Carnelian- Dreams and Visions

by M. D. Grimm

  Carnelian: Dreams and Visions

  The Stones of Power Book Six

  By M.D. Grimm

  Carnelian: Dreams and Visions

  The Stones of Power Book Six

  By M.D. Grimm

  Edited by Michele Briere

  Cover Art by Kris Norris

  Published with permission

  Copyright 2017 M.D. Grimm

  Smashwords First Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, 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.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  About M.D. Grimm

  Other Titles by M.D. Grimm

  Connect with M.D. Grimm

  Chapter One

  Morgorth

  I grip his throat. I hear him choke. I feel his body struggle despite its broken state. He has no way to defend himself. He has no way to stop me. He knows death is coming, and he stares at me with his one good eye. Eyes he’d given me, a muddy brown of cruelty and calculation. I see exactly that when I look in a mirror, and I hate him for it. I hate him for giving me life, for poisoning my mother so she only had sons. He’d wanted me once, and used everything in his power to create a seventh son. I disappointed him. I ran away when I was seven.

  Now everything has come full circle. I’m back on my land of birth. I’m back on the little farm on which I spent the first seven years of my life. It looks like a warzone; the ground is torn up, what little vegetation it once had is now ripped up and buried under layers of mud. The shack of our house burned to the ground, sopping wet from the rain. Yet I can see it all the way it used to be: the sagging shack in desperate need of repairs and paint, and the meager farm barely giving us enough to sell, let alone eat. I smell it, hear it, feel it as if all the years since my escape didn’t happen. But they have.

  His skin is cold and wet under my hands, slick with blood. I growl deep in my throat as I squeeze tighter, as I see the light fade from his eye. He’s dead. I know he’s dead. I can’t stop. I can’t let go. Not yet. A little longer.

  Rain drips in my eyes, stinging. I don’t blink, I can’t. My muscles groan in protest, the soreness from our battle only now rising to my awareness. I push past it. I have to. Not done, yet.

  When I finally manage to pull back, I don’t know what to feel. I’m not happy. I’m not sad. I’m... is there a word to describe what I feel?

  Darker clouds roll in and the rain becomes hard and unyielding, unleashing its fury down upon the little broken farm, as broken as my father’s body. I shiver as the rain leaches the rest of the warmth from my skin. I vaguely wonder if the Mother is cleansing me. I doubt she approves of my methods. I haven’t done this for anyone except myself and the other victims of my father, the ones he harmed in his lifetime search for power and importance.

  I look at my hands to see them still bright red with his blood.

  I hear movement and look at his corpse. It isn’t a corpse anymore. He moves and stumbles to his feet. I jerk back, my heart racing. Dripping with blood, he moves, stumbles, despite the shattered bones and ripped tendons. With one eye, he stares at me, and his smile is more of a leer.

  “You think I’m so easy to kill?” he says.

  “You’re dead,” I say. “I killed you. I strangled you.”

  He laughs. “I live inside you, little boy. The only way to destroy me is to destroy yourself.”

  Gritting my teeth, I stare at him. He’s dead! “I did destroy you. Your body lies inside the earth, beyond the Mother’s reach, between worlds. You’ll be in limbo until the universe ends.”

  He laughs again. “I know the truth, little boy.” He looks down at himself and nods in approval. “You’re just like me. I’m so proud of you.”

  I slap my hands over my ears. “I’m not like you. I’m not! Wake up, Morgorth. Wake up!”

  “There is no waking up from this.” He pounces.

  I jolted awake, gasping, my skin slicked with sweat. I clutched at the soft blankets covering me, feeling the thick mattress under my back. The walls and vaulted ceiling of the large bedroom were familiar, the vivid colors and ornate trunks, desks, and chairs cheerful. Even in the dark, I knew the shadowy shapes. The scent of polished wood, cold stone, and wax candles calmed my racing heart. It was home. I was safe. The dream faded slowly, the scent of mud, rain, smoke, and other foul things, becoming just a faint echo. A memory once again. The large curtains covering the open window fluttered slightly from the breeze outside, and I heard the gentle pitter-patter of rain-drops. I took a deep, cleansing breath.

  It took a moment before my limbs would obey me and move. I sat up stiffly and scrubbed my hands over my face. Weak. You’re weak.

  It was still night, and Aishe slept peacefully beside me. I stared at him and focused my entire being on him. The blankets were pushed down to his waist, giving me a perfect view of his firm chest as it rose and fell with each breath. His white hair was spread across the pillows, and I knew the strands to be silky. I was glad he slept beside me. He was my light, and I needed him desperately right now. I did my best to shove memories back. I didn’t feel regret. I’d wanted to kill Lazur, my father, for so long, and I finally managed it. No, I didn’t regret it, yet I was still haunted. I wanted to just forget and move on, but the damn dreams wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t stop. My memories wouldn’t stop or fade or leave me in peace.

  You’re just like me. I’m so proud of you. Those were his last words to me before I killed him.

  Growling, I watched Aishe roll on his side, facing away from me. I slipped next to him and snuggled up against his back. I wrapped my arm around his waist and pressed my face to his skin, breathing deeply, enjoying the feel of him. He was my true home.

  “Morgorth?” he said sleepily.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said, surprised my voice sounded so calm. “Go to sleep, baby.”

  He mumbled something but didn’t fully wake up enough to push me. He grabbed my hand and held it securely in his own. I closed my eyes and thought of the rules of magick, the complicated theory of potion making, anything mundane that would ease my mind. I knew those things inside and out, and I hoped to lull my mind into boredom.

  I wouldn’t remember him again tonight. I wouldn’t.

  ***

  I grunted as I read the letter. Unlike the previous ones sent by the Council of Mages, it didn’t end up in the fire. I’d been expecting this one for the last several weeks. The council’s bureaucracy was usually worse than a kingdom’s, pushing inquiries and trials off for years. I suspected I had Master Ulezander to thank for the speed. That, and along with the fact that an elder of the council would be the other recipient of such a letter as the one I held.

  I stood in the largest of my parlors, whic
h was done in rich purple and the white wood from the klohn tree. The fireplace was enormous, and cold since the weather was mild. With a thick carpet and cushioned chairs and sofas just begging one to sink into them, it was a sumptuous and welcoming parlor. Most of the other rooms spread out through Geheimnis, my castle home, had the same level of welcome. The fortress sat atop a tall mountain, in the middle of the dark forest of Vorgoroth. Vast and made with my own two hands and magick, Geheimnis’s exterior was stony, sharp, and deadly to the uninvited. Her silhouette was like a bouquet of swords thrusting up into the sky, daring anyone to test her. There were rooms upon rooms woven around and on top of each other, and the only purpose of many was to drive invaders insane. There were also various bedrooms, bathrooms, storage rooms. I had a massive kitchen, a large forge, an armory, training rooms catered to various weapons, as well as a library, and potion room. The caverns underneath Geheimnis, inside the mountain, had great stores of crystals handy in spell-work. There was also a hot spring I took advantage of when the weather turned frigid, as it did every winter since we were so far north.

  Boygle minions kept the place clean and guarded. Boygles were ugly little creatures with wrinkled, brown skin, greedy eyes, and sharp fingers and teeth. They had a penchant for dying their clothes red with the blood of their kills. Seriously. Eek.

  The world of Karishian was full of creatures with their own societal structures and quirks, and the boygles were a prime example of that. They were loyal only to me, and I’d earned their respect and servitude after I destroyed half their clan when I claimed Vorgoroth and the mountains inside its borders as my own. Boygles had strange little brains wired to understand only violence and aggression, and they gleefully served the most ruthless. I proved my right to dominate them, and serving me gave them prestige because of my reputation.

  My home had been contested land between two kingdoms, and the kings had yet to forgive me for settling it. They made their displeasure known by sending armies now and again, usually in the summertime, to try and drive me out. I had a decent price on my head, since I was widely known as Dark Mage of the North and Dark Mage of the East. Sometimes knights would come to see if they could make a name for themselves by carving it out of my flesh. So far, knights: 0, dark mage: 100+. Amateurs.

  I re-read the council’s letter for the fourth time, carefully looking for any veiled threats within words or phrases, but it would seem this time everything was done strictly by the book. The letter invited me, though it was more like a command, to appear at an official inquiry regarding the events that happened about a month ago in the land of my birth, the kingdom of Zentha. A lot happened while I was over there. A lot of things I had to think about and come to terms with.

  I’d killed my father. Some would say murdered. I didn’t care what they said; he’d been a monster that needed to be destroyed. He’d ruined countless lives on his quest for power, and never even stopped to look at the trail of misery and corpses lining the path behind him. He found a stone of power—a major stone—an emerald named Ellegrech. A stone I now held in my possession, locked away with the others I’d collected over the years. I hated the Pferun Dulleriin more than anything on Karishian. They gave power, the ability to move mountains and harness the might of the Mother, to the ignorant and foolish, to the undisciplined and greedy. Magick was all about control, will, and desire. The most important was control, and it was the first lesson mages learned. To wield magick, a mage had to preserve the delicate balance between the desire to see the spell done, the will to make it happen, and the ability to control the flow of energies and emotion. If one of those things was out of balance, the spell could backlash on the mage, or fly out of control, going beyond the practitioner’s intention. It was all about discipline and being responsible for one’s actions. Mages could not fear their magick, they could not doubt themselves, or destruction would follow.

  The stones of power offered the might and magnitude of a mage’s power with none of the training required to wield it wisely. They eliminated control, and the will of the possessor was often usurped by the will of the stone. All that was required was the desire of the wielder to make things happen, which was often tainted by the stone’s power. Anyone could wield them and destroy what they wished. However, in the end, the stones always turned on their masters and destroyed or abandoned them in their greatest need. They were treacherous, deceitful, dangerous. I had ten stones in my possession, and four of them major stones. They’d supposedly been created by the first seven mages ever born, in ages beyond memory, and no one knew how many were still out there, hidden. All I knew was they were being discovered at an alarming rate, and it felt as if something was coming. Something big. Something bad.

  I shook my head and refocused on the letter. While my father’s demise would inevitably come up in the inquiry, the real reason for it was to discuss the duel between myself and Elder Elorn, a council member, and member of the Hand. Things didn’t go well between us, and though I left him alive—the rules of mage duels clearly stated one had to kill the other, so I thought I was horribly generous—there’d been a lot of rule breaking, mostly on his part. I was to come to the White Tower, the meeting place of the Council of Mages, and bring my witness: Aishe.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There hadn’t been a real choice on my part but to involve him in mage business. Now I needed to bring him to a place swarming with mages. Most of them feared or hated me. Some, especially those on the council, wanted me dead. Like it or not, he was my weakness, and yet I had to take him anyway. I frowned, a sudden thought hitting me. That meant my brother, Olyvre, would be summoned as well. He needed to be at the Tower as he was Elder Elorn’s witness.

  I was instantly more worried about my brother than Aishe.

  “Morgorth?”

  I looked over as Aishe walked into the parlor, looking puzzled. He also held a letter from the council. I nodded. They must have sent two querians to deliver individual invitations. Querians were diminutive cousins of the enormous payshthas that ruled the skies. They were often trained to deliver letters, and came in all shapes and colors. I had a tower that housed ten for such a purpose, all trained by me.

  Aishe looked at me, his vivid green eyes filled with worry.

  I forced myself to smile. “Told you. I knew they’d eventually get off their asses and force the issue. We’ll be leaving for the Tower in a month’s time. Best send our responses immediately.”

  “Why would they send two letters, one to each of us? They know we’re mates.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I was one of the duelers, and you were a witness. This is an official inquiry, and they have to make everything as clear cut as possible. They don’t want anything to show favoritism or bias. It’ll be held strictly by the rules.” I frowned. “Or should be.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “What just popped into your head?”

  “If Elorn wanted to rig this inquiry, somehow, he’d have something happen to Olyvre.” My heart pounded. “Dammit! Why didn’t I think of this sooner? He can’t get to you or me, but Olyvre is right under his nose in his own kingdom, and was his witness for the duel. Both of your statements will show Elorn broke the rules, not me.”

  I swept past him. “I have to—”

  “Wait!” He grabbed my arm, spun me around. “Hold it. Breathe. Olyvre is fine, you just got a letter from him a couple days ago, remember? And what will the council think if they know you’ve been to see him after receiving the inquiry letter? It’ll look bad for you.”

  I scowled. “By the Mother! What am I supposed to do, then? Wait until something happens to him? Leave him unprotected?”

  “I don’t know. But you can’t go there. You know that.”

  I scowled again, knowing he was right. I clutched the council’s letter in my hand, and my magick heated my body, reacting to my fear. I’d recently reconnected with my brother, the only one of six I cared about. Olyvre had helped me escape my father’s savagery as a child, and he welcomed
me with smiles and trust when I returned to my birthplace. I thought of his young daughter, Lyli. What would she do without her father? Her mother was dead.

  I narrowed my eyes in thought. Aishe let go of my arm, aware he’d stopped me from acting rashly. My mind lit upon an idea, and I stepped out of the parlor into the front entryway.

  “Grendela!”

  A few heartbeats past before Grendela, the matriarch of my boygle clan, came waddling down the hallway toward me. She was heavily wrinkled with stark white hair that looked like straw, and her dress was a vivid red, indicating she had a good hunt that morning.

  “Master.” She bowed deeply.

  “I have a task for three members of your clan.” I kept my voice coldly brisk and commanding. Boygles responded to dominance and aggression, and I’d lose their respect if I was kind and polite. I was their master and to be obeyed, and they were my servants. End of story.

  “I want you to choose three of your most loyal clanmates. I need one of cunning to lead, and two with muscle that can follow orders.”

  Grendela nodded, her black eyes intent on my face.

  “I want them ready for departure immediately. They will be stationed in the Zentha kingdom across the ocean. I will teleport them there. They are to protect a farmer and his daughter from any and all dangers but”—I held up a finger, hardened my voice—“they are not to be seen. Do you understand? If they are found out, all of you will pay with your lives.”

  Grendela bowed her head. “They will not fail you, Master.”

  I nodded. “They will guard the farmer and his daughter for one month. Find the ones to send, Grendela, and I will give them the rest of their instructions.”

  She bowed deeply again. “Master.” She left.

  Aishe touched my shoulder. “Do you really think Olyvre is in danger?”