Slayer of Evermore

Copyright © 2000 by James M. Lipuma.

ISBN #: Softcover 0-7388-4640-6

eBook 9781462831135

All rights reserved. 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 permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Thank you to everyone who helped with Slayer of Evermore. Whether you are one of those who has role-played, read, edited, listened, talked, or just was there with me, I appreciate it. You know who you are—thanks.

Contents

INTRODUCTION

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

INTRODUCTION

We, the eldest race on Moniva, are known as the Azurine. In a small well-protected valley on Corinan, Moniva’s largest continent, we have secluded ourselves from the other races that shared our planet for many years. As the great chronicler of my people, it is my duty and honor to pass the stories of my world to our future generations. Though only one of many stories in our long history, the adventures chronicled here mark a turning point for our race. More importantly, these events touch the lives of all on our planet.

Corinan is separated into four major regions. The northern portion of the continent is a mountainous expanse containing active volcanoes, glaciers, vast plateaus, and deep chasms. The giants, beasts, monsters, and barbarians call this area home. The only settlement in the northern lands is Arrek, a giant stronghold constructed on the side of five mountain peaks near the eastern coast. None but the brave and the fool-hardy dare to travel there or adventure in any part of the northern lands.

The rest of Corinan is divided into unequal thirds by two mountain ranges which run from north to south—the Terrillians to the East and the Blackspine to the west. For longer than our records have chronicled, Dwarven hands and hammers have worked to transform the entire Eastern range and much of the surrounding lands into a maze of tunnels and chambers that they rule over. The Blackspine runs closer to the western edge of the continent and hooks along the coast as they meet Folksa, the southern sea. Hidden within the mountain passes of the range are lush, verdant forests where the elves built their villages. Stalliac, the only large elven city, is nestled into the southern coast. It serves as both a center of trade and a stronghold for the elven race.

Large verdant plains stretch from the base of the mountains to touch Asdorn, the great ocean that covers our planet. Human are spread across both of these great expanses. Between these great ranges lie vast plateaus and high valleys broken by jutting peaks and ridges. The great plains are split amongst kingdoms too numerous to count. By stark contrast, the central lands are controlled by the legendary half-fire-giant, half-human, known only as Redlin. The southern half is known as the Forbidden Lands, while the northern, where our kingdom rests, is called the Valley of the Dragons. Both earned their names for reasons too complex to explain here. It is here, at the edge of the Forbidden Lands where magic is still permitted that an old story ends and ours begins.

Almost seventy years ago, just after the last great battle to defeat the eternal dragons in the valley bearing their name, the Great Cleansing occurred. Jealous humans, over-zealous barbarians, and the fearful beast-like races banded together to try to eradicate all magic-users from the world. The barbarians hated magic and so it made sense for them to join the quest. The beasts could not learn its ways and so envied those races who were able to wield it. Though they were happy to use weapons imbued with the power, they killed all who had knowledge of its mysteries. Humans saw a way to seize power and control from the elder races of the world. In a short time, magic-users were a rare and hunted breed. The only place where the art still thrived was in hidden guilds and the magic school located in Phinn, the capitol of Redlin’s kingdom. None dared assault Phinn or Redlin directly. Even so, enrollment dropped dramatically as new apprentices were found dead daily. The prices on wizards’ heads were very high and the common folk were made fearful of anyone who might bring ruin to them by casting spells or using magic of any kind.

Of course, several human warlords had retained the services of their own wizards for the ensuing battle that they planned. Unfortunately for them, they had not planned on the wizards banding together to hoard the remaining knowledge and carve out a kingdom for themselves. After ten years of slaughter and internal struggle, little magic remained in the world. Anything or anyone who knew its secrets was hunted and prized as spoils of war. Any items imbued with magic became valuable and highly sought by all. Quests for legendary magic weapons were embarked upon and even the most mundane of magic items brought great interest when used and huge profits when sold.

It was then that a young ambitious wizard named Thrack Morgan came to power. Morgan, known to his beast allies as the master of demons, forged an alliance with the barbarians of the north. With their help, he has grown strong and bold enough to challenge the aging Redlin as his allies quarrel amongst themselves unknowing of the danger that lies in wait to the north. In the past several years, these two great forces have been gathering to face one another. Redlin has been preparing for the final battle with Thrack Morgan for control of Corinan as Morgan tested Redlin’s defenses waiting for the moment he would attack.

We, the clan Azurine, were fortunate enough to have one of our most gifted scribes adventuring with those Redlin chose to help him at this pivotal moment in our history. Her story and the story of those who quested with her for the Slayer of Evermore begins now. All who gave their lives are honored by the telling of the story and will never be forgotten as long as one of our clan still lives.

CHAPTER 1

Tommy, clear the place, Peter Zorich announced calmly but with force as he pushed through the door of the inn. Though it had been over a year since he had last seen human civilization, Peter confidently crossed the barroom of the Rusty Sword as if he was a regular.

A large burly man that acted as both bouncer and bartender, looked up to see who had made such a presumptuous statement. The bartender’s mind worked as he looked Peter up and down trying to make out who was hidden under the dirt of the road and behind the long hair and beard obscuring Peter’s face. After a moment, his eyes met Peter’s and he said, It’s been a while since you’ve been in—something serious?

Redlin said meet a party at the Rusty Sword, so that’s exactly what I’m doing. You decide if it’s serious.

The few customers that were seated around the place did not care about Peter’s proclamation. The small inn on the outskirts of Hamiltanville near the edge of the Forbidden Lands was often frequented by braggarts, blowhards, and drunks. This, however, was different. The bartender nodded as he moved to the far end of the bar. Raising his voice while pounding the bar, he exclaimed, Time to go! Get up and get out.

Though his customers looked confused and not at all happy, they trudged slowly to the door knowing that they would not win an argument with him.

As the handful of people left, Peter surveyed the place reacquainting himself with its interior. The ground floor of the Rusty Sword consisted of a large room with a bar and a few tables surrounded by chairs. The bar ran along one wall and ended at a door that opened into the alley running next to the inn. On the opposite side was the door to the kitchen. In the center of the back wall was a set of stairs that led up to the rooms overhead. Peter found the place to be remarkably clean by his standards which made it passable for most others. Once the other patrons had left, he relaxed slightly and moved to a table.

The journey to town had taken almost a week of constant hard riding and he was weary from the travel. His first stop was the stables where he left his armor, weapons, and other equipment in the care of the stable manager whom he knew well enough to trust. Freedom from his weighty adventuring equipment allowed him to move effortlessly as he made his way across the room. Tucked under his left arm was a large sword-case made of Dragonthorn heartwood—a rare and valued commodity. As he reached a corner table big enough for six, he sat with his back to one wall and slid the case down to the floor between his feet. He liked having the door on his side and a wall to his back. It was a habit he had picked up years ago and one that served him well.

If not for the years of battle and journeying that cut the look of a seasoned warrior into him, Peter would seem average. The lean muscular build, hard features, cold eyes, and eerie calm that hung about him told most observant people that he was not one to be taken lightly. The only thing that seemed out of place was his cheery smile. It was somehow even more ominous than any of his other features.

Good evening sir, can I get you something? the serving maid asked politely as she came to the table.

With a wave of his hand and a shake of his head, Peter let her know politely that he wanted nothing.

Smiling she replied to his gesture, If you change your mind, just ask.

He watched the girl move to the bar. Watching was something he did reflexively after so many years of adventuring. It was more attentive than edgy but either way, he was always alert. It took only seconds for him to sense trouble as it walked in. Two men, if they could be called that, came into the bar carrying swords and wearing Orcan armor. Each was as tall as Peter but at least double his weight. The dull look in their eyes coupled with their stench, marked them as half-orc mercenaries. Neither bright nor sociable, half-breeds like this always meant trouble. They had come in for business or a fight. From the look in their eyes, Peter figured both. Normally, he would just leave the trouble behind, but this time he had to stay and wait for the rest of his party. He had no choice.

In as much a grunt as intelligible speech the half-orc began to spit orders toward the bar as he walked to Peter’s table. Bring food . . . bring drink. We eat with this podrick human. Do it! Go, now.

Peter had heard many insults in his life, but podrick was one of his least favorite. Usually it was reserved for mating slaves and crippled beasts of burden. Peter thought to himself, These two must be even more stupid than most of their kind.

He was sure of that when the second half-orc stepped up next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. The other half-orc spoke, We saw case . . . give it to us or die and we take it, podrick.

Peter did not want to cause problems but neither did he like these beasts—especially the one touching him. Unfortunately, he was sitting and his view of the door was blocked by the first beast. Before he could answer, someone he could not see began to speak. Sirs, the voice began in a melodic and elfish tone, I think you need to leave him alone.

The two half-orcs turned to face the unseen man. Peter could only catch a glimpse of the one who had spoken. He was a four- foot-tall half-elf dressed in leather riding clothes from head to toe. What surprised Peter more than anything was that this small peaceful looking being carried no weapons and seemingly no fear.

The two half-breeds took a step towards the half-elf saying, We kill you first . . . then deal with the podrick.

Peter stood as the half-elf began his reply. If nothing else, this distraction had given him a chance to stretch his legs before he would have to kill these beasts.

The half-elf clapped his hands together and began rubbing them back and forth as he said, I think the two of you need to . . . He placed one hand on each of the half-orc’s chests as he intoned in a deep booming voice, Back Off! There was a clap of thunder as the two half-orcs were thrown as much through the table as over it. They hit the far wall leaving a jagged splintered impression where their heads met the wood. Their limp bodies slid to the floor where they laid motionless. Before they could regain consciousness, the bartender lifted them up onto his shoulders and carried them into the alley. Once both were deposited on the street like bags of garbage, he locked the side door and returned to the bar. After having executed his entire task in silence, the bartender raised a hand and waved to Peter as if to say everything was taken care of.

By the time Peter’s attention had returned to the half-elf, he had reset the table, picked up a chair, sat, and made himself comfortable. As Peter sat, the half-elf placed the fingertips together and nodded his head slowly. You may call me Gallis. The mage master sent me. I assume from your appearance and the case you carry that you are the wanderer.

Peter nodded his understanding of the statement that had just been thrust at him. While he spoke as clearly as he could, Peter tried to gather as much information about Gallis as he might be permitted. Knowing how Permillion, the mage master, thinks of me, I must be the wanderer—call me Peter. He extended his hand in friendship.

Gallis shook his hand and then leaned back in his chair. We have a great deal to discuss before the master arrives. I am sure the scribe will be here soon. The master will arrive later. Have you a room?

Not yet. I thought I would have a drink and relax first. I hoped that the party would move together to a better inn or maybe even onto Helexpa tonight. I’ll know better once everyone has arrived.

Gallis laughed a hearty laugh and smiled. You are more eager than most to get to Redlin’s palace my friend. We have a long way to go still, but we will be moving soon I hope. We will wait together.

Though Peter thought that Gallis appeared genuine, something about his manners seemed forced. Fine with me. First things first, though, I need to know that you’re who you say you are.

Without hesitation, Gallis reached beneath his shirt collar and extracted a chain. Dangling from the end was a golden card and a small purple figurine shaped like a dragon. Lifting the chain and all off his neck, Gallis handed them to Peter saying, These should be proof enough. Just the fact that I even knew to come here should tell you the rest.

Accepting the necklace, Peter examined it carefully. The golden card was engraved with a flaming R. This was to assure safe passage in territories governed by Redlin or his allies. The purple dragon was a sign that Gallis was part of the same adventurer guild as Permillion. Together, they proved that the half-elf could be trusted. Smiling, Peter handed the necklace back to Gallis saying, Looks like we’ll be traveling together.

Gallis replaced the chain around his neck and then pressed Peter. So what about you? Do you have any proof other than my assumptions?

Smiling, Peter produced a chain similar to Gallis’ with one important exception—his card was made of platinum and veined with gold and a mystic black metal known as lythrum. Upon seeing it, Gallis’ eyes gleamed with understanding and a bit of envy. This card was more than a pass through Redlin’s kingdom, it was a gift from Redlin himself. Its bearer would be shown every hospitality and, in this case, signified that Peter was owed a favor by Redlin himself.

Gallis’ tone became very deferential as he spoke. I’m sorry if I did not show the proper respect to you earlier.

Peter shook his head. Don’t you worry, I’ve taken no offense. I rarely do. One thing though, I’d like to know what type of sorcerer is brave enough to use magic in the open. Only a master or a fool would do that.

As if on cue, the door to the inn opened with a creak and vineta Azurine stepped through the opening out of the night. All eyes were irresistibly drawn to her presence. vineta was at least as tall as Peter but very slight of build. Her pale bluish skin was highlighted by shoulder length soft golden blond hair. Most captivating of all were her emerald eyes that seemed to glow against the pale bluish-green skin of her face. Her only clothing was a one- piece black leather tunic with what appeared to be a matching quiver slung over her left shoulder. Oddly enough, there was no accompanying bow. She carried a small leather-bound book with only a few sheets of parchment and a quill pen wrapped inside. Around her neck was a simple silver chain with an intricately carved purple dragon and a gold card similar to Gallis’ dangling from it.

No one spoke while she made her way to the table where Gallis and Peter stood silently staring at her. vineta broke the silence as she sat next to Gallis. Her voice was melodic and so pleasing; all were silent as she spoke hoping not to miss any syllable. Hello gentlemen. My name is Vineta. I am of the Azurine, and have come at the request of Androthy Permillion. He has told me of the two of you. Once seated, Vineta placed her book on the table, opened it, and picked up the quill pen that rested inside. "You may call me Vin. I am the scribe of the Azurine. I shall record all that happens on this, the greatest of adventures.» Without turning her head to acknowledge his presence, Vineta spoke to Gallis. «Young elf, servant of Permillion. Have you news of your master’s arrival?»

Not at all offended by this lack of respect, Gallis answered her immediately and with the respect and humility reserved for royalty. «No my lady. I know only that he is to be here some time tonight.»

«Whom does he bring?»

«An apprentice, a warrior, and another . . . exactly who, I’m »

not sure.»

«Very well.» Her eyes had remained fixed on Peter through the entire conversation. Even as she wrote a few words in her journal, her gaze never left his face. It was as if she was absorbing his essence as much as studying his features. With one graceful motion, she placed the pen on the page and extended her hand towards Peter. «Hello and good day to you sir. You must have great stories to tell if Permillion asked you to adventure with us. While we wait, will you tell me of your life?»

Peter took her hand without conscious thought. He was surprised by its warmth and its apparent strength. «I am Peter Zorich. Gallis called me the wanderer. Androthy and my family are longtime blood friends. When he asked my service, I gladly gave it to him with no questions. Though truthfully, it was Redlin who sent for me.» He was amazed at how his own words sounded foreign to his ears. Even as Vineta’s hand slipped from his grasp, he could feel her magical presence linger a moment longer. It had been many years since he had encountered an Azurine yet his memories of the experience were still crisp and not entirely pleasant.

«I can sense your confusion Peter, let me tell you of myself. I am a scribe sent out amongst the races of the world by the Azurine—»

«Are you sure you should be telling him this?» Gallis interrupted.

Not bothering to dignify the question with a response, Vin continued. «We are a secretive race and few ever leave our protected valley deep in the mountains, guarded by the guilded horsemen and griffin riders. I, however, have been sent to roam the world and keep an account of all I see. As such, I have trained for what would be several of your lifetimes in many different arts. I had already been traveling the world of humans for many years when I first met Permillion. He was only an apprentice then.» Peter consumed each word she uttered, still ensnared by her magical aura. «As I am sure you have noticed, I have certain innate abilities and my rank and station bring their own measures of respect. I have chronicled some of the greatest figures in your history.»

«And now you have come to journey with us to find out more about Redlin and the great relics.» Peter’s statement startled Vin. «Did you think I couldn’t sense your spell? I haven’t lived this long without some measure of self-control.»

«And much more I’m sure.» Vineta smiled and gave out a little laugh. «I think it will be very interesting to hear what you have to say my friend. This is not going to be a dull adventure at all.»

Gallis breathed a sigh of relief and eased back in his chair. It was very unusual for him to be at the bottom of the rankings in any room. At this table, however, he was the servant, the squire, and perhaps even the weakest of the three participants. When his master arrived, he was sure that this would not change. Even the apprentice who accompanied them would have higher station and better lineage than the others. Though he did not enjoy it in the least, he would have to quickly become accustomed to following rather than leading. «Is there anything I can get either of you?»

Vineta spoke first in a pleasant tone. «No thank you. I’m fine for now.»

Peter was slower and more deliberate in his speech. «I’m all right—for now. Maybe later I’ll need something. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.»

Gallis was sure that he had said this just to irritate him, but he could not take any chances. This wanderer and warrior had an important role to play. Even if he was unsure what that role was to be, Gallis was positive that the mage master had his reasons. Not letting any of the comments get to him, he stood and excused himself. As the chair under him slid back, the door to the inn opened and the unmistakable stench of half-orcs assaulted him. As he turned, he felt the bite of a crossbow bolt in his right shoulder. As he dropped to the floor screaming in pain and clutching at the metal point that was sticking out the front of his shoulder, he saw two of the beasts in the inn and two more just outside guarding the door. The two half-orcs in the bar each had a spent crossbow. Gallis had not, however, heard any other screams.

As Peter vaulted over Gallis’ chair, he yelled «Stay down. These podricks are mine. Just make sure the case and the scribe are safe.» Peter threw himself into the two waiting orcs as they tried to draw their swords. The force of his tackle knocked them to the floor. Snarling, they struggled to get up and retrieve their lost weapons.

After closing her writing book quickly, Vineta stood calmly and moved towards the back of the bar. From the side of her quiver she took a small case, opened it, and extracted a dart. As she tucked the case into a fold of her tunic, she faded from sight.

In the confusion and movement, the serving maid and bartender dove for cover and then made their way out of the small room. Peter had sprung to his feet and readied himself for the fight before the two guards outside had even realized what had happened. With one smooth motion, he lifted and then tossed one of the stunned half-orcs out the door onto the two guarding the escape route.

Though Vineta had completely vanished, she was still able to see and be impressed by Peter’s display of strength and agility. A flurry of fists and elbows reduced the last beast in the bar to a mass of pleading half-intelligible grunts. While this pathetic creature crawled to the door, his three compatriots were gathering themselves outside. As Peter stepped to the door, he heard a thunder of hooves. Six city guards, wearing black chain mail, rode to the front of the inn from out of the darkening night and dismounted. Each wore a breast-plate with a flaming red R emblazoned on it. All recognized the symbol identifying these men as part of Lord Redlin’s elite guard. Four of the guards took custody of the beaten orcs and two came to speak with Peter. One of the guards said, «Sir, you’ll have to come with us, until we determine what happened.»

Peter, Gallis, and Vineta all thought the same thing at once, «This was not supposed to happen.»

CHAPTER 2

Redlin’s castle, Helexpa, stood ominously alone atop a single peak overlooking the secluded and well-protected valley in the deepest recesses of the Forbidden Lands. Eight of Moniva’s most powerful leaders waited in camps at the foot of this mountain that held Helexpa like a gem just out of their reach. Each leader had been invited to a conference inside the walls of Helexpa.

The castle had been built long before the great cleansing and was fabled to hold many secrets of magic not known elsewhere in the world. Though much of Redlin’s greatness had since been forgotten, his legendary deeds and accomplishments warranted caution, if not respect, by all. Redlin was a mystery and a powerful wildcard in all affairs. For the last fifty years, his troops and envoys had made their presence known throughout Corinan. Long before that, Redlin had forged alliances with the rulers of each of the kingdoms and it was time to reestablish those ties. At one time or another, almost everyone had discussed dissolving the alliance with the aging half-giant. Redlin’s personal armies and his many allies, coupled with the fear of the magic that he could unleash upon anyone who left the alliance, quieted even the most powerful of these dissenters.

As a result, when Redlin’s envoys invited the most powerful leaders to come to his stronghold, none would refuse. To assure their attendance, he included a small gift of powerful magic with each invitation. To him these items were only trinkets, but to the invited guests, they served as irresistible calling cards.

Representatives of all the races had arrived as well. The dwarves, elves, and giants all knew and respected Redlin and had sent delegations to show their support. Most of the other invited guests were human and represented a diverse group of guilds and warrior classes that served the five large kingdoms and several smaller ones that flanked Redlin’s holdings. It was rumored that a powerful Elven wizard and his entourage had been invited but no one had seen his party as of yet. Once everyone had arrived, they all would be allowed to enter Helexpa together.

Amongst the many delegations was that of a young king named Aaron Boewin. Aaron had inherited his lands, holdings, riches, and army from his father, King Darrius Boewin. Marcus and Raymond, his older brothers, had both died before their father, leaving Aaron as the sole heir. Luck more than skill had allowed him to keep it. Philip Cragmore, Aaron’s most trusted advisor, was responsible for young Aaron’s continued success as a ruler. Cragmore had pledged to be Aaron’s protector and teacher when the boy was a newborn. He soon found himself watching over the continually frightened and unsure boy. As general, Cragmore had kept the army loyal and focused. With this, the entire kingdom remained under the young ruler’s control. Aaron was not a poor king, just unhappy and ill prepared to be a leader. His mother had protected him for the first years of his life until she died. His father had tried to be there for his young son, but ruling a kingdom was not an easy task. Though Aaron had the body of a warrior, his heart was still one of a scared and easily daunted child. Cragmore had not been able to impart all his wisdom to the young king. Aaron never had the patience for lessons that did not pertain to arms and armaments. Book learning did not come easily and Aaron was quickly frustrated by anything he did not find amusing. Worst of all, as he grew older, he steadily became more hesitant to act decisively.

Aaron sat patiently at a make-shift desk in the middle of his tent reading a book. Nature had blessed him with a strong body and mind. Years of physical and mental training had hardened his body and made him a formidable warrior. At the tender age of thirteen, the weight of ruling a kingdom had been placed squarely on his shoulders and he had tried to carry it for the past four years.

However, fighting as a soldier in his father’s army and