by Ulff Lehmann
SHATTERED HOPES
Light in the Dark, Book 2
By Ulff Lehmann
A Mystique Press Production
Mystique Press is an imprint of Crossroad Press
Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press
Digital Edition Copyright © 2018 Ulff Lehmann
Map illustration by Faith McKee
LICENSE NOTES
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Meet the Author
Ulff Lehmann has spent quite a while waiting on his Midlife Crisis and decided he wouldn’t go there. For the past two decades he has been developing the stories he is now publishing. Born and bred in Germany, Ulff chose to write in English when he realized he had spent most of his adult life reading English instead of his mother tongue and brings with him the oftentimes Grimm outlook of his country’s fairy tales to his stories. A wordsmith with a poet’s heart, Ulff’s goal is to create a world filled with believable people.
According to his friends, his place is utter chaos and filled to the brim with books, CDs, and DVDs. In an earlier part of his life, Ulff turned his love for music outward, singing in two bands. Nowadays the only singing he does is in concert with his shower, and it thinks his voice is still acceptable. His passion for movies led him to begin Movie and TV studies at university, begin being the operative word. He didn’t finish. Instead life pulled him this way and that until he finally understood he was a storyteller.
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DEDICATION
Throughout the years, I have made friends. And as is usually the case, some remain, while others drift apart. Unintentionally. Two of those, both of them a major part in my life at one point or another, have died over the years we have been out of touch. And so, I dedicate this book to them.
To Barbara Ketelsen, who saw something in me when I did not.
To Volker Biermann, whose humor and insight will always be a part of me.
Ad Astra.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks to Kathy Freuden, my friend and editor; to Kathleen Stammers, who gave me moral and artistic support from the get-go; to Faith McKee for bringing Dunthiochagh to life; Robert Altbauer for the map. And Timy Takács for spotting some last minute issues.
Thanks to Charles Phipps for the introduction, David Niall Wilson for the opportunity and the advice, and David Dodd for the cover.
My deepest gratitude, however, goes out to Daniela Bockhorst, without whom I never would have discovered who I really am; and Susanne Fritsch, who never gave up and kicked me until I went and got better.
How did a trilogy turn into a series?
Initially there were three books: Shattered Dreams, Shattered Hopes, Shattered Bonds. At least that’s what was always in my mind. An epic trilogy. Dreams was okay in terms of size. Hopes became a monster of twice Dreams’ size. (Seriously, it was massive!) But David Wilson convinced me that it was too unwieldy. He knows the business, I don’t, so I followed his advice.
He suggested splitting Hopes, and Bonds as it promises to be another such massive tome, in two, turning both halves of Hopes into books II and III, whereas my mind was going along the lines of Tad Williams’s To Green Angel Tower in order to keep the idea of a trilogy somewhat intact.
Again, David was correct, however, it doesn’t matter what label we slap on the story, it is one big story and it doesn’t change whether we call it trilogy or series. So, in the end it is this book, Shattered Hopes, and the one that came before, Shattered Dreams, and the ones that will follow.
Thank you for your appreciation and understanding!
Onward!
Table of Contents
Map
Map
Map
Dramatis Personae—Shattered Hopes
Pronunciation
From the journal of Danthair
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
Dramatis Personae—Shattered Hopes
Anneijhinn Cirrain—Chanastardhian noble
Baron Cumaill Duasonh—lord of the city of Dunthiochagh
Braigh—a Caretaker
Coimharrin—a Lawspeaker
Drangar Ralgon—a mercenary
Darlontor—leader of the Sons of Traksor
Ealisaid—a Wizardess
Jathain—Baron Duasonh’s cousin
Jesgar Garinad—a thief
Kerral—Danastaerian General
Kildanor—a Chosen of Lesganagh
Lightbringer—a sunargh
Lloreanthoran—an elven mage
Nerran—friend and advisor to Baron Duasonh
Rheanna—an Upholder
Urgraith Mireynh—High General of Chanastardh
Pronunciation:
Some names, be it cities or persons, lean heavily on sounds not usually found in English.
For instance, ch and gh in Dunthiochagh sound similar to the Welch consonant ch, thi
nk Johann Sebastian Bach; same goes for Carlgh, for example.
From the journal of Danthair, Fifth Chief Librarian at Traghnalach’s Temple in Ma’tallon, Kalduuhnean Calendar 1601
Sometimes the world as one knows it comes to an end. On occasion the change is gradual, but mostly it is thrust upon the unsuspecting soul. There is hardly a moment in life where one’s choices don’t come back to haunt.
As is the case with history, the astute scholar may discern truth from fiction in reports written by victor and victim alike. Who was in the right, and who was wrong, are questions that cannot be answered by relying on such sources, as they are always blemished by the emotions of the author.
The Librarians of holy Traghnalach, even if we would have the public believe otherwise, aren’t infallible either. Family, home, our general surroundings, tarnish even the most painstaking recordkeeping. What is right and wrong is always a matter of perspective, although there are some absolute truths. Affection, revulsion, even the most despicable and most virtuous of beings have those. Much like the gods, we make mistakes, and although mortal errors are usually of far lesser significance than those of the gods, the errors of people can have as far reaching consequences as Lesganagh All-Maker’s desire to be with his mother.
Love and need bring just as much terror into the world as greed and hate.
In the aftermath of the Demon War, when the people of the countries surrounding old Gathran hoped it was over, tragedy struck anew. As it is with human or elven nature, things out of sight usually are lost to the mind as well. Thus, the dangers of the past were forgotten by all but a few. The demons still clawed at their prison walls, and lust for power quickly drowned out the whisperings of legendary warnings.
In a way, their own bright light blinded even the Chosen of Lesganagh and the self-proclaimed scions of a disinherited prince. Both factions followed too narrow a path, and progressive ideas, like those of the Chosen Kildanor, were usually ignored, shunned by those who deemed it best not to stray from paths worn out by decades of tradition.
Unfortunately, events unfold without caring for tenets and beliefs. The war that had begun with the invasion of Danastaer by neighboring Chanastardh, which had so briefly been halted at the walls of old Dunthiochagh, was just beginning.
CHAPTER 1
Twenty-first of Chill 1475 K.C.
Sir Úistan’s household was awash with panic. Kildanor heard servants rushing to and fro outside his chamber. It was hardly surprising given that some unknown assailant had forcefully entered one of the manor’s remotest and securest rooms.
Another set of footsteps approached and halted. Before the second knock sounded, he called “Enter!” and the door opened with only a slight scrape of metal on metal.
One of the retainers – he recalled the man’s name being Kohar – poked his head in. “The Lady Ealisaid is here, Lord Kildanor.” Kohar stepped aside, allowing the Wizardess by.
She looked haggard. That she was standing at all was surprising enough, given what he had heard of the skirmish fought the night before. “This better be good,” she said, voice tinted with exhaustion.
Biting back a retort, Kildanor said, “Thank you, Kohar.” The servant bowed and closed the door behind him. To Ealisaid he said, “I need your… expertise.”
“Oh?” She sat down on one of the plain chairs, her face betraying only a hint of discomfort. “Again?” Ealisaid asked, a mocking smile playing on her lips.
He couldn’t blame her for acting this way. So far, he and Cumaill had used her talents to further their own goals, and although the Baron was courteous, he made no effort to hide his disdain. “I am at a loss here,” he said, dodging the confrontation. “And my limited point of view doesn’t help in understanding what transpired here last night.”
“Well then,” she said, relaxing slightly, “why don’t you tell me what did happen?”
Consciously the Chosen cleared his throat. “I’ve waited until now to question the chief witnesses, thinking it prudent to have you attend as well. Not to mention that Lord Cahill made it quite clear that his family was badly in need of rest.” He got up and headed for the door. “I will speak with him now.”
“You called me here to wait?” He thought he detected a hint of teasing in her voice. The first syllable of his apology was already forming when she waved him off. “I understand, go. Do what you have to do.” Maybe she wasn’t such a menace as he had initially thought.
He found Úistan Cahill haggling with the glassmaker at the door of the demolished turret room.
“I am well aware that the city is under siege, good man,” Sir Úistan said, “but considering how much money I have already given you on various transactions I thought you might be a tad more… shall we say ‘forthcoming’ with your estimate.”
“My Lord Cahill, the sand needed to create glass comes from the coast, up the Dunth through Merthain. Chanastardh is that land’s master, and with the winter and the siege, getting more anytime soon is nigh impossible. Your own business also thrives on demand and supply, and you know that when supply is low prices soar.”
“I gave two thirds of my ore to the city’s smelters and smiths in order to bolster our defenses!” Lord Cahill retorted, his voice rising in indignation. “What good is your sand when the town’s overrun?”
“With due respect, sir, sand can rarely be used to ward off enemy swords.”
“No, but it can be used to keep the rust off steel, did you consider that?” the nobleman snapped.
“You’d be happy if I did as you did, donating two thirds of my store to the warriors?” the tradesman asked, surprise plain on his face.
“Aye,” Cahill grunted.
“Very well, I’ll see to it.” The glassmaker bowed and retreated.
“Do that,” the lord of the manor said, and then shouted, “Camran! Board the room up!” A moment later a squad of retainers, led by Camran, poured onto the landing from an adjacent room, tools and wood already in hands, and set to work. Sir Úistan’s eyes caught Kildanor’s and he winked. “What is it, Chosen?”
“How many craftsmen have you strong-armed into donating most of their stores to the defense?” he asked instead of a reply, still amazed at the sheer genius of the exchange.
“Who? Me? Strong-armed?” Cahill smirked. “Just doing my best to help our friend.” After a brief pause, he asked, “You didn’t come here to see me persuade misers, did you now?”
“No, sir,” Kildanor said. “The Wizardess is here.”
“Already?” Cahill sounded surprised, but considering what he had just seen, Kildanor wondered if this was an act as well. It probably was. “They’ll see you in a while.”
The Chosen was about to thank his host when an idea struck him. “If it is all right with you, I’d like to first speak to your wife and only afterward to your daughter.”
Sir Úistan understood immediately. Eyes glittering with predatory mirth, he said, “All right.” Again, Kildanor started to express his gratitude, but Lord Cahill wasn’t finished. “However, the women have gone through quite an ordeal, and I will have your head if you press too hard, understood?”
Despite the threat, which he knew the powerful nobleman would see through, the Chosen kept his calm. Of course, he would not push the women until they broke, but he needed them to relive last night’s horror. “I will do what is necessary, nothing more, nothing less, milord.”
“Good man,” Cahill said and turned away.
Dismissed, Kildanor headed downstairs and returned to his room. The door had barely closed behind him when he was greeted by Ealisaid, standing with her back to the window, hands on the sill, head turned his way. “What happened here?” she asked, continuing the inquiry as if he hadn’t left.
“You used magic to spy on…?” He didn’t finish the question; their relationship was finally beyond mutual hostilities and he wanted to keep them this way. Besides, he reminded himself, walking through the spiritworld was not magic in and of itself. He saw her looking
at him, a shapely eyebrow cocked. “Foolish of me, sorry,” Kildanor stammered the apology. “After all, that’s why you’re here.”
A mischievous sparkle in her eyes was joined by a brief smile. “I’m here because my ma and da loved each other, technically speaking.” Was she making fun of him? “And the magical hibernation, of course,” she added with a laugh. “So, you are half-right.”
“Be that as it may,” he replied pointedly, “I would have preferred you to be neutral, with no prior knowledge.”
“Aside from a wrecked room, I didn’t notice anything wrong,” said the Wizardess. “I’m still objective and hope you are also,” she added, again smiling. She was making fun of him and his reflexive suspicion of all things magical. The opening door halted his reply.
Lady Cahill looked exhausted; most likely she hadn’t slept either. “Let’s get this over with,” she said, heading for the only chair in the room and taking a seat without glancing at either of them.
“Milady, this is the Wizardess Ealisaid,” he introduced his companion. Any further explanation was waved away by an impatient hand.
“I know who she is and understand why she’s here. I did not come here to make small talk. You asked me here, so begin your questioning.”
“Very well,” Kildanor said. The entire night had been his to ponder on what he wanted to know. “Please tell me what happened, everything you do remember.”
Leonore Cahill heaved a sigh; it seemed she was deflating, but only for a heartbeat. Then she regained her erect posture. “Ralgon recounted the night of Hesmera’s murder. I think he wanted to get clues as to who was behind the killing. The light went out.”
“How?” the Chosen interrupted.
“It wasn’t as if some freak wind had blown out the candles,” the mistress of the house answered, shaking her head. “No, from one moment to the next I couldn’t see a hand before my eyes. We had Drangar bound—he asked for the bonds as proof he meant no harm—and he wanted to be released. As if we could have in that dark.” She paused, rubbed her face with trembling hands, and then continued. “The intruder taunted him while I felt something hold me down. Well, not down, but—it was as if someone was holding both my arms and covering my mouth.”
