Neutral Parties

by Christopher J Taylor

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyrights

  The Scofflaw Series

  Persons of Particular Interest

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  Epilogue

  Links of Interest

  Coming Soon

  Neutral Parties

  The Scofflaw Series

  Christopher J. Taylor

  Copyright 2014 - Christopher J Taylor

  EXCERPT:

  “The orc led the way into the forest, followed by the old human and then the young one. None openly wielded weapons, but the orc kept a hand on the haft of a heavy axe. Of the three, only the orc appeared nervous. Delsaryn reached for his first arrow just as an acorn fell from above. The nut bounced off the branch and knocked all three arrows from the tree. The soft clatter as they fell to the forest floor was loud to Delsaryn, but his quarry seemed not to notice. With brief hesitation, he reached back to pull a new arrow from his quiver and found his hand grasping a snake. The reptile immediately coiled around his hand. Delsaryn had to set his bow aside, securing it with a foot in case more acorns materialized, and used both hands to remove the animal. Quickly he regained his bow and wasted no more time nocking an arrow. The orc had proceeded further into the trees than Delsaryn had intended but he was still well within range.

  With a shallow breath, Delsaryn drew back the arrow and took aim. Then a green-plumed sparrow landed on the arrow. Delsaryn was neither superstitious nor particularly pious. He did not care much for signs and omens. The green sparrow, however, was rare. More, it was never seen this close to the edge of the forest. The bird was the living symbol of Illyathen, center of the small elven pantheon. The green fletchings of Delsaryn’s arrows had been made from the discarded feathers of this bird. It was more than mere superstition that to harm Illyathen’s sparrow was to court ill luck.

  “Shoo bird,” Delsaryn whispered with a twitch of the bow.

  The bird clung to the arrow. Worse, it looked him in the eye.

  “What do you want?” he whispered.

  The bird tilted its head and chirped.

  “Gods forgive me,” he said and shook the bow violently. The bird flew away and Delsaryn quickly took aim. The range made the shot difficult, but he was confident he could still make it. Then the branch that had held his weight for half the day gave way and the elf plummeted to the forest floor. Delsaryn spun and twisted to ensure he landed on his feet. ready to roll forward to reduce the impact. He was almost there when his head hit another branch, filling his vision with stars and sending him spinning. He crashed down on his back, the impact with the ground knocking the air from his lungs. As he gasped for breath his vision cleared, just in time to see a piece of broken branch fill his vision. It only hurt for a moment before everything went dark.

  The Scofflaw Series

  Prologue - (FREE) The gods have played the Great Game for eons, and worlds have hung in the balance. Some worlds have survived, some have been destroyed, and some of the playing fields have existed in a draw.

  The last game nearly brought about the destruction of man and god alike, requiring drastic measures to reset the board. Now, the current iteration of the Great Game draws to a close, the winner nearly decided. All the gods have played their parts, save one.

  The God of Chaos has been unbound, the rules granting him one last move... But this particular god hates doing what is expected.

  Law of the Land - Taelyn is a simple, solid young shepherd. On his own since the death of his parents four years ago, he enjoys the life he leads in the small, rural village of Byrkhill caring for his farm and sheep. The past week, however, has been filled with strange occurences that disrupt the orderly world that Taelyn loves, but his troubles seem to be coming to an end, at least that's what he thinks until a crazy old man shows up on his hillside raving about gods and knights. With that inauspicious start, the easy life of the shepherd is turned upside down as the powers of both worlds swirl and converge around him.

  The end of the Great Game is in sight, and the pawns are on the move. The forces of all the gods, lawful, chaotic, good, and evil, seem to be focused on the young man and the magician sent to collect him for Bartleby, a god unknown by most scholars. How can the pair of mortals hope to survive in a game played by the gods?

  Neutral Parties - In the clash between law and chaos, there are no Neutral Parties.

  After their stony escape from the Imperial soldiers, the wizard Cazmeran and former shepherd Taelyn are joined in their quest by the orc Kovol. Hunted by the forces of Law, driven to the edges of society, the companions of Chaos struggle to reach the capital even as the Great Game heats up. The Gods have chosen sides, and not all is as it appears. From towering forests to the squalor of a fortified city, the pieces are in play, and no one will be able to stay neutral.

  God of Chaos (COMING SOON)

  Persons of Particular Interest

  Gods (as currently known by mortals)

  Amanaftra (Amanter), goddess of lust

  Aylathan (Illyathen), god of the forests

  Ayliaster (Alestra), goddess of love

  Bartleby (unknown to mortals), god of chaos

  Caercey (Ceryss), goddess of the hunt

  Cennic (Serron), god of thieves

  Dejahn (Zan), goddess of luck

  Felith (Fereth), goddess of wrath

  Freasda (unknown to mortals), god of bashful withdrawal

  Hiellun (Hel), goddess of evil

  Kryx (Cerex), god of torture and pain

  Laenastri (Lenaster), goddess of envy

  Maervyn (Merryn), goddess of the home and hospitality

  Oabdi (Obid), god of knowledge

  Pangon (Pennion), god of corruption

  Pellas (Paladar), god of knightly virtue

  Ryson (Arys), god of war

  Sarith (Sassariss), god of undeath

  Therraz (Tyras), god of law

  Ylana (Eena), goddess of agriculture

  Zevis (Savyn), goddess of good

  Mortals

  Taelyn, A young shepherd, chosen as a minion by Bartleby

  Cazmeran, An agent of Bartleby, sent to protect and guide Taelyn

  Kovol, Leader of a band of orcs fleeing the empire

  Delsaryn, elven scout convinced to aid Cazmeran and Taelyn by a vision

  Sarafina, a knight dedicated to Paladar

  Amberlee, a thief from the city of Blackwall

  Daniel Galavyn, Knight of Halsted

  William, Daniel’s second

  The Flock of the Provider

  Hands the Sheep, Leader of Taelyn’s flock

  Longtail, a sheep considered wise by the flock

  Biter, a sheep with a habit of biting everything

  Jumpy, an excitable sheep with too much energy

  Grumbles, a gruff and usually unhappy sheep

  Benthead, a sheep considered brave (and obviously insane) by the flock

  Chatters, a sheep ignorant of the differences between sheep and cattle

  The god of law seethed. Raw energy raised the ends of his hair into a shining yellow halo and his eyes flashed with golden light. The muscles of his clenched jaw bulged and his hands gripped the table before him as if trying to sink fingernails into the smooth surface. The minion leading the army crushed by an avalanche had been minor, an unneeded knight held in reserve, but Therraz knew Bartleby’s pawn was somehow behind it. What rankled most was that even as a mortal, even while hidden away in some impenetrable hole, Bartleby was able to extend his influence. The map table showed scavengers feasting on those crushed beneath the fallen rocks. A handful of survivors fled the scene but they were unclaimed mortals, thus meaningless.

  It had
been Felith who had brought news that a chance to kill Bartleby’s pawn had failed. Cornered and outnumbered, a shepherd against an army, it should have been a swift end to Bartleby’s gambit. Instead, divine luck had come crashing down. No, not divine luck, not any longer, but was Bartleby still wielding the chaos or was his power somehow free and able to manifest on its own?

  Others had followed Felith and Therraz to the map room but none remained, save the goddess of wrath. While she stood still, an unfelt breeze fluttered her orange dress, making her seem ablaze in the sunlight. Therraz was not surprised she alone chose to remain. She thrived when exposed to anger and hatred and Therraz knew both burned within. However, Felith preferred to see wrath in action. Therraz let his anger burn slowly, keeping it in hand as if it were an untrained mastiff.

  “Your control over your anger is admirable, uncle,” she hissed, like an adder soothing its prey, “but you might feel better if you let it loose.”

  “I will be feel better once we are rid of Bartleby,” growled Therraz.

  Felith forced a chuckle and said, “And yet he seems to have evaded you. Again.”

  “I see that one of your brother’s minions, one stolen from me, was there, too. He bears your aura as well,” said Therraz as he stalked around the table towards Felith. “What conspiracy allowed that one to survive while my minions did not?”

  Felith quickly backed away from the angry god of law. “How should I know how he survived? We have all tasked our minions with finding the shepherd, for you and at your command. So don’t waste your anger with me, Therraz. I’m just doing as I’m told.”

  Felith backed into a wall, unable to side-step away before Therraz pinned her roughly in place, one powerful hand on each shoulder. Therraz pushed so closely that the goddess of wrath could see veins of red crackling through the glowing gold of Therraz’s eyes and feel his breath hot on her face.

  “If your lucky survivor fails to put an end to Bartleby and the shepherd,” he whispered, “I will have him hunted along with every minion you and Pangon own, jointly or not. Now leave me.”

  With a vicious shove along the wall, Therraz dismissed Felith and returned to studying the map.

  As Felith walked the corridors leading away from the map room, a figure in red leather stepped from an alcove to walk beside her.

  “Hello, mother,” Felith said dreamily. The force of Therraz’s uncontrolled anger still reverberated within her. “Were you listening?”

  “Of course,” replied Hiellun as she noted the scraped skin and torn straps at Felith’s back, “but I would have your opinion of how matters progress.”

  Felith held up her torn dress with one hand as she walked. She could feel the heat of the bruises growing on her shoulders. With a smile and a sated sigh she said, “Better than I ever expected, mother.”

  ***

  Elsewhere on the mountain of the gods, Ayliaster, goddess of love, reached the end of a marble hallway and strode from smooth, white tile to the springy loam of a forest floor in a single step. Once, there had been a verdant path paved with moss between the towering redwoods. Sunlight filtered past needles and leaves and through a light mist. Birdsong had been everywhere and the scents of a thousand competing flowers had perfumed the air. Deer and rabbits had roamed fearlessly, often investigating visitors to see if they had brought some tasty treat. Ayliaster had often been chastised for “taming” the creatures. The forest path had wound down the mountain, past a small river that leapt over a series of waterfalls. After winding downward, the mossy path led to a pool where the falling water collected. The vast clearing around the pool was home to a single wide tree. Once, fairies had fluttered in and around the tree, lighting it from within and giving it a glowing nimbus that pulsed with a dozen colors. Within the tree, past an ornate wooden door that grew from the frame, dwelt the god of the forests.

  Aylathan had grown more reclusive of late and his chosen home on the mountain of the gods had grown darker. The path was now overgrown with brambles. The trees had huddled closer, their entwined branches now blocking out much of the light. The mist had thickened and cooled. As Ayliaster walked the path, it clung like spiderweb to her hair and clothing. She could feel it grasping at her like something alive and could not suppress a shiver. Instead of flowers, the smell of rotting vegetation lingered. The occasional whiff of something sweet and sickly hinted that more then just leaves and logs mouldered somewhere out of sight. The occasional squawk of a crow or howl of a wolf were the only sounds that interrupted the creak of windblown branches rubbing together. As the path wound down the mountain, there was no hint of a river or waterfall. When Ayliaster reached the clearing by the pool, she could see that water barely trickled down from above. The pool had grown stagnant and reeds tangled the shore. Here and there a bright pair of eyes reflected the dim light. A large splash rippled the surface, but the inky water soon calmed.

  Aylathan’s tree was now a dark, looming shape. The ground below was littered with dead leaves. Ayliaster could not bear to see if fairy wings were mixed in with the leaves. Tears already streamed down her face and wet her dress. She did not know if she could withstand much more of her brother’s grief. The door was still beautiful, but the wood was gray and cracked. It had been left ajar and vines grew through the doorway. Ayliaster leaned against it as she carefully stepped over the vines. With a sudden loud groan, the door shifted and Ayliaster stumbled inside, tripping over tangled vines and sprawling across. As she rose to her knees, she recoiled from what had become of the cozy chamber she remembered. Furniture had been tossed aside and broken, shelves of books swept to the floor. The dim light that filtered through the tree branches was just enough to make out a vague figure that seemed to be sitting against a far wall. Vines covered with spider webs that waved in an unfelt breeze cloaked the seated figure as if they were ethereal funerary wrappings. Ayliaster could bear it no more and broke down weeping.

  “Why are you here, Ayliaster?” Aylathan’s hollow voice creaked from within.

  “Dear brother,” Ayliaster sobbed, “what has happened here?”

  “Therraz and I had a discussion about why his empire was killing my people and tearing down my forests,” he replied. “It was made clear I had nothing left to do but mourn their loss.”

  Ayliaster gestured at the wreckage around the room in shock. “Therraz did this?”

  “No, I will admit my anger at your father’s indifference escaped me. I saw little point in cleaning up after myself since none have seen fit to visit.”

  “The others are afraid. The changes here do not invite visitors.”

  “Good!” spat Aylathan, the wood around him creaking ominously. “None should enter my forest without fear gripping their heart. None are welcome, here or below. This includes you, sister. Why are you here? Tell me and then go away.”

  “Therraz has nearly won the game. He-”

  “Again, good!” interrupted Aylathan. “Perhaps in the next world I will encourage my people to wipe out everyone they encounter.”

  “Brother,” said Ayliaster, her voice soft with rebuke, “the different people can live in peace.”

  “You convinced me of that before,” he replied, “and what has become of it? Those of my people who are not slaves are hunted.”

  “They kill humans and the humans defend themselves.”

  Suddenly the vines shrouding the god of the forest unwound and he leapt to his feet. The rustle of moving vines was accompanied by a crackle and snap as dead ones, unable to do their master’s bidding, exploded into splinters with the force of Aylathan’s sudden movement. Bright green eyes flashed with anger, briefly lighting the darkness. His nearly black unkempt hair, hair that Ayliaster had seen shimmer green in sunlight, was turned gray by spiderwebs. The face she had once seen look lovingly on a a lion cub trying to gnaw on Aylathan’s own hand was now twisted by anger and pain.

  “My people defend the wood,” he snarled. “If Therraz is to win, let him do it quickly.”

  Ayliast
er cringed before Aylathan’s fury. As quickly as she could, she bleated out, “Brother, Bartleby is released and wanders the world.”

  The glow in Aylathan’s eyes faded and unfocused as he recoiled and he fell into his chair with a thud. Vines slowly coiled around his legs again.

  “What? But how? Does Therraz seek aid?” All anger was gone, his face once more smooth and handsome. He stared into nothingness and his voice returned to sounding hollow, though it no longer creaked.

  “No brother,” replied Ayliaster. “His release is intended to distract Therraz. His empire chains its people too harshly. We want to stop him, reset the game again.”

  Aylathan turned his head to Ayliaster and looked at her as if seeing horns sprout from her ears. “You wish to save people so you loose a plague on them?”

  “He’s gotten better, brother,” said Ayliaster, edging closer to lay a hand on Aylathan’s knee. “He’s made himself mortal and risks himself to help us. Even now, his minions flee Therraz’s forces.”

  “Running will not save them. Therraz will send armies if he must.”

  “Bartleby has done something. Not even Oabdi understands how or what it is, and Uncle is invisible to the map. His minions and those who aid them seem to share this new power. Therraz does not know where to point the spear.”

  “I almost hope Therraz kills him, even if it would mean victory for his damned empire. The worlds would be safer.” The god of the forest carefully removed Ayliaster’s hand from his knee and scowled. “Save your charms, sister. I remember their sting and have no patience for them. Why have you come to me?”

  Ayliaster settled back on her knees and bowed her head. “Oabdi believes he can trace the path of Bartleby’s minions. They have crossed the mountains that encircle the last of the great forests.”