me, he spoke truth. I replied, more sheepishly than before. “I come for the sword, that is all. Let me honour this man in his death.”

“Come boy! Get on your knees!” the axe-man sneered at me while the room filled with laughter. “You wish to dishonour me by stealing my claims of battle.”

Brynd roared, “Silence!” commanding the room. “Go back to Glanderxe, boy. Keltone is no place for you.”

Such words, swirling through the air. Such emotions, rising in my heart. I had no desire to turn away from these cowards, leaving them to their mead and pleasure, but was powerless to do otherwise. The only honour I could give this man would be my own blood spilt on this same rock. My steel, though trained, was unpractised.

The room stood still, my mind racing against my heart. Death or life? Honour or shame? Was this stranger’s honour worth the blood flowing within me? How could I call myself a knight, or even a man, and let this man die the way he did, yet what would honour profit if loyalty was denied? Brynd and this band of barbarians were a mere roadblock, not my destination. Such a fitting tombstone that would make: Mert Whatley, loyal knight of Glanderxe, killed by a speed bump.

For once on this journey sanity won. Honour denied. Knighthood shambled. Sword sheathed. Back turned. Amidst the laughter of my adversaries, I walked back to the Colosseum, not proud of the choice I had made. Dragging my feet to the place where the sword-man was, I joined the fallen on my knees. The world around me fell silent as I knelt before my comrade in arms I had never known. Those words of Sir Kherine returned to me, and I recited, “A knight always dies with honour, loyal to the end,” pulling my sword from its place at my belt, “sword in hand until his final breath.” Those cold fingers wrapped around the hilt of my steel as I clutched his hand in mine. “You died with honour.” Tears. “You are a greater knight that I.” More tears. I kissed his hand long before releasing it, letting his sword-arm slice through the air once again before it fell to the ground, still holding the gift of honour.

Men do not cry... but I was no man. A coward. Ashamed... A boy. Tears continued to fall and soaked the man's corpse, bathing him in my sorrow. Who could tell how long I knelt there? Who could claim such power over time itself, dictating its whims and directing its actions. I would have died there, everything I held dear as a man and a knight taken from me, but was jolted by the sound of two hands coming together in a slow, methodical gesture. A lone pair of hands, clapping in lethargy, before a lone pair of lips spoke. “Beautiful.” That single word from the man Brynd caused me to rise to my feet, regaining slight composure. Were his gestures and words in mockery or respect? The question he spoke next did not reveal his intent, though it sounded sincere. “Why does this man deserve your sword when he lost his own?”

No longer was I fuelled by adrenaline, my words laced with rage. No longer did I care about Brynd, or axe-man, or company, but responded with simplicity, stripped of all I held dear. “He is a greater warrior than I. He lifted his sword in defence of his life and died with the honour I have shown him. I deserve no sword if I will not fight for honour.” My eyes fell to the floor, but I didn’t care. If Brynd chose to kill me now, defenceless, I would die knowing my last act as a man was done in respect of one greater than I.

Brynd held his sword out to me as he approached. I expected no more from this honourless coward, leader of the barbarians. If it was not beneath them to deprive a dying man of his sword, it would not be beneath them to slaughter me in cold blood, like the defenceless child I felt I was. The world around Brynd faded, his sword shining blue in the perceived darkness, his expression hiding behind a giant mask of hair. The sword pointed at me, accusing me of cowardice, stripping me of all pride, leaving me naked but not afraid. Honour was a shield at my back, gifted to me by the dead sword-man at my feet.

Brynd flung the sword high, but I did not raise my shield. The accurate accusations of cowardice would be my death, and no shield of honour could save me. Dropping to my knees, I awaited the death that approached from the air like a host of ravens, moonlight shimmering blue off their mighty span. As it reached its gnarly talons for my awaiting skull I waiting in silent expectation... but death did not come - no piercing of blade, or scratching claws - my life held more than a feast for vultures.

Looking up I saw the sword now reached toward me, pummel forward, not a menacing attack but a honourable gift. Brynd waited for me to rise and grab the sword stretched toward me before speaking. “Perhaps I pegged you wrong, boy. I have seen no greater show of selfless sacrifice than that of your own. Only a true warrior would sacrifice his blade, respect, and life for another.” He let go of the sharp end of the sword, letting me raise in on high, examining the metal. It was used, but I could tell it had been finely crafted by one who loves his work. “Such a fine blade deserves a fine name. She is yours to call on.”

Naming a sword? It seemed so trivial to me, so silly. The mass-produced steel of the great city deserved no names - this blue masterpiece was different. She held character and grace of her own. Her blue eyes could cut deep into a man’s heart, calling his lusts to attention. Like a mighty wave rising over one’s head with grace and power, I saw her cascading down upon mighty armies, crushing them with the power of her gaze. “Lady Eye.” The words had come out of my mouth before I realized how ridiculous they sounded. The crowd which had now gathered around me concurred with my late conclusion.