Tales of Lemuria
Book Two: The Three Charms
By
Brian Spielbauer
Copyright © 2018
Brian Spielbauer Facebook Fan Page
Introduction
Brian first read The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings in sixth grade, and in those moments of deep reading, he fell in love with fiction, the fantasy world, and story-telling for the first time.
“I really enjoy writing, and linking words and phrases together. Words can be very powerful, and move people to make changes in themselves, and have feelings,” Spielbauer said. “Often when we talk, we are not allowed to get our entire thoughts out to fully illustrate what we mean.”
Inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Spielbauer began writing down his own ideas for a story approximately eight years ago.
“I loved the dwarves and wanted them to have larger parts in the [Lord of the Rings] books and movies,” Spielbauer said. “I thought this would make a good area to stretch.”
The plot of his stories has changed quite a bit over the last eight years, which he said has made writing the [series] “a journey in itself.”
Table of Contents
Introduction
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Map of Lemuria
Map of Calonia
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Foreign Land
Chapter 2: The Heirloom
Chapter 3: The Banished Escape
Chapter 4: Broken Council
Chapter 5: Out of the Shadows
Chapter 6: A Well-Laid Trap
Chapter 7: A Fallen Land
Chapter 8: The Gruff Centaur
Chapter 9: Uneasy Alliance
Chapter 10: A New Leader
Chapter 11: Into the Wild
Chapter 12: Torn Apart
Chapter 13: Riddles in the Dark
Chapter 14: Too Much Talk
Chapter 15: Nubari
Chapter 16: The Axe Wielder
Chapter 17: Desperate Times
Chapter 18: The Secret
Chapter 19: The Determined Heart
Chapter 20: Messengers
Chapter 21: A Hopeless Place
Chapter 22: A Pleasant Companion
Chapter 23: Ever Closer
Chapter 24: A Mother’s Love
Chapter 25: Traitor
Chapter 26: The Assault
Chapter 27: Evil’s Depth
Chapter 28: The Final Assault
Chapter 29: The Demon Revealed
Chapter 30: Hope
Chapter 31: Escape
Chapter 32: Warriors
Chapter 33: The Return
About The Author
Copyright
ISBN – 13 (Trade Paperback): 978-1-724-11736-6
TALES OF LEMURIA: THE THREE CHARMS
Copyright © 2019 by Brian Spielbauer
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Presented by Concordis Publishing
Cover design by aLex Libris and Rodney V. Earle
Cartography by Deven Rue
FIRST ELECTRONIC EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN (Trade Paperback) 978-1-724-11736-6
Dedication
The Tales of Lemuria, handed down from age to age (one dream to the next), are scribed here within for your pleasure. If not for the boundless support from my dearest Lady Jennifer, the Tales of Lemuria would still be but a whisper in the dungeons of my imagination. To you, Lady Jennifer, my first, and now second, forays into a world as scary as the Iceland of Calonia, are dedicated.
For my crown jewels of light,
my Princesses,
Sydney and Allie
Map of Lemuria
Map of Calonia
Prologue
Rats. Big, hairy, jagged-toothed, disgustingly frightening rats. Big enough to carry off a baby, each by themselves if need drove them. Ears that could sense the slightest step of the lightest mouse at an inconceivable distance. These rats called the ghastly settings that even the most maggoty of maggots could tolerate, sincerely, their home. The conditions of ill refuse riddled the hidden fortress of the vile wizard Herrog, where Rathilda, the equally vile and grub ridden Queen of the Rats, ruled the hoard of scoundrel rats.
In the rat world, at least, all knew and feared Rathilda. Ruthless by all measures (and there were many), by intention and not accident she cruelly and callously ruled her clan of cave rats. Long before any others claimed the highland for a fortress, the rats called the mountain, the one nobody wanted, their own. They scurried here and there, their wondrous vision allowing them to rush about in the blinding darkness as though in the brightest of daylight. It seemed to any that watched, which few did, that their jittery movements were without meaning or direction. This ignorant perception could not have been farther from the truth.
The mission, ordered by the Queen and questioned by none, was crystal clear. The rats, in darkness one moment and light the next, darted in and out of the countless tunnels. Each with their own exact orders to execute and knowing failure was not tolerated. The Queen dealt with failure brutally and without delay, lest excuses become the norm. Mercy was not a word they knew, understood, or of which they carried any appreciation. Failure was death, and better by the enemy than at the claws of Rathilda, who had forgotten more about torture than most beings would ever know.
This race of rats preceded memory of all but the wisest. Those outside the wisest had no knowledge or care of rats at all, and only recently were they paid any attention. The ‘attention’ they received was of the utmost cruel in nature, though to Rathilda it was considered a tip of the hat, and acknowledgement, long overdue in her mind, of their existence. Those who lived with them in the mountain mattered not to the rats, except to the extent of the food haphazardly dropped, which allowed their rat families to survive.
The tunnels, too small for any other to use, provided the perfect highway for their high-speed game of transport. They were merely considered a tolerable menace by the previous inhabitants, but the current ones were much more concerned about them.
Rats were survivors, completely focused on their own needs. If others took the rats persevering poorly, it mattered not to them. Those who knew of them admired their focus. Their determination was revered. But they, expectedly, abhorred the rats.
That was until a higher purpose created the need of their recruitment. The purpose of saving the One altered their self-centered ways. They marched well-trodden paths, delivering needed nourishment to the One, the One who needed it and the One who couldn’t get it for herself. The One could find no other, so the rats became her caretakers. The rats were a recruited army with a sole purpose and direction. No other would be as efficient or necessary for the cause. No other could claim a mightier role in the events that would soon change the world of Lemuria.
Rathilda was a handful at the least, and a pompous curmudgeon at her best. But she it was who first encountered the One, the lady held captive, and initially was content to ignore the wretch (so Rathilda thought her and all humans). But she rea
ched to Rathilda from her trapped weakness, gently touching her crooked snout. In doing so, she immediately transformed Rathilda’s dark soul. She was instantly convinced the captive was worth saving, worth the effort, worth the risk. Rathilda’s demeanor was changed, her willingness to sacrifice for the life of the One rose above all. It was the captive who changed Rathilda. Her grace, her beauty, her charm, her genuine manners won the Queen of the Rats over. In far less than the twinkle of an eye, fate changed her course and Rathilda never doubted it after.
Many steps were taken to eliminate the ‘pests’, as they were often referred by most. The humans plugged their holes, only for the rats to re-open them overnight. Goblins left poison for them, which at times succeeded, but the rats vengefully repaid the loss tenfold to the dastardly ghouls. Traps were set, but seldom would the wily rats fall to the plot. Countless were the number of rats who fell over the years to these and many other attempts, to exterminate them. Trolls trained large cats to hunt them down, despicable hired assassins they were. These attempts had various levels of success, but none of them would deter the rats from overcoming and marching on, always on, to save the One.
Δ
The inhabitants preferred their food sour, rotting, and full of filth. The One, the captive, needed the cleanest and freshest food possible. The sentinel rats kept an alert vigil, waiting for the irregular food deliveries. They sent word of the shipments, which the transport rats pillaged as quickly as they could, hopefully before it was ruined. Clean water was much harder to come by and almost impossible for them to carry. The rats, at great risk to themselves, ventured high in the mountains for the most pristine source. The rats chiseled pieces of ice and packed the frozen water back through the treacherous trail to the holding cell of the captive. She would then wipe it clean before sucking and chewing the ice for the water, appreciatively drinking down every life sustaining drop.
Rathilda led by example and worked alongside her brave brothers and sisters on this task. Today was her turn to run the gamut, her day to tempt fate. She slowly peeked her pointy head out of the ice collared hole. Rathilda was brave enough to take her turn and smart enough to respect her worthy opponent. Deep down she almost wished for the cats to find her, to induce the adrenaline-charged chase. She lived for the chase, for with no comparison, there was absolutely nothing in the world that brought her more delight. The test to see if she was fast enough to get away was pure elation. Just three days ago, she was fast enough. But, was she still?
Δ
The hole was rimmed by ice as the heat from inside melted the winter snow, which would quickly refreeze around the edge when the wind changed. Seeing no foe near, Rathilda quickly nibbled a large piece with her giant chisel-like teeth. It was an extremely large, thick, shard of ice. It would provide the best drink the One had in many days.
The howling bitter wind whipped above the hole, concealing the menace that lay in hiding a few paces away. A giant cat, fur white as the snow that shrouded it, waited ever so patiently for the rat that his sources promised him was coming. Seeing the rat work the ice, the cat crept a careful step closer. Its anxiety soared, trying to be vigilant to only step when the wind whistled past, or when the rat noisily chiseled. The feline’s mouth watered uncontrollably, the slobber quickly freezing in the fur below her mouth. The anticipation of the catch too much to hold in check. It erupted when the realization that this was not just any rat, set in. Only one great leap before him was the Queen of all rats and it would soon be safely in his unrelenting, inescapable clutch.
One more step and he would leap. The inopportune crunch of the packed snow under his weighty paw gave away his location. Rathilda spun to look as she fully realized her own peril. She let herself fall back into the hole, leaving her treasure behind. The cat made a desperate lunge to follow, his paw lurching toward the free falling Rathilda. The cat’s shoulder unknowingly knocked loose the chunk of ice the rat was trying to free, as it too dropped down the hole, freefalling with the rat.
Rathilda’s secret and gift, the one only she seemed to have, was that upon need everything slowed almost to a halt, allowing her the time to think over her options and consider her next decisive action. Real time was like a walk on flat ground. The slowed down, gift time as she called it, was like a grudging trudge up the steepest mountain side, ever slower the farther up she went. Then the rush time, again as she called it, occurred, as if at the last teeter on the very top. There she stepped over the slope and swooshed down the slippery side to catch up to regular time. In the end and to all around her, it was as if no alteration of time occurred, as though they had all been walking the flat all the while.
The entire scene played out before Rathilda’s mind, excruciatingly slowed down before her eyes; the ‘trudge’ of her gift in action. She saw not only the largest and most coveted chunk of ice but also the hundred little shards dancing around it as the sun sparkled through each one. The rays seemed to lust after each piece, even the tiniest, as though they were diamonds. So eager they were to flash through the ice, for only in that manner were they allowed to have their brilliance seen and be invisible no more.
Rathilda heard the thick whisker like hair of the cat bristle against the side of the hole, each one slapping against the dirt walls that lined it, one at a time she heard them but a hundred within a moment. The smallest pieces of dirt screamed as the clumsy cat pried them from their seemingly eternal resting spot. At the last, she sensed the very air being compressed, pretending to cushion her fall, but only teasing as it rushed away from underneath her at the end. It was selfishly unwilling to ease her pain, vengefully enjoying the jarring blast delivered in the next moments.
The world then exploded into action again as the ‘rush’ began. In the next instant, the suspension ended as time rushed to catch up with itself. Rathilda used the stretched time to see her options. Her plan of action and escape became clear. She quickly opened her jaw to defend herself from the dagger like paw dashing toward her. With delight, Rathilda crunched down hard on the clawed fingers of the cat just as the girth of the beast stopped its advance into the annoyingly smaller hole. Her razor-sharp rat teeth shearing off two of the feline’s fingers. The cat quickly retracted back up the hole in agony. The pained reaction allowed Rathilda time to corral the falling ice, even as she bounced off the tunnel floor herself. She found her feet and frantically raced away from the snowy entrance with her prize. The first stage of the game, a small victory at the beginning of this lengthy battle of the endless war, was completed.
Δ
The route was long and hazardous, and the hunter cats knew the trail well. They stalked the best places where they could most easily catch the rats, which were the areas where the rats had to leave a tunnel before entering the next covered space. The cat left bleeding in the snow outside, the eight-fingered chap, already spread the word a rat race had commenced. The cat guard would be on high alert.
Rathilda was the Queen for a reason. Her cat avoiding skills had no rival, so she was more than up for this dangerous run. Rats and cats have been at war for centuries, with neither able to gain the upper hand. This would just be another fight in the endless cat and rat war, but one both sides were determined to win.
Rathilda nimbly navigated the tunnels. No rat was more skilled or carried more knowledge of every turn and twist than Rathilda. She continued her trek, ever down, deftly squeezing in and out of the holes. Her complete focus was to keep the chunk of ice whole and clean, carefully maneuvering the tunnels to avoid chipping it on the sides.
The Queen Rat cautiously approached the first intersection, a place where she needed to cross an open floor. The hole before her opened into the large room, a pantry of sorts her rat soldiers often pillaged. She slowed as she approached the intersection and Rathilda strained to listen for her stalkers. Their pointy claws scratching on the wood surface would betray their position. She heard nothing, which was quite unusual. It only served to heighten her caution.
Then she saw them,
two cats lying in wait. Rathilda took a deep breath and pounced quickly out of the hole. She landed hard on the plank floor with a loud thud, surprising the cats who lay on two chairs. To their added surprise, Rathilda just stood there, daring them to move. The cats couldn’t contain themselves any longer and both jumped at her. Rathilda was ready for the all too easy to anticipate classic cat reaction. They would learn, someday.
As soon as they were in the air, Rathilda shot off, shoving off the floor as her sharp claws found the sturdy base they needed. The slightest scratch left in the wobbled wood floor, which was laid long ago by the higher classed previous prior residence. Rathilda gained distance between her and the assailants with every push of her strong rear legs. Rathilda was very fast for a rat, but in an open floor chase, the cats were always favored. This would be especially true with Rathilda lugging the large piece of ice that demanded her concentration if she was to have anything left of it when she arrived at her destination. Bogged down with booty, the despicable cats could perhaps catch her. Perhaps.
The Queen already thought this situation out, with no feline ploy unknown or unprepared for by her. As the cats landed and turned in an instant to track down the Queen, two more rats emerged from the hole Rathilda had just abandoned. They attacked the ignorant cats from behind even as they landed, diving into the cats just as they went after Rathilda. Other rats too poured out of the hole, overwhelming the cats and dragging them into a violent skirmish. The distraction allowed Rathilda to reach the next hole untouched. Realizing their Queen was safe, the other rats vanished with the same urgency they first appeared, lunging back into their holes quickly before the cats could fully engage them.
These ‘rat and run’ fighting tactics were developed by Rathilda herself. Their efficient implementation allowed the rats to engage the enemy with more success while taking far fewer losses. The results drained the spirit of the enemy, who often only recovered from their surprise to see the enemy already gone.
The Three Charms Page 1
