by P D Dennison
Awakening
P.D. Dennison
Text Copyright 2019 © Dragon Soul Press
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under the international and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Editing & Formatting by Dragon Soul Press
Cover Art by Jesh Art Studio
Acknowledgments
For my wife Jacqueline, who stood by me the many long seasons that I swore at this epic as it came to life. I never knew what true love was until I met you.
For Anne McCaffrey, J.R.R. Tolkien, R.A. Salvatore, Michael Moorcock, Alan Moore, C.S. Lewis, Lewis Carol, Bram Stoker, Robert E. Howard, Terry Pratchett, Edgar Allan Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Terry Brooks, Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman to name a few. In my humble opinion, the very best writers our planet has ever known. May this story inspire future generations the way your stories inspired me to write it.
To all the kids who wanted to ride dragons, save the princess and be the hero of the kingdom, then found out none of that existed, never got the chance, and became advertising consultants when they grew up instead, never stop dreaming!
For the love of legends and the folk that dream them into timelessness...
Contents
Map
Glossary
Prologue
1. Waking the Wolf
2. Waking the Dragon
3. The Deep Fiend
4. Headed North for Hilltop
5. A Restless Night
6. Homecoming
7. Dragon’s Eggs
8. Goblins
9. Tempus Distortion
10. The Black Dragon Inn & Trading Post
11. Dragons and Gods
12. Dod Givare and Liv Givare
13. Strangers in the Night
14. Taga till Jig
15. Goblins, Goblins, and More Goblins
16. A Hip and a Toe
17. The Fulcrum Orb
18. Danthar Forest
19. The Best Laid Plans
20. Lady of the Faerie Wood
21. Blaze is Born
About the Author
About the Publisher
Glossary
A
Age: A long period of time in the history of the Land of Shaarn. The first age lasted more than two-thousand seasons. There is discrepancy among scholars as to when the Second Age officially began. The Third Age began with the awakening of the Lich Graxxen from his long slumber. Dates are denoted by first marking the Season, then the Age in which the season occurred eg: Season 657.A.2
Annals of Dragon Husbandry: A book. This book was produced in multiple editions all written by Arch Mage Zeraan Taaselfee as a guide to rearing dragons. The final edition was written at the end of the Second Age when Graxxen killed the last of the Dragon Riders. There was no further need for new editions until the Third Age when Manya Silverleaf became the Drake Varder of Shaarn and began hatching old dragons’ eggs left over from the first age using magick. Zeraan has considered writing a third edition to cover the rearing of dragons using only magick as a means to fertilize and foster the eggs, but has yet to begin the work.
Annals of Time: A book. The history of the Land of Shaarn as told by Arch Mage Zeraan Taaselfee. He started writing it during the First Age when he was taken in to the Tower’s Council as the Prime Scribe of Shaarn. He was gifted with a long life by the god Bragi, and lives still in the Third Age, locked in one of the high towers writing his histories day and night.
Asgaard: Planar home of the gods of Midgaard. It exists beyond the Astral Plane within the Seven Heavens.
A Study in Life & Biology: A book. Written by Arch Mage Zeraan Taaselfee in Season 657.A.2
Avgud: King of the gods of Asgaard.
B
Blood Magick: Magick that draws its power from the use of blood from either people (men, elves, dwarves & fae folk such as gnomes and faeries,) or from animals. Blood Magick is frowned upon by the Tower of High Sorcery and though not illegal per say, its practise is shunned by the magickal community even though the Tower does employ practitioners of the ancient art. Blood Magick is rooted in ancient Midgaardian shamanism.
Bragi: Asgaardian god of magick, music, and poetry.
C
Common Tongue: The common language spoken across the Land of Shaarn. Each species of course, has its own language but they speak this common language as well. Each species speaks it with their own recognizable accent.
D
Dream Speak: Magick. Used to communicate with someone across a great distance through dreams.
F
Forvandla: Barbarian rite of passage into man hood. Signified by a series of tests designed to either kill the boy or show that he was of sturdy enough stock to be considered a man among the horde. All clans practised the rite, but they used different tests dependant on the terrain on which they lived.
Freey: God of the elves, fae peoples, peace, fertility, rain and sunshine. Gaard, daughter of the giant Gymiir was his wife.
G
Giant: A race of giant peoples from the dawning of life in the Land of Shaarn that are now extinct. There were all manner of giants, Hill Giants, Mountain Giants, Frost Giants, Fire Giants, Swamp Giants, Sea Giants, Forest Giants, Giants of the Plains, Valley Giants, Lome Giants who lived beneath the ground and Sky Giants who flew on angelic wings with massive wingspans. Evolution played a part in their extinction but their warring ways played an even greater part. They all but wiped themselves off the face of Midgaard.
H
Heyaa: Goddess of the sky, fertility, household motherhood, love, marriage and domestic arts.
K
Krigaar: Asgaardian god of Justice.
L
Lich: A mage raised from the dead through the use of Blood Magick, an undead creature of power and evil.
M
Magick: Magic.
Midgaard: The planet the Land of Shaarn exists on, also called the Wyrld.
Moon: One lunar cycle. One day on Midgaard is 23.4 hours. Very close to our own Earth. However, one Lunar cycle is almost half again as long as Earth. The average Midgaardian Lunar Cycle lasts for 42 days. This is due to the fact that their moon orbits Midgaard much more slowly than our moon.
R
Rowenwood: The most common type of tree in the Land of Shaarn.
S
Scriptures for Reflection & Worship: A prayer and thought guide written by Arch Mage Corsaan the Valiant, Warrior Priest Warden of the Tower of High Sorcery at the end of the First Age.
Season: One year on Midgaard (Winter Spring, Summer & Fall are not referred to as individual seasons, they are called by named only.)
Seven Night: One week.
Shaarn, the Land of: A continent on the planet of Midgaard.
Skulga: Goddess of Death & Vengeance.
Strom: God. He reigns over weather and controls the storms of Midgaard. He is also known as the Lord of the Seasons. He is the name sake of the king for whom the city of Stromsgate was named.
Study of the History of the Arcane Arts: A Book. Written by Arch Mage Xanaathos Excelsiior near the end of the First Age. Xanaathos is recognized by spell casters of every walk as the preeminent scholar on all subjects arcane and
mystic. He was blessed by the god of magic, Bragi with a long life in order to continue his study and writing on the subject of magic. It is rumored his earliest works date back to the dawn of men and focus on shamanic magic, much of which has been lost to time.
V
Valhaalla: The resting place of fallen warriors of Midgaard. It is described as a great hall of feasting frequently visited by the gods themselves. It is located in Asgaard.
W
Wyrld: The planet the Land of Shaarn exists on, also called Midgaard.
Prologue
“For it was in the darkness that marked the end of the First Age of the Land of Shaarn that Graxxen, the most wicked among us, did betray his vows to the light in pursuit of the darkness and powers offered up only to the weak willed and ambitious. He, this slave to evil, our own fallen brother, did slay the last survivors of the Dragon Rider Clan, along with their women and children in cold blood. And with their blood did he perform profane and perverse acts of twisted necromancy and Blood Magicks to transform him into something dark and immortal that he might again rise to fulfill his twisted ambitions. It is written his awakening could mark the dawn of the third age, an ‘Age of Darkness,’ that would consume the Land of Shaarn for generations. All the signs point to a warrior descended from the Dragon Riders themselves who might challenge this dark portention for the Land of Shaarn, one whose own fate lies in the shadows of uncertainty. The Noorns tell us this man will unite all the kingdoms under one banner and that without his courage and leadership, hope is all but lost.”
- Arch Mage Zeraan Taaselfee, the Annals of Time, Season: 0007A.2.
Chapter 1
Waking the Wolf
The crispness of late, night air hung still about the huts of the Clan of the Winter Wolf. A strip of the pale crescent moon shone down through the scant clouds on the Great Northern Plains, lending to the last snows of winter a soft blue blanket to bring warmth to an otherwise chilling eve. Young Ravak could feel the nip on his nose and ears, and could see the small clouds of breath in the air above him as it danced through the pale vein of moonlight that shone in through the small round window of his bedchamber. He wasn’t sure what had awakened him. Perhaps it was the yowling of wolves in the distance? Maybe it was the screech of an owl as it nabbed its prey out on the unforgiving plain that surrounded the village for miles in all directions. It sounded something like a scream, but it only came once to rouse him from his slumber and now he lay there half awake blinking as he tried to fight off the sleep and the chill, listening for another signal that it was not just a dream. He threw off the deer hides he slept under and slowly rose to his feet, scratching at the sparse hairs that sprouted around his still youthful chin. Brow furrowed, concentrating on the silence to catch the sound again on the clear cool night air, he walked out into the main room to restoke the fire and went about his chore in mechanical silence, a habit well practised in such a way that he would not wake his parents. He carefully placed a large log into the now only slightly glowing coals, squatted down, and drew in a large breath.
As he began to blow the embers to flame, he thought he heard it again. Perking up from his crouch, eyes widening and ears straining for more, he listened; the cry was much more distinct. He was almost certain it had come from the vicinity of his Uncle Kerenaan’s hut. He pulled back the curtain, wiped the butt of his hand against the small round window to clear the frost, and peered through the smeared glass down the road. There was nothing but a gloomy bluish glow on the snow. In the distance, the torchlight set on the perimeter of the village to keep predators at bay danced lazily on the cool night air. He looked up at the sky to see the moon through the few clouds that listed lazily by. It was just when he began to lower his gaze again that he caught a glimpse of a shadow of someone running back behind a hut down by his uncle’s place. He watched more closely now, standing there in silence for a moment to focus on the direction of the movement, even holding back his urge to breathe so he could be sure to hear it if the scream came again.
This time the cry for help rang out clear in the silence of the night and he knew it’d come from his uncle’s hut. A chill shot up his spine as he instinctively turned to get his clothes and weapons.
“Father! You must wake! Something’s happening! Uncle Kerenaan’s hut!” Ravak shouted as he struggled to slip into a pair of pants and boots.
He grabbed his spear and ran out into the night. Massive plumes of thick ashen smoke, crawling like a beast on twisted legs, already filled the road ahead. Ravak could scarcely see the torchlights on the perimeter of the village now through the haze. The air above the village quickly turned from a crisp cool winter’s eve to a nightmarish, black cloud of smoke that appeared dragon-like, spewing ashen white soot out of its gaping maw. The mudded thatch roves on the little dome-shaped huts made for good kindling.
As Ravak approached the hut, he stopped dead for only a moment at the sight within. The intruders kicked in the door, smoky black tendrils like fingers of flame clawing at the glass beckoned him in. The far wall was ablaze. The entire back half of the hut was a roaring inferno beyond it. His kin faced terrible danger. Ash and sparks cannoned skyward from the roof, but the hut stood whole for the moment. He peered into the darkness through the round doorway. There he saw two small figures bent over a chest against the backdrop of his kin’s blazing hovel. Thieves seldom caused any worry for the Winter Wolf. Very few were foolish enough to go sneaking around the den of a wolf. The little looters argued over one of Ravak’s uncle’s finely crafted recurve bows.
He crept in slowly behind them, stepping carefully in order not to alert them to his presence. The roar of the fire cut the sound of his approach to the paddings of a pup’s feet. A Winter Wolf was silent; a Winter Wolf was predator, never prey. Just as he was about to slide his spear into the back of the first little marauder, the man of the house, Ravak’s Uncle Kerenaan, let out a terrible wail from the adjoining room. It startled the two small forms rummaging through his belongings in the dark. They stood up and wheeled about to survey the room, finding Ravak poised and ready to strike. Seeing his enormous frame shadowed in the doorway, they scrambled one to either side and drew out short, rusted, gnarly-looking swords.
Quite unexpectedly one of them jumped for and went crashing through a large half circle shaped window. While Ravak was focused on the escapee jumping through the window, the other ran straight at him, letting out a blood-curdling scream. The little fellow feinted his attack and at the last second, tucked and rolled right between the large Winter Wolf’s legs, escaping into the night.
Ravak, struck by surprise at both maneuvers, wheeled around to try catching sight of them through the opened door. The looters ran from the scene as the smoke thickened. He bolted out into the road, absent-mindedly choking from the smoke that now consumed his uncle’s hut as the flames within grew. A timber groaned heavily as the flames tanned it and then it gave out with a crash.
Ravak cried out, “Kerenaan!” as he turned and ran back in to try to save his kin.
It was already too late; the smoke now so thick he couldn’t see a foot in front of his own face inside the hut. The flames snapped and hissed to keep him at bay as they went to work on the timbers of the hut. Ravak struggled toward the bedchambers, but a beam above him gave out under the strain of the heat and he was forced back to the door as flaming timber and thatch came down around him, blocking his path.
Ravak’s father came through the door with spear raised high only to see his son sprawled on the floor not more than a couple of feet from the entrance, choking and struggling to get back to his feet. Roof timbers and thatch lay about blazing. Red-hot coal marked the defeated beams as they heaved and moaned. Cries could be heard from the bedchamber as his uncle screamed in agony, no hope of escape. Ravak’s father pulled his now hysterical young son out from the clutches of the monstrous flames that consumed his brother’s hut.
Ravak, his father, and the other men of the village worked until nearly dawn to extingui
sh the fires, whilst his mother and other women of the village brought linens to wrap the dead in preparation for burial the next day.
The deaths of nine villagers occurred that night. All their homes burned. Families were killed while they slept. The men, awakened before being stabbed, watched their homes be torched and loved ones slain before their very eyes, only to finally succumb to the fires themselves. The two bandits in his uncle’s hut had made off into the night with whatever it was they came seeking. The damage had been done. Ravak’s Uncle Kerenaan, his wife, and his child, brutally murdered in their own beds, they’d perished cruelly at the hands of the goblin raiders. What foe was this who thought himself worthy of a death at the jaws of the mighty Winter Wolf?
The Winter Wolf Clan had become a wealthy and powerful clan of warriors and hunters since the First Age. They’d been raided in the past by goblins and greedy Southerners who had carelessly decided the mild mannered Winter Wolf might make an easy target, but this attack felt unlike any other. It simply did not make sense for a handful of poorly armed goblins to raid a village of well-trained Barbarian hunters only to make off with spices and bows. Goblins tended to attack in numbers due to their diminutive statures, their lack of intellect and cunning compensated by their masses and hunger for blood.
