Spawn of Fury

by Sean Hinn

  Spawn of Fury is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  © 2017 by Sean Hinn

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Bobdog Books.

  First Electronic Edition

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PART FIVE

  I: THE FARMLANDS

  II: EASTMAW

  III: THE MORLINE

  IV: MOR

  V: THE MAW

  VI: THE FARMLANDS

  VII: WEST MORLINE

  VIII: KEHRLIA

  IX: EAST MORLINE

  X: THE NORTH MAW

  XI: THE MAW

  XII: SOUTH MOR

  XIII: WEST MORLINE

  XIV: THE MAW

  XV: THE NORTH MAW

  XVI: SOUTH MOR

  XVII: KEHRLIA

  XVIII: THE ELMS OF EYRE

  XIX: THE MAW

  XX: WEST MORLINE

  XXI: KEHRLIA

  PART SIX

  XXII: THE ELMS OF EYRE

  XXIII: NORTH MAW

  XXIV: THE MAW

  XXV: THE BARRACKS OF MOR

  XXVI: KEHRLIA

  XXVII: THE MAW

  XXVIII: THE FALLS OF EYRE

  XXIX: THE BARRACKS OF MOR

  XXX: THE GROVE

  XXXI: THE FALLS OF EYRE

  XXXII: THE MAW

  XXXIII: EAST MORLINE

  XXXIV: THE MAW

  XXXV: KEHRLIA

  XXXVI: MOR

  XXXVII: THE MAW

  XXXVIII: THE MORLINE

  XXXIX: EAST MORLINE

  XXXX: THE MORLINE BRIDGE

  XXXXI: FURY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  APPRECIATION

  APPENDIX A: CAST OF CHARACTERS

  To my children, and the gift of their laughter:

  the only magic I need ever know.

  See a full resolution map at www.seanhinn.com/Maps

  THE DAYS OF ASH AND FURY

  PART FIVE

  CONTINUED FROM

  TREMORS OF FURY

  I: THE FARMLANDS

  The blonde young man addressed the wagon loader as the sorceress fumed.

  “Earl, my outsized friend. Be a good pal and fill us in, will you, before this all turns sideways?”

  Mila Felsin brimmed with rage as she assessed the group assembled before her, sending out tendrils of magic to gauge the threat: an old elven woman, dressed in a light-yellow travelling robe, clearly quite powerful. This is the one who cast the whirlwind. Beside her, an elf with black hair, youngish, not overly tall but well built. Perhaps a ranger? She glanced at the sword in his hand. No, a soldier. Mila found it difficult to probe his aura but decided he would be easily dispatched. He stood as if guarding a young elven woman, platinum of hair, slight, beautiful, a bit frightened, yet bold. Some magic here… She turned to the young blonde man, the one known to Earl. Magic, again, unfamiliar… A dwarf male; strong, bearded face, dark of hair and fierce in demeanor, axe at the ready, formidable. Also possessing power? Odd… A gnomish girl, wary, protecting her dog, little more than a pup. Mila locked eyes with the red-haired, pigtailed girl; what she saw looking back at her was not the gaze of a mere child. Mila decided that, perhaps, the group as whole may very well pose a threat, but so be it. Her wrath would not be stayed.

  “I will fill you in, fool,” Mila sneered at Lucan. “The man you just saved was Sartean D’Avers, and in doing so, you have committed an atrocity!”

  The company from the Grove exchanged glances as Yano and Sienni approached behind Mila. Earl lifted a calming hand towards Mila; a look from the sorceress froze his reach. He turned to Lucan and opened his mouth to speak, but Trellia interrupted him.

  “Sartean D’Avers? You three, alone, subdued the Master of Kehrlia? Who in Fury are you people?”

  Earl cleared his throat. “Ah, well, this is–”

  “Who are you, elf?” demanded Mila. “And what are you doing here? And why did you interfere?”

  Mikallis took a step towards the sorceress. “You will speak with deference to the Vicaris of the–”

  Mila turned her attention to Mikallis. “Or what, elf? You’ll try to stab me with your pointy little shard of iron?”

  “Mila, please.” Earl’s expression turned pleading. Mila gritted her teeth.

  “Young woman,” Trellia began gently. “Mila, if I may? I am Trellia Evanti, Vicaris of the Grove. This is Princess Aria Evanti–” at this Mila’s eyes widened “–and these are our companions. We are here because we saw a man being killed and would not ignore it. If you find that unreasonable, I suppose we shall not become friends. Now, if you would be so kind, please tell us why you were killing the Master of Kehrlia.”

  Sienni stepped forward. “Because he is a foul, loathsome, murderous wretch! Is this not known in Thornwood?”

  “Oh, certainly,” replied Trellia. “But that does not explain why you three were doing the deed. Nor how you possibly could manage it.”

  Shyla tugged at J’arn’s sleeve, whispering. “Who’s Sartine Dabber?”

  J’arn replied in a hush. “Wizard. Bad one.”

  “Bad as they come,” Lucan added. “And powerful.” He turned to Earl. “What happened here, Earl?”

  Earl looked to Mila, unsure. The sorceress shook her head and addressed Trellia.

  “Vicaris, is it?” She turned to Aria. “And the princess of Thornwood? Just out for a stroll, then, and happened upon this field?”

  “About like,” said Lucan. “And this here is the Firstson of Belgorne. So let’s not lose our heads, here.”

  Yano spoke up. “Assuming you are all who you claim to be, and I have my doubts, what in Fury are you all doing here?”

  Aria’s patience wore thin. She straightened and addressed Yano severely. “Sir. I am Aria Evanti, Princess of Thornwood. This is my Captain of the Guard, Mikallis Elmshadow. This is Lucan Thorne, of Mor, and Shyla Greykin, of G’naath. This is Prince J’arn Silverstone of Belgorne, and you have met the Vicaris. There, we have introduced ourselves. Our company has been travelling and came across… whatever this is. We have told you why we intervened. If you have justification for your attempt on the Master of Kehrlia’s life, say so now, or we will detain you, and send word to Mor to arrange your arrest. Have I made myself clear?”

  Trellia blanched. “Princess, perhaps you might–”

  “Enough!” Aria quieted the Vicaris. “The law is the law, and we are in Mor lands. Our treaty requires that we uphold that law. If this was not an attempt at murder, say so now!”

  Mila shared a long look with Aria. The tension between the two women was palpable. No one dared speak, but no words were required, in any case. The battle of wills between the two women was plain. In the end, it was Mila to break the silence. The darkness of her tone chilled Aria to her core.

  “Princess,” she hissed. “You are correct. I sought to murder Sartean in cold blood and retained the assistance of these before you to accomplish it. You are right to detain us, but you are powerless to do so, I assure you. Shall we all begin killing one another, or would you care to know why?”

  Aria swallowed. “I will hear your reasons.”

  Mila told of Sartean’s plans for Mor, of the Flightfluid operation, of the pain a
nd death the potion caused. She did not diminish her own role; on the contrary, she took responsibility for all she had done. After several turns of explanation, she concluded.

  “I have no remorse for attacking that vile man,” she said. “And when I leave here – and I assure you I will leave here – I intend to hunt him down again.”

  Mikallis replied without pause. “And in doing so, you believe you will earn redemption? For the lives you have destroyed? There is no redemption for people like you.”

  Mila turned to speak. Earl interrupted.

  “And what do you know about it? Who gave you the power to decide the worth of a person? I can’t say as to what Mila Felsin was before, but she’s makin’ it right.”

  Mila put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “No, Earl, perhaps he is right. Perhaps I cannot be redeemed.” She turned to Aria. “But neither will I be dissuaded. Hear me, Princess. Sartean will die, by my hand. You cannot stop me. For your own sake, do not try.”

  Aria regarded Mila for a moment, then looked to Trellia. The question went unasked. Trellia answered.

  “Sartean D’Avers is a blight on the face of Tahr, Princess.”

  Aria nodded and turned to Mila.

  “It would seem so. But murder is murder. Mila Felsin, I believe you when you say we cannot detain you, and I will not risk the lives of my friends in the attempt. But know this: you will be subject to arrest in Thornwood. All of you. For the attempted murder of Sartean D’Avers, and the… the abomination you have carried out here in his name.”

  “I alone am to blame, Princess. Earl here resigned as a laborer as soon as he learned what we were doing here. Yano and Sienni had no choice but to obey Sartean, and me as his–”

  Aria was unmoved. “All of which you are welcome to argue at trial, Miss Felsin, should you be so foolish as to set foot in my kingdom. Now, will you depart this field in peace, or, as you say, shall we all begin killing one another?”

  Mila took final measure of the company before her. They would fight for her, she decided.

  “Very well. But I will tell you, Princess. There is no virtue in holding the law above justice.”

  Aria held the sorceress’ gaze. “The law is justice, Miss Felsin.”

  “Hmph. If only that were true.” Mila turned from the gathering. Yano and Sienni joined her.

  Yano called over his shoulder. “Are you coming, Earl?”

  “I’ll catch up.”

  “Best that you do,” Mikallis pressed.

  Lucan shot a look at the captain. “Hey. Easy now, Mik. Earl and I know one another. Give us a moment.” Lucan put an arm around Earl, turning him from the group. “Now tell me, friend, how in Tahr did you get mixed up in this nightmare?”

  ~

  Shyla bent to pet Wolf as she continued to Listen. She could make out Earl’s words well enough as the enormous man spoke with Lucan, and she knew: his words carried no deception. The Mila woman had spoken honestly as well, though Shyla sensed that she hid something, some other reason for her loathing of the Sartine man. Absently, she heard her companions also discussing the matter. Opinions varied wildly. She turned to Lucan as he approached, having completed his conversation with Earl.

  “Good man, that one,” Shyla offered.

  “Yeah, would seem so. What a mess he’s got himself mixed up in, though. Gonna be wanted in two kingdoms.”

  “Yup. Well, ’cept maybe not.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I think maybe we oughta get Aria to change ’er mind ’bout that.”

  “Dunno if she can. She’s a princess.”

  Shyla cocked her head. “Are ye daft? That’s just why she can. What’s the good o’ bein’ a princess if yeh can’t make decisions like that?”

  Lucan shook his head. “It’s not that easy, Shy–”

  “C’mon, you two,” said J’arn. “Back to the road.” The pair nodded and turned to walk with the prince.

  “Hey J’arn, yer a prince. Whatcha gonna do ‘bout them four? Gonna have ‘em arrested if they come to Belgorne?”

  “Ha! For what, killin’ an evil wizard? Might throw ’em a feast, if they succeed!”

  Wolf barked, as if in agreement. Shyla grinned. “See, Lucan? Even Wolf knows it ain’t all that complex.”

  Lucan shrugged.

  The wind shifted to easterly again as the company made their way back to the road. A frigid gust carried the scent of winter along; the storm of snow and ash they had been racing would catch up soon. The group mounted their horses quietly, all clearly awaiting instruction from Trellia, who had remained silent since the encounter with Mila Felsin and her companions. A mounted Vicaris turned towards the group.

  “I see you all looking to me. You wish my opinion, do you not?”

  A few nods, including one from Aria.

  “Very well. Aria is correct. Our law is our law. She did her duty. I will say nothing more on the matter. For now, we must ride. The storm is on our heels.”

  An exhausted Lucan protested. “Vicaris, now, I don’t mean to complain, but–”

  “Then do not. Have a sip of Spring water. We cannot risk becoming mired in the storm before we reach Eyreloch. There is much more than your discomfort at stake, Lucan not-Thorne. We need not ride at a gallop, but neither can we delay. Follow me, and we will rest when we can.”

  II: EASTMAW

  Nishali Windwillow, First Ranger of Thornwood, skipped effortlessly across the Trine as if the great river were as firm as the ground on either side. On a typical day she would delight in the wonder of running atop the surface of the water. On this day she frowned as she crossed the Trine, noting the tarnished color of the usually clear water. The slight yellow hue of the flowing river would not have been noticed by many, particularly in the diffuse grey light, but Nishali knew every nuance of the lands north of the Morline. She could close her eyes and recall every tree. She could cover her ears and know which birds would be singing which songs based on the time of day, or time of year. She rarely paid attention to her footing; every rock, every ditch, every rise and fall of the landscape was known to her. Yet on this day, she trod carefully. The land had changed. The quakes had shifted the ground, disturbed roots, spat rocks to the surface that had not seen daylight in millennia. The ashen land of Tahr was no longer Nishali’s familiar companion; it had been usurped by a treacherous sibling in a thick grey coat, and it sought to do her harm.

  Nishali paused, allowing time for the rest of her Tenth to cross the Trine. Where she stood, the flat, open Praër allowed her a glimpse above the tree line to the south and east. Fang hovered threateningly over the horizon, spewing its toxic smoke and ash into the air in a towering plume whose shape appeared to mirror the great mountain itself. Streaks of unnatural lightning flashed within the cloud and without; tendrils of red, violet, and yellow that were reminiscent of the veins of a living being, extending upwards from Fang as if the volcano were a heart, and the clouds were its body.

  The first of her Tenth approached.

  “This is a horror,” Kade pronounced, Nishali’s second. The slight, lithe elf moved to brush the ash from Nishali’s mantle.

  “Do not waste your time, Kade. The ash is a part of Tahr now; it will be with us from now on. And yes, it is a horror.”

  Kade nodded. “You should take a brief rest, Nishali. When did you last sleep?”

  She turned to the blonde man. “I do not wish to rest. How fare the others?” Nishali had been running without her Link; she wished to keep her thoughts private a bit longer.

  “We are well. The rest of our Tenth nears the Pinestroke.”

  “You mean what was the Pinestroke. The trees die.”

  Kade sighed. “They will recover, Nishali.”

  “Some. Perhaps. Not all.”

  “Then some. It is something.”

  Nishali shook her head. “This is perhaps the greatest calamity ever to befall Tahr. Perhaps even worse than when Fang was first born.”

  Kade shuddered. “Let us hope not
. I do not think we have the numbers to survive a war like that again.”

  “We do not. And the war will come, Kade. If not with the gnomes, then with whatever wakes beneath us.”

  “Do you think the legends true? Was it truly as we’ve been taught, demons and devils and the like?”

  “Do you doubt your lessons?” Nishali asked.

  Kade frowned, lifting his gaze to watch the spectacle at the mouth of the volcano. “Well, no, I suppose not. But I had always assumed them to be… well…”

  Nishali nodded. “Exaggerations. Yet here we are. Our Citadel is fallen. Thousands lost. And we have not even yet met our enemy.”

  Kade looked to his First. “I am frightened, Nishali. Forgive me, but I am truly frightened.”

  Nishali narrowed her eyes at her Second. “If I hear you say as much in front of your rangers, Kade, I will have your cloak. Do you understand?”

  Kade nodded, a wounded look creasing his face. “I do. But we are alone. Are you not afraid?”

  Nishali looked away, returning her gaze to the volcano. “You and I must be fearless. Our station requires it. And if I carried fear within me, I would not give it voice. When you name a thing, you assign it power.”

  “And if it already has power?”

  Nishali sighed. “Then you kill it, Kade, before it kills you.” Nishali waved her hands before her. “Lum enna cäl.” A bright, white light materialized between the First and Second Rangers.

  “Follow the lights. Link to me if you must, but only then.” Nishali dashed to the south.

  ~

  The First Ranger ran between tree and rock, through tall grasses, over hills, under branches, traversing the undulating lands of the Eastmaw with grace and ease, long, black hair bouncing freely behind her. Yet despite how lithe and nimble she might appear to an observer, Nishali did not run unburdened. I am ashamed, she admitted in silence. The shame stole blood from her muscles, ripped air from her lungs. It weakened her, paled her, drank from her being. Yet she could not outrun it.