by Jeremy Marr
The Hour Glass Dagger
By Jeremy Marr
Copyright 2011 Jeremy Marr
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BEGINNING - PRELUDE
CHAPTER 1 – BRYSTAL SILVERHAND
CHAPTER 2 – KESSELIAN RUINS
CHAPTER 3 – ONEWHOMUSTREMEMBER
CHAPTER 4 – BRENDON-KYLE
CHAPTER 5 – SONG OF THE GODS
CHAPTER 6 – AS IT WERE WRITTEN
CHAPTER 7 – WHAT’S LEFT TO REMEMBER
CHAPTER 8 – TRUTH OF IT ALL
CHAPTER 9 – OBLIGATIONS TO MEET
CHAPTER 10 – PLEDGE UNBROKEN
CHAPTER 11 – NOT A WASTE
CHAPTER 12 – SOMETHING OLD – SOMETHING NEW
CHAPTER 13 – BREAKING THE CYCLE
CHAPTER 14 – GUILTY OR NO
CHAPTER 15 – STOLEN PROPERTY
CHAPTER 16 – WITHIN THE COLD
CHAPTER 17 – TIME IS NOW
CHAPTER 18 – A CHANGE OF PLANS
CHAPTER 19 – DEATH’S HAROLD COMETH
CHAPTER 20 – RIDING ON THE STORM CLOUDS
CHAPTER 21 – ONE DWARF AMONG MANY
CHAPTER 22 – HOUR GLASS DAGGER
CHAPTER 23 – THE COMING OF THE STORM
CHAPTER 24 – THE COMMANDER OF THE GUARD
CHAPTER 25 – THE HIGH MILITARY COMMANDER WHO?
CHAPTER 26 – THE HAND OF DARKNESS
PRELUDE
The gusting breeze off Leversa’s Basin was unusually warm for this time of year, and with it brought the smell of life from beyond the North gate. In that direction, just outside the gate, was the Harbor District, where the lowest of social classes worked, lived, ate and stank. It was a different world and a completely different life outside the viewing range of the noble born. Out of sight, out of mind was the general thought of the whole area by those nobles, even though the same nobles would not be living the life of luxury without those on the other side of the fence. Moreover, on a sweltering day like today, it was all but impossible to forget the water front district existed, as the smell of rotting fish, garbage and human sewerage wafted in the air. Just another way to remind the world of the inhabitants that worked their entire lives away for the ease of those of blood who lived on the hill.
It was a long and rough journey for the two who now stood within the North District, close to the Harbor Gate, amid the mediocre, lesser tier of society. Passing through the Harbor District was perhaps the roughest part of all in the pair’s journey. From the pier where their large, slow moving trading barge moored, to the gate they had just passed was nothing more then the outcasts of a society that had grown to big for its own good. The rich got richer, and the poor just multiplied as the poor so often did. The looks on the faces the two saw as they walked up the docks, past the tax collectors watching the unloading of the barges, through the small market place where rotting fruit and stale bread were the staples of diet, and up to the North Gate itself, were sour and tired. More then a few showed an interest in them, as if marking them as outsiders who were, in turn, fair game when the lights went down on this side of town.
The pair of gate guards eyed them up and down, assessing the coin they might have before allowing them through the gate to where true civilization began. The buildings on the other side of the gate were actually made of stone, with rough-cut lumber for the roofs. It was a whole other world, far better than in the shantytown of the harbor, where some buildings did not have all the walls, or even a roof to block the weather. Past the gates brought the lucky who could enter to an area a few steps above dirt poor, but was still nowhere near as opulent as the Tower Section where the rich and old noble blood dwelt. Those estates rose upon a hill in majestic beauty, blocked by yet another gate, with meaner guards. The guards there would not waste a moment of time thinking about using a cudgel on the lesser man not worthy by looks or coin who may try to mingle with the lords.
After passing through the first gate, the pair had a few rude words thrown at them for being in the way, and a couple of shoves from some the merchant guards that kept an ever watchful gaze on the crowds as they milled in front of the shops lining the thoroughfare. The farther the two traveled up the main street, the more civilized the population became as a whole. It was as if the farther from the bottom of the barrel it was, the sweeter the ale tasted. They finally spotted their destination, the Bladed Hammer Inn and Tavern.
As they finished their long trek and prepared to enter the establishment, they both took off the traveling hats they wore. The taller one took off his cloak as well. He could pass for nothing else other then elfin. Elongated and pointed ears stuck up off his head like the long bow strapped to his back. His golden hair was twisted into one long braid and flowed down his tan and brown leather armor. He pointed at the sign and slapped the shoulder of the man who journeyed with him. This man was human, standing six feet tall with large shoulders separated by a muscled chest. With his cloak on, he could have been one of any hundred humans on this street alone, except for the beard he wore proudly. It started even with his ears and stretched down to his chin, growing along his jaw line. Fine gray hairs mixed in with the light red and blonde that made it up, ending just before they touched his chest. Two braids were woven into it, one on each side of his chin. The rest of his checks and upper lip had been shaved as bare as his scalp. The look was a unique style, not duplicated by any other he had seen in his lifetime.
The human nodded to the elf and said “Stronl, I thank you for the guide, my friend. Though I am quite sure I would have been able to find it, as I said in Ferlaymin, the company you gave was a welcome relief from the solitary traveling I have done of late.” The man, Jeremiah, reached up, stroked his beard at the chin, and thought about the three-week trek with the goal of finding Brystal Silverhand to deliver a message for his master. Weeks of travel and he now found himself at the end of his journey, and that end happened to be within three days travel of his original departure location. He smiled as he gazed up at the Bladed Hammer, knowing in days he would be back within not only his home in the Sinisin Swamp, but also back within the caring embrace of his master, the Swamp Priestess.
Her beauty was the stuff legends were made of. Large hazel eyes that saw all, soft and creamy skin, a voice that so matched her looks…
“It really was not any trouble at all, Jeremiah,” Stronl said, unaware he was interrupting Jeremiah’s thoughts. “I am glad you got to see a little more of the world than you can view from the swamp. And as I mentioned when we departed Ferlaymin, I also have business with Silverhand.” A smile encroached upon his face.
“He just doesn’t know it yet, and he certainly is not going to like it,” Stronl finished in his head.