The Pale One: The Ascension, Volume I

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

Prologue

A high-pitched scream pierced the air. It was one that spoke of the purest pain. The shriek ended in a vicious gurgle as the limp body of a dead woman fell forward, her throat torn out. Another woman kicked the corpse off of the tall cliff, resulting in a disgusting crunch as the body landed on the rocks below.

A hideous cackle erupted from the top of the drop-off. The silhouette of the second woman shadowed the ledge. Sithel was barely five feet tall, with long, black wavy hair. Her ice-blue eyes lingered on the broken corpse far below for a long moment.

The shin-high grass waved gently as a gust of wind howled, whipping the woman’s hair into her beautiful face. Something strong mingling in the breeze beset her nostrils. She turned completely around to see large red and yellow flames devouring the little village before her. Smoke billowed into the night sky, mixing well with the fall storm clouds. The sight brought an evil smirk to Sithel’s face.

She began to walk toward the just-audible, terrified screams and wailing that came from the burning village. Her nimble body moved gracefully and swiftly. Without thinking, Sithel wiped the murdered woman’s blood from her hand onto her travel-stained cloak. Her long-sleeved, white cotton shirt opened at her neck, the folds meeting at a point, showcasing her ample breasts. The shirt was tucked into tight, brown leather pants. Her person was quite enthralling.

The village was in complete chaos—just how she liked it—when she strode past the first flaming houses. Men, women, and children ran about, screaming as a band of orcs chased them with swords and torches. Her grin grew wider every second as she walked about, watching the orcs sadistically murder villagers. No one seemed to notice her walking calmly into the village.

Nearing the center of the hamlet, one of the brainless orcs mistakenly took Sithel for a defenseless villager and charged her. The humanoid creature was barely taller than her; its stretched skin was gray under mismatched pieces of armor, and its head featured coarse, black hair and a wild beard. It grunted through piglike nostrils, shooting phlegm down into its beard.

A look of disgust replaced the grin on Sithel’s face as she watched the orc charge, brandishing a rusty old curved sword. A high arc from the sword had the woman sidestepping to her left, easily dodging the poorly performed attack. She ducked low to avoid the orc’s horizontal backswing. As she did so, she grabbed a hidden dagger from her right boot, and as Sithel stood up, she buried the blade hilt deep into the monster’s skull. Sithel brutally ripped the dagger out, orc brains covering the entire blade. She wore a revolted look as she bent over and wiped the brains and blood on the dead orc’s hairy arms.

Seeing one of their comrades slain, several more of the gray-skinned humanoids rushed toward the seductively dressed woman, hungry canines jutting from their lower lips. Their beady, red eyes glared at her beneath brows knotted in everlasting scowls.

A frustrated sigh escaped Sithel’s mouth. Lazily, she stretched forth her hand, and waves of pure red energy flew toward the orcs. Startled and not knowing what else to do, the monsters just paused and watched as the waves hit them and their bodies absorbed the energy. Then, without warning, each of the orcs exploded, sending chunks of gore in every direction.

Sithel angrily stomped to the edge of what was left of the burning village. Most of the log buildings had been consumed already, and all the residents had already fled or been horribly murdered. Now only the band of orcs rambled about, looting what they could from the dead.

With unnatural power in her voice, she shrieked, Oram!

The name resounded throughout the village, sending complete fear into the humanoid beasts. Hurriedly, a massive, ugly creature came lumbering toward her. The ogre was at least ten feet tall, weighing in excess of three hundred pounds. Its brown skin was stretched tightly over bulging muscles in its arms and torso. Clothing of thick furs hid most of the thing’s grotesque, wart-covered body, and a leather cap concealed its oily, mane-like hair.

Yes, Master? the ogre grumbled arrogantly, speaking in the common tongue. The thing’s thick accent made it difficult to understand. Its massive underbite, which displayed all of its lower fangs, pointing upward, did not help any.

Hold your tongue, or I will rip it out! Sithel snapped. She lashed out, punching the ogre’s rock-hard stomach. Surprisingly, the beast doubled over in terrible pain. The woman had channeled a great amount of energy into the strike, making it much more powerful than was humanly possible. Oram cautiously stood back up.

Your imbecile little orcs attacked me, Sithel said with so much fury that the ogre winced, anticipating more pain. Sure enough, another smack sent the monster to its knees. The orcs nearby had stopped looting, and now they whimpered in fear and skittered about, looking for cover. Once they thought they were a safe distance away from the woman and their ogre leader, they stopped to watch.

Now I want to be clear, Oram, Sithel spat through gritted teeth. Your large army of various monsters will aid my cause, but I will only tell you this once: all of you are expendable. I will not hesitate to kill any of you. Is that understood?

Without pause the ogre nodded vigorously. Oram detested working for Sithel, but the fear of her unnatural powers kept the monster as her indentured slave.

Good. Now stand up, ugly.

Oram did so, but the ogre kept its eyes low.

Do you remember what we talked about earlier? About you and your army finding that man for me?

Yes, Master, Oram’s deep voice rang.

Do you remember his description?

Again the large ogre nodded.

My spies say he left the city of Quwe a few weeks ago heading north to Anzzow. Once you have located him, you will send little bands of your army to harass him. Then, once you have him cornered, I want you to kill him.

Yes, Master! We will shed his blood for you, Oram said enthusiastically, a stupid-looking grin spreading across the ogre’s ugly face.

Yes, the woman whispered. Now go.

Oram turned around and bellowed a command in a language of grunts. The orcs reacted instantly, for fear of being beaten—or worse—by the large ogre. Oram and the orcs left, making their way to regroup with the rest of the monstrous army.

Sithel stood still, watching the creatures disappear. She shook her head with a scowl on her face. She loathed those creatures, hated even using them for her campaign. Yet she would not involve her own army this early in the game … before her opponent even knew he was playing.

Chapter One

As the sun filtered downward, the sky shone bright pink. Sunsets never ceased to amaze Sedarus Perim. The monk stood on top of a knoll overlooking a valley, but his ice-blue eyes were not on the small town, unlike his four companions’. The monk’s wisdom-filled eyes were mesmerized at the beautiful colors sprayed throughout the fading light.

Sedarus gazed, imprinting the beautiful image into his mind. He stood there, on top of the grassy hill, for many minutes in silence. The wind blew, and his mud-stained, sky-blue robes flapped mildly. Finally he felt a soft touch on his arm, and he turned to one of his companions.

We are ready. Are you? Haet Estin asked.

Haet stood six feet tall, three inches taller than Sedarus. His soft, brown hair was cut short enough for his scalp to be visible. His nose was slightly crooked, having been broken once before, but his brown eyes were warm. They gave great comfort to Sedarus.

Yes, brother, I am, Sedarus quietly spoke.

Haet was not Sedarus’s brother, not biologically speaking, but they were both monks who were raised from childhood in the Order of Valor, an order that worshipped the god of valor and courage, Tinen. The two met their three other companions through Tinen, also. Although Aunddara, Rhamor, and Rishkiin were not monks, they all lived in the Temple of Valor and worshiped the god as well. Each of them were brought to the temple at a young age and had worked together nearly every day since. That was how they became close friends.

Sedarus, Haet! You’re slowing us down! Rishkiin yelled from the bottom of the knoll.

Sedarus moved his eyes from his fellow monk to the young fighter who had spoken. Rishkiin was the youngest of the group, a score and two years old, just six years younger than Rhamor, the oldest. Rishkiin was the most brash and impatient. He stood barely taller than Haet, but in his full-plate armor, with its intricate designs of ancient runes blessed by the Goodly God Tinen, he looked much taller. He wasn’t weighed down, either, as the marks made the heavy armor unnaturally light.

With his thumb and forefinger, Rishkiin nervously traced his mustache, following it down to his goatee. His thick, dark-brown hair shined in the fading sunlight.

Be silent, Rish, Aunddara said quietly.

Aun, I’m hungry, and there is bound to be an inn in that bloody town. I mean, by the Abyss! Rishkiin’s voice was exasperated. He impatiently fumbled for the reins of his horse.

No one holds you back, Rish, Rhamor said, his baritone voice rumbling deeply. The bear of a man stood in his full plate armor, similarly blessed like Rishkiin’s. Rhamor mounted his war steed with ease as Sedarus walked down the hill.

I can’t go ahead by myself … Rishkiin trailed off.

Why? Is it because you’re frightened of those scary rogues hanging about? Aunddara laughed.

Rhamor’s deep laughter joined in as Rishkiin’s face flushed deep scarlet, his goatee quivering in ire. The young fighter hurriedly placed his helmet on his head, covering most of his face.

Sedarus shook his head, ignoring the joke at the cost of his friend’s ego. Let us be gone, Sedarus said, breaking up the laughter.

Rishkiin silently mounted his horse, as did Aunddara mount hers. Sedarus and Haet had no horses, but they could move their sandal-covered feet fast enough.

The journey continued, filled with silence. Often, Sedarus’s gaze returned to the diminishing sunlight to the west. He wished he could have had more time watching the fiery orb descend, but he did not complain out loud. He was grateful for his friends, even the hotheaded Rishkiin. Sedarus could not help but feel gratitude that they were near him … that they would even speak to him. He had no control over it, and so he could not be certain if he would be able to stop it if he should lose control.

No! Do not think of that, Sedarus said silently to himself. Forcefully he switched his gaze and thoughts back to the departing sun.

Sedarus, Haet said quietly beside him so that only Sedarus could hear, are you okay? Concern was plastered on the monk’s face.

No. Sedarus could not lie to Haet. It was against the code of honor by which the monks lived. Even had he lived by no such code, Sedarus would not be able to lie to Haet, who was the closest thing to a brother he’d ever had.

Haet swallowed deeply, unintentionally. "Is it still—"

Yes, Sedarus cut across the monk, "I can still feel it. The sun eases it, you know."

Yeah, I know.

Of course he knows! Sedarus thought, but he felt better when he confided in someone.

All the more reason for us to hasten, Haet said, smiling.

Sedarus smiled back, which satisfied Haet. Yet it was not a smile of comfort, but one of knowing. Sure Haet loved and cared for Sedarus like a brother, but like Rishkiin, he was also ready for the comforts of the inn ahead.

Sedarus watched as his fellow companions quickened their pace, each wanting the reprieve of the inn. He had no choice but to keep up.

At the edge of the village, the five companions were met with a feeble guard patrol. Three men in unison shouted, Halt! They held up spears threateningly but did not advance.

Slowly the companions stopped.

What business do you have here? asked a grizzled old man. He’s seen too many winters, Rishkiin thought as he studied the guard. He was obviously the leader of the trio, although he seemed about to collapse with exhaustion. All three of the guards had on poorly made leather armor with leather caps. Besides their spears, they had short swords for their weapons, but this was hardly a group that would rattle the five companions.

We have come to stay at your lovely inn, Rhamor said, removing his helmet to reveal long, curly, black hair and a full, black beard. Rhamor’s demeanor seemed friendly enough, but his hazel eyes were stern and authoritative.

Lovely? the grizzled old man asked between coughs. Then he muttered, You obviously haven’t seen it yet.

Still, we wish to rest there, Rhamor said, his voice deep and soft, though bringing out in him an aura of command.

As you wish, but we require that all men and women leave their weapons with us.

Rishkiin spurred his horse forward in a rush, heading straight for the old man. He stopped his steed right before it flattened the grizzled guard. Before he or his two companions could react, Rishkiin’s long sword was resting at the man’s exposed throat.

The only way you will ever get my blade is through your throat! Rishkiin growled through gritted teeth, his neatly combed goatee bristling. Then his whole demeanor changed as he shrugged and said with a lighter, calmer voice, Of course, if you would like, I would only be too happy to oblige. But I would strongly suggest against that, as it would leave these two witless wonders without a leader. Their lovely little hearts would be broken and shattered. The young fighter feigned tears as he finished. With that Rishkiin started his horse on by the guards at a calm trot, ignoring the threatening glares from the two younger guards.

Fine, go with your weapons! But your woman stays with me! The grizzled old man grinned. Come on, girl. I’ll keep you entertained all night.

Rhamor, Rishkiin, Haet, and Sedarus’s eyes all widened. They each started for the old man, meaning to teach him about respecting women, but Aunddara had it under control.

Or I could hit you with my mace and send your soul to the Abyss, she said. Then, her beautiful green eyes never leaving the obviously shaken man, she spurred her mount to follow her friend by the patrol men. The remaining three companions followed in suit, each of them glaring at the old guard.

Nice bluff, Aun, Rishkiin grinned.

Who said I was bluffing? Fury dripped in her voice.

That answer had all four human men on their heels. Aunddara was one of the most coolheaded humans, man or woman, they had ever met. She was hardly ever violent.

Well then, Rishkiin spoke haltingly, as if unsure what to think. Shall we?

Yes, we shall, said Aunddara.

They entered the town proper soon after. It was a small hamlet without a city wall, though evidently populated enough to have that meager town’s guard. The houses littering the single road were shanties and hardly even living grounds.

The inn was just as bad—quite a hovel, what with its broken windows and ripped-out shingles. The sign that read Inn of Good Fortune had been torn down and was now resting against the building.

That old guard was right, Rishkiin stated, turning up his nose in disgust. I hardly count this as an inn.

Rhamor countered, Yes, but this is the only settlement in the next five leagues. And while the monks don’t mind sleeping in the dirt—Haet scowled at that, but Rhamor didn’t notice—I do. So learn a lesson from the monks: be humble and silence your complaints.

That had everyone but Rishkiin laughing again. He started muttering about Rhamor’s mother being an ogre as he dismounted and started to lead his horse to the stables around the back.

Hey, Rish, Aunddara said softly.

What, Aun? Rishkiin asked as he turned to face the woman.

She fluttered her long eyelashes, which darkened her dazzling green eyes. Lead my horse back there as well? Please?

Sure! Why bloody not? Rishkiin replied as he stomped to take her reins. And you? he roared at Rhamor.

Why thank you for offering; I knew I always liked you! Once more four of the five companions were laughing. Rishkiin took all the horses to the stable while the rest went inside the inn. They could hear him cursing through the flimsy walls.

The inside of the inn was worse than its outside. It was completely dark except for a sole candle at the bar. The floors creaked as the party walked to the first table they saw, for the inn was vacant except for the bartender and the serving wench. Dirt and mice littered the wooden floor.

The travelers sat anxiously on the wooden chairs, wondering if they would crash to the creaking floorboards. Each, in turn, sighed in relief as they realized that the chairs would hold their weight.

Barkeep, get a round of ale for my friends and me! Rishkiin yelled as he entered the dirty room. And some light.

Haet was already lighting one of his homemade candles and placing it in the center of their table, shedding light about them.

As the serving girl came with her tray of ale, Rishkiin said, We’ll have bread, cheese, and your soup of the evening.

She nodded, put the mugs of ale on the table, and turned to leave.

Rishkiin took a long draught of ale and then spewed it on the table. I didn’t order orc piss! Now give me real ale, or I’m not paying for it!

That’s all we have, the barkeep said ungraciously.

Rishkiin was angered, but he tempered his rage.

What’s the plan? Aunddara quickly asked everyone at the table.

Well, I’m going to eat, avoid their orc piss, and then find a nice cot to sleep on.

No, Rish! I mean what’s next for our quest? Aunddara ended her question with a look to Sedarus, who pointedly stared at the beer-soaked table.

We will travel to Anzzow, several weeks away, and beseech the librarians of Feldoor to help us, Rhamor responded instead. He had always been the leader of the group.

Oh! The monks are such a bore! They have no lives! Rishkiin bellowed.

Sedarus and Haet’s faces betrayed no reaction, but Haet said dryly, "I’m sorry I am a bore because I learned to read and write while you were getting punched in the face and having a great life."

Aw come on, Haet, I didn’t mean you and Sed. You know that! I’m just saying that those monks who worship Feldoor the god of love are—

God of knowledge, Rish, Haet muttered.

Right, thanks, Rishkiin started again. Those monks who worship that god of nature—

Knowledge, Rish! Sedarus said, exasperated. He knew that Rishkiin was just playing around, but it wasn’t funny when it involved divine beings.

Well, whatever! Those monks who worship whatever god they do are just plain boring. They don’t even have good wine!

You’ll just have to be wine-deprived until they can give us answers. Rish, you know none of us are making you come. So if you’re going to whine and complain like a child, then go back to the temple, Rhamor said.

I’m sorry, Rish, that our—my quest isn’t to your liking. Sedarus’s voice was somber, full of sorrow and … fear? Not knowing what the future would bring, he did not wish to accrue ill feelings from any of his companions.

Nah, Sed! Rishkiin ran his gauntleted hand through his wavy, shoulder-length hair. "It’s not you, nor is it the bloody knowledge monks. It’s just we’ve been on the