Mississippi DEAD

by Weaver, Shawn

  “Careful now,” The mage said his gaze unwavering as he looked down into the halflings eyes. “Drop any of that on your foot. It will melt right down to the bone.”

  Hearing that, Tyree's eyes grew wide. Even though he had never owned any shoes, at that moment, he wished he had the protection. However, even that probably would not have done any good. If the contents of the bucket would eat through flesh, leather or any other fabric, would not hold up against it.

  “And through the floor,” Master Well finished.

  Wrinkles appeared momentarily in the corners of the Master Well’s eyes. He smiled, while straightening himself up. His back creaked with an audible pop from the center of his spine. Growing old was a troubling factor, even with spells to slow the aging process. Time still weighed heavily on one’s shoulders, no matter how slow it was magically forced to move inside his cells. Little by little, year-by-year, his hair still got grayer and muscles responded slower.

  Turning away from Tyree, Master Well walked to a high table set along the far wall. There, Master Well let his hands drift over its contents of vials and beakers. Each one was filled with liquids of all colors and textures, some sparkling, while others cast a dark glow and a syrupy feel.

  Mixed within the vials of mysterious compounds, a few dusty sealed glass jars held what Tyree believed to be animal parts all dried up and leathery, while another contained what he thought was a large eye, the size of a rock. Nevertheless, Tyree was never allowed to get close enough to this table to be sure.

  Forcing himself to hold still, Tyree looked back down at the bucket. Its steel handle felt slippery in his hands. Inside the bucket, the bubbling mass moved on its own from side to side threateningly.

  Without looking from the table, Master Well pointed to the fireplace along the left side of the chamber.

  “Put the bucket over there,” he said.

  Taking cautious steps, Tyree started to walk to the fireplace. The bucket swayed slightly, so he grasped the handle tighter in his sweaty hands.

  “Do not put it too close to the fire,” the wizard added, as he pulled a vial of white power from the mass of glass containers on the table.

  Tyree saw no fire burning in the dark and sooty hearth. But as he got closer, he could hear the crackle of the fire and feel its heat. Magical in its incantation, the invisible fire would serve its purpose to heat the always damp and cold chamber.

  “Yes sir,” Tyree responded.

  Off to his right, a double looped black steel hoop sat upright on the floor. Within it, quartered chunks of kindling lay. That since his arrival to the keep was his general duty to keep filled. Day after day, Tyree would bring wood to place in the container. However, the ring would never need filling. But he knew that if one day he did not bring wood up to the chamber. he would catch hell for shirking his duties.

  Taking a pinch of mud-colored dried herbs, Master Well dropped them into a bluish-colored stone mortar on the table. He then picked up a heavy pestle that lay beside it. For a moment, he mashed the dried herbs with the stone. Then after putting the pestle back down, Master Well picked up another thin vial that seemed to contain a white, glue like, liquid. Easily popping the cork with his thumb, Master Well slipped a drop of the thick liquid into the mortar. He then popped the stopper back on the vial, and placed it back into its proper position on the table.

  “Just put it over there,” Master Well repeated, without looking up from the table.

  Tyree did not respond. He just grunted a little, as he looked for a clear spot on the mantle. Scattered about it, were copper devises of all shapes and sizes that the halfling had no idea what purpose, if any, they had.

  Picking up a white-feathered quill from within the jumble on the table, Master Well carefully stirred the mixture within the mortar. A gold spark emitted, shooting out of the stone mortar like a firefly, raising only a few inches before it dissipated quickly into the air.

  “Humph,” Master Well breathed out with slight frustration. With a knotted brow, he stirred the contents again receiving the same response as before.

  “There is an ivory box at the foot of my chair,” Master Well said. “Bring it to me.”

  “Yes sir,” Tyree responded, still looking for a bare spot on the mantle to place the bucket.

  “Now!” The wizard said in a stern voice.

  “Coming master,” Tyree replied hurriedly.

  Knowing full well that the mage did not like to be kept waiting, especially while in the mists of an experiment, Tyree quickly set the bucket down at the base of the damp looking stone fireplace and as best he could he hurried so not to anger his employer. Stepping over to the rocking chair, oiled to a deep rich cherry colored shine, Tyree reached down for the ivory box that sat on the floor alongside the rocker’s curved feet. Cold to the touch, the ivory box was intricately carved with swirling patterns on all sides. Its clasp and hinges were made out of gold that shined in what light the chamber had to offer.

  “Here it is sir,” Tyree said, as he took hold of the box.

  “Good then. Now hurry up and bring it here,” Master Well replied.

  Not answering, just hurrying to do his duty, Tyree started to carry the box back to the table. As he crossed the fireplace, a bubbling pop reached his ears. Glancing down, Tyree looked at the pail. A thick greasy bubble was slowly emerging from the lip of the bucket.

  Across the surface of the bubbles’ thin membrane, Tyree could see the heat of the fireplace radiating off of it. Then suddenly, he realized that he had set the bucket to close to the fire. Something he had just moments before, been warned not to do.

  Slowly the bubble expanded out of the bucket, its skin turning from the thick greasy coating to a clear skin. The last thing Tyree remembered before the bubble burst from the bucket sending him off his feet, were the words of his master saying.

  “Remember, not too close to the fire now.”

  Available US:

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  Available UK:

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  Volume Three:

  The Dark Caravan

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eyes closed, Tyree felt the rushing wind against his face. Even though bruised and beaten from the last week of trails, he at least still lived. A sharp stabbing pain etched into his right side, bringing him further into consciousness. The pain was not strong enough to fully wake him from the encompassing darkness after falling through the lethal mass of thorny vines in Vine Gate Pass. Striking his head on one of the hard rubbery vines, he‘d knocked himself out.

  Tyree could hear flapping of large leathery wings, and feel the wind tousle his hair. Then it dawned on him, like a spark erupting in his mind — he was no longer dreaming, safe in his bed at his parent‘s home in the Vale of Snell where all Halflings lived. Nor was he flying under his own power over the fields and mountains; instead something carried him high in the air.

  Opening his eyes slowly, the air stung them as he looked up to see night black scales only a foot away. Looking down, Tyree saw talons sharp as knives wrapped around his body, holding him fast. Underneath him, bent at an awkward angle, hung the lifeless body of the white pasty-fleshed demon that had been chasing him and his companions for the last week.

  The shaft of an arrow protruded from the demon‘s open mouth. With every beat of the wings that carried them, the humanoid head of the demon flopped forward, and the arrow struck Tyree‘s leg with a sickening thud as it sank deeper through the back of the demon‘s skull.

  Tyree could feel the demon‘s cold flesh against his body, making his skin crawl. His stomach churned as though he may throw up the last bit of nourishment in his body. His malaise came not from the fact that as soon as they landed, the wygern was going to devour him, but from his close proximity to the demon
from hell that had been seeking his death.

  A hundred yards below, trees and the rocky cliffs of the Kin- Morrow Mountains flashed by, giving Tyree no sense of direction as to where they were heading. Then Tyree saw his backpack dangling by a strap around the chest of the white demon. Much of the fate of Ishtabar weighed on that little pack. Tyree‘s first instincts were to regain the bundle from the demon, even though he knew he did not have long to live.

  No one would think twice at seeing the Halfling-sized backpack. But the forces of good and evil needed what it held in their current struggle. Inside the backpack, a dragon egg lay nestled in its own radiant heat, waiting for the moment to leave the stasis field within a chest, a chest finely crafted by dwarves and wrapped in the magical folds of the leather pack.

  With a free arm, Tyree reached towards the strap. A shiver ran across his body when he wrapped his fingers around it and touched the cold flesh of the demon. With as good a grip as he could, Tyree tried to pry the strap from around the demon‘s body, but the wygern held all tightly in its grip. He could not get the leverage to pry the strap free. The pack had one more strap that hung down the other side of the demon. Neither dragon-kin nor demon held this one. If he could reach it, he might be able to pry the first strap free of the demon. But even if he did free the pack, the wygern‘s talons still held him.

  Tyree looked towards the wygern‘s head. The dark dragon-kin seemed to suck in all of the light around it, making the creature even darker. Its red eyes glowed menacingly. With no visible pupils, Tyree could not tell if it looked his way or not. But it‘s slightly open maw showed rows of dagger sharp teeth. It swung its long tapered neck downward, and scanned the ground below as it passed by.

  Tyree reached around the white demon‘s still form. Taking hold of the dangling strap, he pulled up and tried to shimmy the pack around the demon. That is when the wygern dropped from the sky.

  The force of the dragon-kin changing directions flung the backpack upwards, striking the white demon. The pack forced the dead body to jerk as if alive. Frightened for a moment, Tyree tried to move out of the way, only to lose grip on the strap.

  Falling back by gravity, the demon flopped in the wygern‘s grip. Realizing that the demon had not come back to life, Tyree looked down to see if he could regain the strap, only to see the rugged cliffs of the mountains zooming closer. A mass of dead trees reached up in their direction. Leafless limbs poked out to the sky. Through the mass of trees, Tyree could see a dark cave coming into view. The wygern‘s mighty wingspan cast long shadows across the mountain‘s rocky surface.

  Tyree had no idea how the wygern was going to pass through the trees into the cave. The boulders strewn around the ground showed that something had once lived here, and tried to make this unpleasant place its home. Barren branches reached out for them as they swept lower along the ground. The dragon-kin turned onto its side, one wing grazing the rocky ground below it.

  Rushing past the branches, the wygern did not think of the burden that it carried and did not judge the distance it had from the trees.

  Sharp branches grabbed at Tyree, missing him by mere inches. The demon fared worse as the stark branches slapped its dead form, cutting gouges into its body, ripping flesh and bone away. Branches whipped out, striking the backpack, threatening to rip it free.

  Tyree grabbed the dangling strap just as a branch snapped against it. Swinging free of the demon‘s body, the strap broke, tangling around Tyree‘s hand. Pain shot up his arm as he pulled back to keep out of the way of the flashing branches. But he did not pull up fast enough; the broken strap caught in the notch of a thick limb. The wygern‘s grip and the tree‘s still strength pulled Tyree both ways. The dragon, not noticing his predicament, did not stop, but continued towards the cave.

  Ripping through flesh and bone of the white demon, the final remaining strap held to the pack. With the sickening tear of the demon‘s body, Tyree found himself propelled out of the wygern‘s grip. Jerked free, Tyree saw the ragged upper torso of the demon plummet into the trees and spear on the branches. Bits and pieces of viscera expelled from its body to scatter on the rocky cliff below.

  Tyree dangled from the strap still lodged within the crook of the tree. The branch swung under his weight and the momentum of the wygern‘s passing. Spinning, Tyree caught a glimpse of the black dragon-kin disappearing into the depths of the cave, still unaware that it had lost most of its night‘s dinner.

  The pain from Tyree‘s shoulder was excruciating. As his spinning slowed, Tyree caught closer glimpses of the dark cave not more than a few yards away from his feet. He knew that, once the wygern realized that its prey was gone, it would swoop out of the hole to reclaim him.

  But Tyree did not have time to dwell on that, as the branch above cracked under his weight. He felt himself drop a little when the branch began to separate from the rest of the tree. He tried to grab a nearby branch, but the weight of his movement caused the wood to crack further.

  At a sudden jerk on the dead branch, it split in two. Tyree grasped at another close branch, but his backpack crashed down on him, flinging his body away from the broken tree and toward the dark hole where the wygern had passed moments ago.

  Available US:

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  Available UK:

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  Volume Four:

  Rose Marie

  PROLOUGE:

  Fires burned and molten rock flowed from crevices releasing noxious gasses. Heat poured from every crack in the caves’ floor making one sweat. That is, one would sweat if he had pours like the groveling humanoid creatures swarming over the land above, but the hard insect like casing surrounding his body kept him from the heat that would otherwise burn the living in seconds.

  Walking from red hot stone to red hot stone, his bare feet kept sure footing, not allowing him to fall into the molten mass below. Spurts of lava shot from the cracks and landed on his shell-like skin only to slide off like water and harden on the stones in his wake. If he could feel pain, he surely would have cried out. Instead, he only snickered at the thought of the destruction and pain in the coming days ahead.

  Turning through a small tunnel, he stepped out onto a shelf of rock overlooking a vast cavern. Underneath the shelf, lava spewed like a waterfall down into a lake of red hot death. Steam flowed up causing the hot air to ripple and distort his vision.

  Over the sound of the liquid rock, heavy steps thudded through the cavern and its many passages. He could not pinpoint the direction the steps were coming from. But the sound echoed in the tiny ear holes in his smooth plated skull. He didn’t want to be here, having to report the failure of Commander Forcite in retrieving the chest which the damned white dragon, Newtine, had delivered too Master Well.

  How the commander had failed was beyond his comprehension. He had blessed the foul human with his insect-like grace, giving him power and changing his body to a more perfect being. A painful change, taking him beyond the needs of the flesh, blessing him with immense power unlike anything the world had ever seen.

  “Do you have the egg?” A voice deeper than the valley between two mountains said.

  His eyes darted nervously around the cavern, unable to locate the source of the voice as it echoed through the vast space. Pain suddenly lanced through his body forcing him down onto his knees. As his chitin-like shell cracked across the chest as four unseen and powerful fingers grabbed him and squeezed. Unable to take a full breath, he screamed in pain. Then the hand released, letting hot air rush back into his aching lungs. Between razor sharp teeth, a red tongue tasted the hot air as he panted.

  “Do you have the egg?” the voice boomed again, so loud this time he thought his head would explode.

  “NO…” he cried out as the hand tightened around him again
. The shell across his chest cracked again in numerous places, allowing the hot steam to burn the flesh underneath.

  “Then why do you return?” the voice continued as he was released to collapse on the hot ground.

  “My insurance has failed. Commander Forcite was unable to acquire the chest. It is gone.”

  A powerful roar raced through the cavern, pressing him to the ground. The walls shook in a deep tremor, making hot lava splash high into the air as stalagmites fell from the ceiling.

  “What do you intend?” the voice growled.

  Thinking quickly for the correct response, he knew that he would never make it out of the molten mountain alive if the response to the question was not what his master deemed was the right path to go. “The commander’s metamorphous is complete. We can try again,” he said, hoping to get another chance, and not be cast down into the molten lake to burn away.

  “One last try,” the voice said.

  As the powerful voice echoed away into the far reaches of the tunnels and holes, he could feel the crushing grasp release. Sucking in air he would have smiled if the hard shell covering his face allowed him to do so. Lying on the ground a wave of relief flooded his body; he would live to see another day. From this moment on failure was not an option.

  Slowly he rose to his unsteady feet as the hidden voice spoke again, “Before you try to reach the chest, you must do one thing first.”

  “Anything,” he said, bowing his head in supplication.

  “You must bring me the boy.”

  “Yes, sire,” he said

  “Then you will retrieve the chest.”

  “What if it has hatched?” he asked, fearing the worst.