by A R R Ash
Toth—Captain of the Silver Blades’ cavalry
Uyrek—Member of Ky’lor’s castle guard
Uzra—Seamstress of the Moroi Hunters
V’laryn—Former thrall of Laryn and petitioner during Shayala’s audience
Valyn—Petitioner during Shayala’s audience
Vartan—Strategist, tactician, and ambassador of the Silver Blades
Volar—Leader of the Bloodied Paw tribe
Volara—Second daughter of Valar
Volna—Soldier under Lieutenant Thal
Volroy—Count of Court Shayala
Vorn—Supporter of Ryz’k
Voyl—Lieutenant under Seneschal Lyuth
Walyr—Glossator of the Silver Blades
Woryth—Hemalier of Castle Ky’lor
Wythyr—Warrior under Duke Munar
Yah’l—Duke Munar’s spy marshal
Yalar—Petitioner during Shayala’s audience
Yata—Waiflike strigoi and agent of Spy Marshal Lyan
Yurin—Warrioress of the Night Hunters tribe
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Personal Message from A.R.R. Ash
In high school, a friend gave me a copy of the Darksword Trilogy by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman and the Icewind Dale Trilogy by R.A. Salvatore (though I don’t recall which I read first), and I’ve been a fan of the fantasy genre since. However, if I were confronted by the Keeper of the Bridge of Death or a Bene Gesserit Truthsayer (or, for that matter, the Lasso of Truth) and asked my favorite book of all time, I would have to say Dune by Frank Herbert. My day job is singularly uninteresting, so I’ll refrain from mentioning it, but you can learn more about me through my Smashwords interview: https://www.smashwords.com/interview/AshARR.
Thank you for reading The Moroi Hunters. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, please leave an honest review where you purchased it.
An excerpt from my upcoming standalone novel The First Godling is below. Following that, I hope to return to this world for a sequel to The Moroi Hunters. You can learn more about the world of The Moroi Hunters and the universe of Legends, Myths, and PropheciesTM at LMPBooks: https://www.LMPBooks.com/.
It’s always a pleasure to hear from you, and I can be reached directly at the above site.
Happy Reading,
Excerpt—The First Godling
What follows is an excerpt of The First Godling, the forthcoming standalone novel by A.R.R. Ash.
Introduction
Many have heard of Xy. The First Godling. Champion of Undead. Sower of Intrigue. The myths surrounding this unique figure are many and varied. Many rightly question the veracity of these myths, and some indeed discount his existence. Of this second point, I can say, conclusively, “Xy was very much real.” What I endeavor to do here is provide a true accounting of his life—and beyond. However, this task was made all the more difficult because of the great passage of time and the fact that Xy was human.
Xy was born in the independent city-state Sepolis, upon Eomluran, the eastern continent of the world Mluran. At the time of his birth, humanity was the youngest of the major races. Like all humans, Xy was unremarked by and unremarkable to historians—at least during his early years, until his power and infamy grew. Thus, extant, objective sources of his childhood are nonexistent. For large portions of the tale, I was forced to rely upon hearsay, extrapolation, interpolation, speculation, and tertiary sources. The only contemporaneous records are uncorroborated primary sources of dubious objectivity and factualness: the journal of Xy’s mentor, Mneris; and Xy’s own journal and memoir. Regarding the last, its earliest entries were written in hindsight and thus subject to all the vagaries of memory.
Of these sources—journals, memoir, and the research notes of both Mneris and Xy—they are held by the Necralatrists, an organization of Black Necromancers who count Xy as their patron. I do not wish to say what I had to do to gain access to those documents. And even then, I could view them only under strict supervision and on the condition I not reveal any of their secrets. Specifically, in the case of some research notes, I was forbidden from including their contents. (Nevertheless, I believe the Necralatrists were impressed by my insistence that I would not impose upon this telling the moral judgments of other times and peoples.)
Consequently, of Xy’s early years, I provide only an abridged account. But if Xy’s memoirs are to be believed, he, from an early age, displayed precocious intelligence, curiosity, and ambition. Still, the real story of Xy begins with his fateful meeting with Mneris. Mneris the Grotesque. Mneris the Cancerous. Mneris the Putrid. Of this meeting, I provide both Xy’s account (written years later) and Mneris’s contemporaneous account.
Let me comment on the language of the major sources for this work. Both Mneris and Xy spoke and wrote in Human, which, aside from some dialectic variance, has remained largely unchanged since their time. Thus, I was able to include the text in their own words, without the inevitable subjectivity introduced by translation. Where necessary, however, I provide expository notes to define archaic, obsolete, or vernacular terms and to give context or clarification to passages within the assorted documents. In instances where translation was required, as from source documents written in a language other than Human, I endeavored to maintain fidelity to the source document, save where transparency or comprehension would be impaired.
As a final note regarding my determination of the authenticity of sources, I used one or more of four criteria: coherence, embarrassment, multiple attestation, and non-contradiction. Briefly, under the criterion of coherence, if information is consistent within a historical context, it is more likely to be accurate. The criterion of embarrassment holds that an author is not likely to include a piece of information if it reflects poorly on him; therefore, if he does include it, that information is more likely to be accurate. The criterion of multiple attestation states that, if information can be corroborated by multiple, independent sources, it is more likely to be accurate. According to the criterion of non-contradiction, if information is not contradicted by other, independent sources, it is more likely to be accurate.
D’durk the Historiographer, Editor
Goblin Press
Part I
Xy’s Memoir
Early Years1
I walked with my mother through the cracked, garbage-lined streets of Sepolis’s Human District. It was a route we took every day, from our squalid, ramshackle shanty to the market, and back. The trip took us beyond the Human District to the Market District, where, if we were lucky, we would suffer no more than disdainful looks from the other races, or perhaps an uttered obscenity or invective (a favorite was Pturik, the goblinoid word referring to rapidly proliferating insects). Although I didn’t always understand the insults, the contempt and animosity in tone and gestures were clear, even at my age.
On occasion, we did encounter physical hostility, but my mother would always put her head down and hurry us away, tears smearing her dirt-smudged face. Sensing my fear, she’d squeeze my hand, and I found that simple gesture immeasurably comforting. I did witness some humans defy their tormentors, but they were invariably beaten and left crumpled on the flagstones. Some I saw again; others I never did.
At the market, not all vendors would sell to humans. Those who did reserved the better quality goods for non-humans. Again, if we were fortunate, we’d leave the market with moldy bread and rotting vegetables, bought at exorbitant prices. If not, we’d be hungry.
Even the high wall separating the Human District from the rest of the city provided little sanctuary for us. The guards at the single gate were there more to keep us in, rather than others out. Bands of thugs, either members of the Non-Human League or young ruffians needing an outlet for their cruelty, regularly came into our district to accost and beat us. More often than not, they attacked playing children or a solitary woman upon some errand. Once, peering around the corner of an alley, I witnessed an ogre pummeling an old man.
When the brute looked up and saw me, I ran home, fear driving my little legs faster than I thought they could move. It was just one incident among many, and I never told Mother or Father about it.
That’s not to say the other races were without their conflicts. Yet, they all agreed on their contempt for humanity. As Sepolis had been established just over three centuries prior, some enduring members of the longer-lived races had been present at the city’s founding. The houses of these inceptive members formed the aristocracy of Sepolis. That they had seen the birth of near twenty generations of humans undoubtedly caused them to see us as transitory, inconsequential beings. Yet, despite our shorter lifespans and shabby living conditions, our numbers grew, and others came to fear and hate us.
That fear and hatred—and, I believe, envy at our determination and perseverance—led to the establishment of the Non-Human League, which sought the eradication of all humans. It counted elves, dwarves, gnomes, goblins, ogres, and others among its members.2 Although their actions were illegal, the watch—in which humans were not permitted to serve—never seemed capable of finding the culprits.
Time to time, a demagogue—called either champion or incendiary, depending on one’s perspective—arose and argued for humans to resist our treatment. Such fomenters were invariably murdered before too many answered the call. Periodically, when either growing population or dwindling resources drove humans to riot, the resultant loss of human life left more subsistence for the survivors.3
A codger, whom we knew only as the Preacher, stood near the gate of the Human District and espoused the dogma of Syle, God of Suicide. The Preacher ranted about the holiness of self-death, exhorting every human undertake the ultimate journey to Arcadia, where food was plentiful, water flowed freely, the land was green and covered in grass and trees, and humans were the equals of others. However, one could reach Arcadia only by dying by one’s own hand; any other manner of death would forever preclude one from reaching that realm. The watch tolerated his ravings, I’m sure, only because it was pleased by any doctrine espousing less humans. There were more than a few who accepted Syle’s teachings and sought Arcadia. Many sons and daughters awoke to find a father or mother with an opened neck and a dull, rusty knife nearby.4
I admit, I myself felt the appeal of that dogma at times. But putting my faith in the hope of some later paradise seemed like capitulation and acknowledgement that the other races were superior.
And that was something I could never accept.
Editor’s Note
As Sepolis still stands (though its design has since much changed), I was able to obtain a magically preserved map of its contemporaneous layout from the city’s archives. I have included a reproduction of the map in Appendix A.
Briefly, Sepolis was divided into nine districts: Dockside, Dwarven, Elven, Gnomish, Goblin, Highside, Human, Market, and Ogrish. The Market District was the hub around which all the others were situated. Although the city was walled, only the Human District and Highside, the seat of government, were separated by a wall within; and all the districts, save Highside and the Human District, had a gate to the outside. Except for the western end of the city, which touched upon Poseidon’s Realm, Sepolis was surrounded by farmland.
The city-state was ruled by five pentarchs, one each from among the dwarves, elves, gnomes, goblins, and ogres; humans were not permitted to serve in the government. The pentarchs served for five-year terms, staggered such that the term of only one pentarch ended each year. A Politarch, chosen by, and from among, the pentarchs, served as the head of the council for however long was the remainder of his term as pentarch.
Xy’s Memoir
Fourteenth Year of the Behemoth5
I think I was two and ten (we were too absorbed in daily tribulations to note such things6) when Mother found a gnomish merchant willing to exchange fresh fruit for mending a pair of tunics. However, Mother and Father had contracted a fever sickness and were temporarily too ill to travel. Still, they were reluctant to let me go alone to complete the exchange. But I insisted and assured them I was old enough to take care of myself. Mother gave a laugh, which ended in a spasm of coughing, but they eventually relented.
Glancing at the sack of small, ovate, purple yanda melons as I hurried home, I remember such excitement that, for once, the constant burden of life seemed to lift. Had I a knife to carve the thick rind, I would have eaten an entire melon before even leaving the market. The anticipation of a fresh melon caused the film of grime on the streets to fade from view and the stench of rancid refuge to pass unnoticed. Seeming to share my mood, the early autumnal breeze brought the bracing smell of brine from Poseidon’s Realm on its soothing breath.
The cloudless evening revealed the panoply of constellations in the crowded sky. So many lights shone that the night never got darker than a room well-lit by candles. Even during the day, many of those lights were clearly visible. Among those lights, I spied Phoenix, Dracosphinx, Kraken, Cerberus, Wyvern, Celphie. The eye of Drake glowed with an intensity outshining most others in the sky.7
Still gazing at the celestial lights, I allowed my intoxication over the melons to distract me. Although the streets of Sepolis may have felt different to me, not all shared that perception. A burly, hairy-knuckled fist struck my temple and sent me sprawling. The sack flew from my grasp, and the yanda melons thudded and cracked upon the filthy ground. My mind felt as if it were dunked in water when two thick hands lifted me, and my vision was too blurry to immediately discern my attacker. He did have the strong, sour odor of drink on his breath.
“Aye, this be th’un,” said the one holding me. “He be th’un we’s to thump.”
“Aye, I rec’nize ’im,” came another gruff voice.
At the time, my fear-clogged mind did not register their seeming expectation of my arrival. As my vision resolved, I first saw a thick reddish-brown beard hanging in copious plaits. Glancing upward, I locked gazes with two glaring, stone-gray eyes under bushy eyebrows.
Those eyes flashed, and I felt myself hurtling through the air to land in a pile of the liquefying remains of food and human waste. My skin crawled from the cold, wet sensation of slime. Nearly retching, I coughed and spat to clear the putrid taste of the ooze from my mouth. Hearing the sound of coarse laughter, I looked up.
“Ye belong wit’ the rats. Ye humans rut jus’ like ’em and breed jus’ as quickly.” The second dwarf spat in my direction.
“They ’ave to, they don’t live long.” I don’t recall which said this, though they all bellowed a gravelly laugh.
I glanced about, seeking some route of escape, and my eyes alighted on the befouled melons across the street. A black swarm of crawling insects already fed on the sweet juice, and the disheartenment I experienced at their loss nearly overshadowed the fear at my predicament.
A third dwarf approached (or mayhaps it was the same one who threw me—who can tell one dwarf from another?). I don’t know what motivated me, but I heard myself ask, “Is it true there are no dwarven women? That dwarven men rut with boulders?”
The coming blow would have killed me, I have no doubt. My eyes were clenched shut, and I could hear his thick-soled boots stomping on the stone as he approached. A sudden rustling came from the surrounding garbage, followed by a rush of light pattering, then four raspy screams. The blow never fell.
When I opened my eyes, the four dwarves had disappeared, engulfed by a swarm of thousands of rats as if covered by writhing blankets. Many rats were crushed or thrown about, though the rest were relentless in their frenzy. The dwarves fought convulsively, but could not dislodge all their little, biting jaws. The screaming and struggling continued for minutes. Thinking about it now, I should have been horrified, should have fled, but I was entranced by the sight. The murine swarm moved, undulated, like the waves of Poseidon’s Realm, and it brought with it a noxious, sulfurous smell of death. Each creature was heedless of its own safety, but all were resolute and united in their objective. It was beautiful.
So
intent was I on observing the scene that I didn’t think to consider where they came from or why they attacked, until a short, black-cloaked form stepped toward me. By this time, the dwarves lay still and the remaining rats—yet thousands—dispersed into the ridgelike middens lining the street. The figure had his deep cowl pulled forward, hiding his face in shadow. I say “he” based on the manner of his gait and posture, though his size indicated a female.
“We must get these bodies from the street.” His voice—assuredly male—was high and scratchy.
Again, I should have run. Why would I trust this stranger? Yet, strangely, I was more curious than fearful. A thought came upon me suddenly, and I glanced up and down the street. No one had come to investigate or could be seen peering between ill-fitting shutters. Not that a lack of interest was surprising, as screams in the night were hardly uncommon in the Human District.
The stranger had already begun dragging one of the bodies to an abandoned, decrepit shack nearby. I gripped a corpse by its wrists, slid it around to point its head toward the shack, and shuffled backward. I stared at the remnants of its face and felt no revulsion. Save for its short, stocky build, the corpse was unrecognizable as a dwarf. Its eyes, nose, lips, ears, and most of the flesh of its face were gone. It resembled a raw flank of meat.
Despite the coolness of the evening, I was sweating by the time I dragged the second corpse into the shack.
A surge of thousands of pattering, clicking claws sounded again as the rats, like a living, squirming carpet, streamed into the structure. Yet, something about their appearance—to say nothing of their behavior—struck me as unusual. I examined the remains of one. Its black fur was patchy, and its ribs were visible through a hole in its side. It had no eyes, and the skin and fur around its jaws were missing. I thought it unlikely that this condition was caused by its encounter with the dwarves. I dropped the specimen and found another, which also appeared rotted.