The Lost Worlds; Dark Heritage Saga III

BOOK THREE

Michael J Bertolini

COPYRIGHT 2011 MICHAEL J BERTOLINI

SMASHWORDS EDITION

For my Father

11/7/49-3/30/11

There are no words to express how much you are missed.

For Nana

8/31/29-1/8/11

I wish I could have told you how the story will end.

PROLOGUE

The cool night air was calm for Iranoff sitting high in the crow’s nest of The Braveheart. The stars were shining brightly in a cloudless sky, providing a sense of peace for the young sailor. Enchanted by the night sky, with the moon Silmään shining brightly above him, Iranoff began to whistle. He closed his eyes halfway through the tune and imagined himself at home with his wife and newborn daughter.

Then everything went wrong.

Thrown from the crow’s nest by an explosion near the base of the mast, Iranoff tumbled to the deck below with thoughts of his wife and child carrying him to death. The crew below scrambled as a second lightning bolt cut through the main mast, breaking it into splinters. Iranoff’s final scream went unheard over the shouts of the rest of the crew. As Iranoff’s spine shattered on the deck, a third lightning bolt cut through the sky and set the sails on fire.

First mate Christian Whethers ran across the deck, dodging debris, as he made his way aft to the captain’s cabin. The young Midellian sailor had barely reached the small door when it burst open revealing Captain Frederick Monabay. The captain, who was relatively young for owning his own ship, had seen many terrible things in the last few weeks and already appeared resigned to yet another unfolding tragedy.

After the hurricane devastated Torn, an elf had chartered his ship to bring him and his three female companions to that damnable prison island. Frederick had waited longer than he wanted to, longer than it was safe to, but they never came back out; the coin they had paid him seemed worthless next to the guilt he carried for not stopping them. However, he had warned the elf Amras that such a thing was possible and the guilt had begun to fade.

Then the nude body of Kale Riviera, a smart and brave captain only a few years older than Frederick, washed up on the beach a mile east of Barbohas’ port. Frederick had been part of a search party for a kidnapped noble girl, presumed dead, when they found him among the seaweed. The priests said he drowned but to Frederick it looked as if something sucked the very essence of life from him.

After that, the young captain’s eyes had grown tired, he did not know how it could get much worse; and yet he was finding that out now as doom approached across the dark waves. Lightning in a cloudless sky meant only one thing: pirates. The Midellian Navy had spent thousands in gold and platinum coin to eradicate the pirate threat years ago but it seemed as though they were not successful. The last Frederick had heard the Navy remained docked in Barbohas.

Where are they? The captain asked as he walked out on deck dressed in nothing but his breeches and boots, his barrel chest adorned with the scars of an unexpected encounter with a kraken in his youth. He carried his cutlass in his right hand and his blunderbuss in his left; the hand-held cannon could clear a deck but carried the risk of exploding in his hand.

A mile, less perhaps. Christian said as he hurried along beside Frederick with an expensive telescope in his hand. They went and stood at the bow where they could faintly see a red glow above an approaching ship. Suddenly the air began to crackle and the hairs on Frederick’s bare chest began to stick up; the two men looked at each other and turned to run, shouting.

Burst lightning! The captain managed to call out before a series of bright lights preceded the explosive crack that tore through his precious ship. One of the magical balls of electrical energy struck Christian, only a few steps ahead of the captain, and killed him, his body scorched black from the burns. Frederick felt the impact but survived the strike; however, the electric energy sent a spark into the blunderbuss and the container of black powder inside of it. The weapon exploded in his hand, taking half of his arm with it.

He screamed, dropping the cutlass to grab the injured arm. He was lucky in a way; the explosion cauterized the wound and destroyed the nerves so there was no bleeding and he could not feel a thing. The only reason he knew his arm was gone was because he could see that it was missing.

Another explosion rang nearby and Frederick’s ears began to bleed. He watched as his crew scrambled around, trying to survive the brutal assault and put out the smaller fires spreading around the ship. As he watched man after man die, he wished he had been able to afford to hire a mage for protection. Time seemed to slow but eventually the attacks stopped. Frederick, who had been able to crawl to the nearby remains of the main mast, sat helplessly as the pirates began to board his deck. Their captain, hidden in the shadows of a hood and cloak, came to stand before the injured Monabay.

We have nothing of value… Frederick coughed as delirium began to set in. We were bringing…supplies…to Torn. He was tired; it was too difficult to speak. He could hear his men crying in pain as the pirates hunted them down and killed them.

Your voice is your value. The pirate captain said, his silvery eyes shining out of the darkness. The pirate reached up with an ash gray colored hand and pulled back his hood to reveal his identity; he was Shinn Tomass, Akaiden’s moon elf assassin. The moon elf stepped closer, showing Frederick his hooked left hand. After Jade had made him cut his own hand off, he had promptly set to constructing himself several new ones out of any material he could find.

What…? The elf put a hand on the side of the captain’s head and the bleeding stopped, his ears healed magically.

I bring a message. The moon elf spoke slowly so that Monabay could hear and understand every word said. As the pirate turned to leave, Frederick saw the witch that had attacked the ship. There was something odd about her; she appeared to be almost dead. She handed the pirate a jar and he turned back to the injured captain.

Insurance. He said as he unplugged the jar and pulled what looked to be a six-inch long leech from inside. The mind reaper flexed eagerly as Shinn smiled. It will hurt.

~*~

The cry for a healer woke Karl Giarc from a sound sleep. The nobleman rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, pushing strands of golden blonde hair out of the way. He looked to the empty side of the bed and let out a sigh; another night, another girl, another few gold coins. He climbed out of bed and grabbed a robe to cover his muscular nude form. Karl was a descendant of Mystranians, large bodied men able to endure the pressures of the colder climate.

Karl walked to the balcony of his two-story home, looking out across the small town of Yain. Or was it Yain Bay? Different maps said different things, either Yain or Yain Bay. The bay outside of Yain was called Yain Bay but several maps he had seen over the years called both places Yain Bay. He even saw one map that called his home ‘The Town on Yain Bay.’ It was frustrating telling people where you lived and them not being able to find it.

Across from his home was the temple of Emiel, a lesser God that the people of Yain came to venerate generations before when a priest of Emiel came to the town and cured the residents of a plague. Any God, no matter their rank in the heavens, who could save so many lives without anyone asking, was a mighty God. There were traditional temples to Remass and Ratta, plus Aerandir for the sailors. Even so, they honored Emiel more than the rest.

He saw two men shouldering a third between them while a fourth ran to the closed temple doors and began frantically banging on them. Karl turned away and dressed quickly in loose pants and light tunic, slipping his feet into leather shoes, and ran to see what was happening. He saw the outline of his closest aid standing at the end of another hall but he had no time to tell her what was happening. When he reached his door the temple was open and admitting the men. Karl jogged across the dirt street and followed them in.

The interior of the temple was dimly lit by a pair of torches lit hastily by the priest, all surrounded by hundreds of small candles burning endlessly. The men were standing around the altar while the priest began to examine the injured man. Karl joined them.

What happened? he asked the men whom he recognized as Midellian Navy sailors. Their red tunics and brown pants with the imperial crest on the shoulder gave that away. Karl was surprised at their presence, no Navy vessel had come to Yain in months and they were all supposed to be in Barbohas.

We were returning from Sandstorm when we saw a fire on the water. That explained it; he heard rumors that the Emperor was using some of the Navy ships as trade and transport vessels. We found the wreckage of a ship, the captain here was the lone survivor. The sailor paused. It looked like another pirate attack. Even though the Midellians eradicated the pirate threat years ago, a string of attacks on the Vulgan coastline was making some people nervous. The Emperor did not seem to care, just as long as the pirates stayed out of his waters. That had apparently changed.

Karl leaned closer as a sailor brought one of the torches closer. The nobleman took a deep breath; he knew the captain of The Braveheart well. The man was still breathing and his eyes kept trying to open. For one brief moment, his eyes focused on Karl, Monabay reached to grab the noble’s tunic.

The Duradil are on the road to war, their path alongside Enlokirim. Monabay fell unconscious, the message passed on. His body began to spasm and drool poured from his mouth. Karl’s aid came to stand by the noble, resting one hand on his shoulder while covering her mouth with the other.

Frederick Monabay was dead. The mind reaper slid out of his ear unnoticed and dissolved into dust before anyone saw it. The priest brought a white sheet and covered the body; they would contact Monabay’s family and arrange a funeral.

As Karl slowly returned to his home with his aid following he watched a black clad priestess of Mu; pale skinned follower of death, enter the temple of Emiel and close the doors. She would help arrange the body and eventually console the family of the deceased.

Karl did not go to bed immediately; he wrote a letter to the Emperor to send by messenger in the morning with the Navy ship. Shinn’s lie would spread, just as planned.

ONE

The morning air was cool, a deceptive beginning to a hot and very humid day. The sun, still low on the horizon, was filtered through a series of light clouds that protected the people of Scyllia from the glaring promise of heat. Amras Oronar was not concerned about the sun now as he slowly moved under the thick canopy of trees, each step taken lightly in order not to reveal his presence. With his black hair tied back behind his somewhat pale elven face, he watched the deer.

Amras was dressed in simple traveler’s clothing, a light brown shirt over darker brown pants, which he tucked into his nearly knee high brown leather boots. The weather was too hot to wear his armor constantly as he usually did. Under the trees however, with the sun hidden in the distance, he was almost shivering. Nevertheless, he put all of that out of mind as he raised the longbow. With a steady posture and sharp eyes, he took aim at breakfast and, as he released his breath, let the arrow fly.

But his hand was shaking a little, turning the arrow into the tree behind the deer, a full six feet above the animal’s head. He cursed his poor skill with the weapon every elf of Cal’adir treasured. The animal looked up with wide, cautious eyes, and ran. Amras slung the bow over his shoulder and gave chase even though he knew it would be pointless. The deer could move faster than even he could through the maze of underbrush and fallen trees. He cursed in frustration as the deer bounded away.

He slowed, ready to take aim and pray to whatever God was listening that he could strike the animal, when the bushes seemed to come alive and struck the fleeing deer. As the invisible blade, covered in blood after severing the deer’s throat, became visible so did its wielder. Alliana Oronar, Amras’ half sister raised in the moon-elf city of Shadows Vale, wiped the blood off her rapier with a leaf and slid the rapier into the scabbard on her hip. She turned to look at Amras, brushing the strands of her purple hair out of the way, and smiled.

Here I present the great Amras Oronar. She raised her arms as if introducing him to the forest’s inhabitant. "So, there are things you cannot do. She drew a dagger from her belt and bent down to ensure the deer was dead; she did not want it to suffer in its last moments, laughing the entire time. With Fingon as your teacher I would have thought you to be an excellent archer. After all, no elf or man has been as great a shot as he since the now deified Gelmir, patron of archers."

Gelmir never smiled upon me. Amras spoke softly. The mention of Fingon Darkleaf still hurt; the memory of watching his friend and instructor’s corpse carried away by a dragon haunted his dreams. He blamed himself, even though he knew he was not at fault; but he believed that if he had gotten to Sandstorm sooner he could have fought off, maybe even killed the dragon.

Then there was Akaiden, the undead daughter of the vile sorcerer Enlokirim. That man, himself raised from the grave after Amras’ father Elrohir struck him down, was a boil on the world. He was an infection that bred hate and fear. His desire of world control put them all on their current path. Amras knew the villain already had control of the Blue Triangle of Power he wanted; he did not know that Enlokirim also possessed the White, Black, Red, and Orange Triangles. One of Amras’ companions, Ginerva Page, carried the Deep Blue Triangle of Power, which the moon-elves had kept safe and hidden in Shadow’s Vale. Amras and his friends, on a mission to find the remaining three Triangles before Enlokirim’s forces could, felt the weight of the world on their shoulders. Should they fail, the darkness would return bringing war and tyranny.

Are you going to help me or just stand there looking at the leaves? Alliana said, drawing Amras out of his thoughts. He nodded and silently joined his sister. Ten minutes later they returned to the camp, the deer carcass slung over Amras’ shoulders, where Page and Isla Solwen waited eagerly. Trail rations were fine when there was no food about, but the promise of fresh meat overcame any desire to eat the tasteless concoctions. Isla was stoking a fire as Page finished constructing a frame of logs that they would use to stretch the deer hide. They would use magic to expedite the process which they did not have the proper tools or time for, making it into leather to sell at the market in Minea; their next destination.

Isla and Alliana cut the deer meat into strips while Amras slowly separated the skin from the muscle. He managed successfully due to his skill in blade weapons, to get nearly the entire hide off, taking care of the legs and neck separately. Once the hide was free and on the frame, tied to prevent it from bunching up during the process, Page took out her spell book and began casting spells to clean the skin of hair and other undesirable materials. Normally a project like this doing would take several days, but they would accomplish the task in less than twenty-four hours.

A quick process like this might seem common, but few wizards or sorcerers knew how to do it. Page knew because of her travels; she met a group of people in the Deep South that used magic to make their leather. It was essential for them because they used leather for almost everything short of weapons; they even managed to make boats with it. Because the environment of the Deep South could be unforgiving, they needed fresh leather constantly to repair armor and their homes. The people were kind enough to teach Page the spell that she kept listed in her tome.

Once she was done with that task, she began preserving the extra meat so it would not spoil. What was left they cooked and ate immediately. Even though their rations had kept them from starving, their bodies craved the meat and the proteins it possessed. While sitting around the fire, Alliana recounted Amras’ horrible shot with the longbow. Isla, sitting beside Amras in light clothes similar to his in every way but color, wrapped her arm around his shoulder and offered to teach him archery.

Do you even know archery? Page asked Isla as she chewed a piece of deer meat.

No, but I bet I am better than Amras. The three women laughed and Amras stood, frustrated, and walked away without a word. He ignored the calls of apology and wishes for his return but he did not answer them. Even if Isla followed he did not think he would talk to her, maybe just enough to send her away.

He came to the place where he tried to kill the deer and closed his eyes; how was he so inept? He learned archery, as all elf children did, and had an average performance. He remembered the shaky hand he suffered from, but Fingon had managed to overcome that. Was he out of practice?

He turned to go back to the fire when he heard something, the faintest of cries. It was a cry for help.

~*~

Zara Wolf walked along the side of the road with her cowl drawn up to hide her face. There were rumors that soldiers with the Midellian crest had been looking for four travelers, three human females and a male elf. They were not looking for people traveling by themselves, but it was best to be cautious. Before leaving Sandstorm, she purchased new traveling clothes and a wig to hide her red hair. A patch over her right eye completed the disguise.

After two days into her almost twenty-day journey, she encountered the first of these soldiers. They blocked the road at the apex of a hill, allowing them to see if anyone darted into the nearby woods or the rocky beach not far away on either side of the path. They searched every caravan thoroughly; soldiers questioned everyone that came to their barricade including the youngest of children. Their growing frustration made Zara nervous; there was no telling how they would react when they came to her. She checked her armor and weapons, ensuring that the sword the moon elves gave her remained well hidden.

When a soldier finally approached her, after waiting for more than three hours at the end of a line of merchants, she saw the scroll they were using to find her and her friends. They consulted crude images from people that had seen them and all she had to do was answer a few questions.

Have ye seen these four before? The soldier was tall with hard features and beady eyes; she had seen that look in a man’s eyes before, and did not like it.

I do not think so, she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Where ye be comin’ from? the soldier asked as another approached Zara from behind. Even though she could not see the man, she could feel his presence. Her instincts told her to watch out, something was happening. She realized, then, that she was the only person traveling alone; the implications were frightening.

From Sandstorm, just like the rest of these people. The soldier questioning her quickly flicked his eyes to the soldier behind her.

These four been seen in Sandstorm.

So? That does not mean I know them. Zara’s eyes narrowed and her shoulders stiffened. All these merchants came from Sandstorm; do ye think they know more than I? She was trying to sound tough but her façade was slipping, something about the situation reminded her of Eastwood, a town in Yorshire that held terrible memories for her. The soldiers looked at each other and exchanged smiles that caused her to shudder.

I think you know more than you say, missy, the one behind her said. He moved faster than she expected and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground. As her cloak fell to the side, her armor and weapons became visible. The soldier that first stopped her drew his own blade.

We need to ask ye more questions…in private. Take her away! the soldier commanded as he stripped Zara of her sword. She struggled, but her captor’s grip was strong and tight. She knew that she could change, but they would probably try to kill her immediately. Instead, she let them take her to their nearby camp.

They secured manacles to her wrists and ankles and put a gag in her mouth. These manacles were made of iron; she would be able to free herself as soon