This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
THE FIVE ELEMENTS
Copyright © 2010 - 2012 by Scott F. Marlowe
All rights reserved.
scottmarlowe.com
First Edition: September 2010
Cover by CreativIndie Covers (bookcovers.creativindie.com), glyphs by Obsidian Dawn (obsidiandawn.com), map by Jared Blando (theredepic.com)
Table of Contents
OTHER WORKS BY SCOTT MARLOWE
WORLD OF UHL
A NOTE ABOUT MAPS
MAP
THE PLAYERS
1. Assassin
2. Waves
3. The Flood
4. Raiders
5. Captured
6. Escape
7. Promises
8. The Summoning
9. Ursool
10. A Change of Fortune
Witch's Interlude I
11. Houndmaster
12. The Four Elements
13. The Hounds of Hell
Witch's Interlude II
14. Attunement
15. Wildemoore Manor
16. Cauldron Mountain
17. Betrayal
18. Amongst the Clouds
19. The Last Hunt
20. The Final Betrayal
21. The Fifth Element
22. Friendship
LEAVE A REVIEW
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER WORKS BY SCOTT MARLOWE
Novels
http://www.scottmarlowe.com/post/My-Novels.aspx
Series
The Alchemancer series
Book 1: The Five Elements
Book 2: The Nullification Engine (forthcoming)
Standalone
The Hall of the Wood
Short Stories
Fine Wine
http://www.scottmarlowe.com/post/Short-Fiction-Fine-Wine.aspx
Killing the Dead
http://www.scottmarlowe.com/post/Killing-the-Dead-a-fantasy-short-by-Scott-F-Marlowe.aspx
WORLD OF UHL
The Five Elements is a tale of the World of Uhl.
Find out more about the World of Uhl at
http://www.worldofuhl.com
A NOTE ABOUT MAPS
Maps, eBooks, and eReaders do not always mix well. If you have difficulty viewing the map included in this eBook or simply wish to see a larger version, I encourage you to open your favorite browser and view the map on the World of Uhl (worldofuhl.com/maps.html) site.
MAP
THE PLAYERS
Aaron: Scholar, alchemist, sorcerer's apprentice.
Ansanom: Master sorcerer of Wildemoore Manor.
Corrin: A bully. Leader of the Jackals.
Elsanar: Master sorcerer of Norwynne Keep.
Engus Rul: A dwarven raider. Second-in-command after Kelgin.
Ensel Rhe Alon: An eslar mercenary in the employ of Norwynne's sorcerers.
Erlek: Savant, scholar, man of science.
Erlek's Tool: Erlek's apprentice.
Jadjin: A healer.
Kelgin Blackhand: Dwarven clan leader of Fire Rock. Wielder of Soljilnor, the Flaming Cutter.
Keln: A dwarven raider.
Krosus: Houndmaster, demon. He leads a pack of demonic hounds.
Mirna: Erlek's servant.
Nala: A woman from Norwynne.
Nora: Norwynne's master soapmaker.
Rail: A boy from Norwynne.
Rion: The youngest of the three master sorcerers of Norwynne Keep.
Serena Walkerton: Sorcerer's apprentice.
Shanna Bonnerman: Soapmaker's apprentice. Best friend to Aaron.
Tarn Galangaul: Elementalist.
Tippin Roe: An army sergeant.
Tom: A cabin boy.
Ursool: A witch. Ally of Ensel Rhe.
Vuller: Lord of Norwynne Keep. Baron of Fallmere.
And they allowed Apollonius to ask questions; and he asked them of what they thought the cosmos was composed; but they replied:
"Of elements."
"Are there then four?" he asked.
"Not four," said Iarchas, "but five."
"And how can there be a fifth," said Apollonius, "alongside of water and air and earth and fire?"
"There is the ether," replied the other, "which we must regard as the stuff of which gods are made; for just as all mortal creatures inhale the air, so do immortal and divine natures inhale the ether."
- The Life of Apollonius of Tyana, Philostratus, 220AD
1. Assassin
AARON KNEW TWO JACKALS FOLLOWED him. It didn't really matter which ones since they were all bigger, stronger, and of a like mind when it came to tormenting him, but he supposed one of them was Elof and the other, Cliff. They'd both been there yesterday with Corrin when the three of them had finally needled Aaron to the point of retaliation. Most of the time, he took their abuse, knowing it was really just a matter of endurance. Let them get it out of their system and they'd leave him alone the rest of the day. But this time they'd picked and picked until he'd finally had enough. He didn't even remember taking the stopper off one of the vials he kept tucked into his lab vest. He wore the vest everywhere, whether he was in his master's laboratory or out and about delivering missives as he was now. One never knew when the opportunity for experimentation might present itself, his father had always been fond of saying. Though Aaron had not remembered unstoppering the vial, his choice of that particular one from the dozen or so he kept on his person was not without reason he realized the moment after he'd splashed the contents across all three of their faces. A simple reagent, the alchemical was used to detect and measure the reaction of other substances. But this particular solution also had the effect of inducing a maddening itch when it came into contact with one's skin. Getting away from them after that had been easy, but it had not been without its regrets, for Aaron knew a reckoning was coming. This, then, was it.
Aaron had never really been sure why they disliked him so much. The best explanation was either jealousy, because of his abrupt rise in station from miller's son to sorcerer's apprentice, or fear of the unknown, brought about by the experiments he and Master Elsanar performed outside the city walls. True, such experiments often involved dazzling arrays of light and bizarre noises caused by the transfer and consolidation of energy, but there was no real mystery to such trials. It was all a matter of simple physics, Nuclidean power convergence, and a myriad of alchemical reactions. He'd tried once to explain such things to Corrin, the leader of the Jackals, to show that despite his being a sorcerer's apprentice, he really wasn't that different from anyone else at the keep. If one considered getting stuffed into a garbage chute a mild response, then his explanation had been taken very well.
No explanation was going to get him out of his current predicament, though. For the time being, the pair behind him kept their distance. Like their gang's namesakes, they were flushing him out, leading him towards others who were no doubt waiting on the other side of Beming Bridge or somewhere just beyond amidst the bustle of the marketplace. Never mind that this was already Aaron's intended path and so they weren't leading him anywhere he hadn't already planned on going, but still he couldn't help but feel trapped. From a logical perspective, they'd picked a good place to ambush him. With the way behind blocked by the pair's presence and only the bridge ahead, he had to enter the marketplace. There being no other options open to him, Aaron went about crossing the bridge. At the other side, he hesitated only a moment before plunging himself into the crowd. Though his satchel was now empty of his m
aster's letters, he kept one arm wrapped around it just in case some pickpocket took an unhealthy interest. Aaron let the natural movement of the crowd take him. He'd no idea where his other pursuers might be lurking, so he didn't think direction really mattered. Wondering, however, if a straight-line path through the square was too predictable, he turned ninety degrees and fought the tide for a few agonizing moments before breaking free and finding himself standing before a stall where wooden figurines were laid out for sale.
Aaron had little use for such novelties, but something in the workmanship caught his eye. Each of the pieces was of a different person or animal, and all were smooth and polished. Without thinking, he picked one up. The carving was of a soldier dressed in light armor. It was about as big as Aaron's hand and stood at ease with one wooden hand upon the pommel of a sheathed sword and the other holding a footman's shield. The wood was walnut and carved from a single block.
"That one there is the Protector," said the man behind the display. He spoke with a Vrannan accent and flashed Aaron a smile missing several front teeth. "He'll guard you day and night. You need only keep him close. He's yours for eight drams."
Aaron returned the figurine to where he'd found it.
"It's very beautiful workmanship, sir, but I don't need protecting." It was a lie, especially given his current circumstances, but it seemed the best way to express his disinterest in buying the trinket.
The man's grin widened. "I chop and carve the wood myself. Never really know what I'm going to carve until I get started on each block." He picked up one of the figurines. The man's hands were dry and calloused, with nicks and cuts long healed over. The carving he had selected was of an old woman, bent and gnarled. "It's Blackwood walnut. Ever hear tell of the Blackwoods?"
The Blackwood Forest was a place of fairy tales. Aaron didn't think it really existed. He told the merchant as much.
"Not true. I've been there myself. The wood is magic. I only take what's already fallen, otherwise I'd probably not be here talkin' to you. You think I jest when I say the soldier there will protect you? He will. He's enchanted to do just that."
Aaron nodded, not really believing him but not wanting to get into a debate about it, either. It wasn't that he didn't believe in magic. On the contrary, he was surrounded by it on an almost daily basis. He just doubted these figurines possessed any sort of enchantment. Aaron supposed his encorder, which measured energy, might reveal the truth, but such a display would be rude.
"What about that one?" Aaron gestured at the hunched figurine the man was still holding.
"Oh, this one?" He returned it to the table. "You don't want her. She's a witch. She'd cause you no end of trouble." His wink caused Aaron to smile. "As for the protecting, everyone needs protecting every once in a while."
Aaron's eyes returned to the soldier figurine. He picked it up again, eyeing it. On impulse, he made an offer. "I'll give you four drams for him."
They haggled briefly, settling on a price that split the difference. The man thanked Aaron for the sale and was just turning away to see to other customers when Aaron, fingering the smoothness of his new piece, asked, "What about the soldier? If everyone needs protecting, who protects him?"
The seller knew the answer to that straight off. "You do now, young sir."
Aaron nodded, and though he stared at the soldier for a moment longer, he finally opened his satchel and placed it inside.
As he turned back, intent on disappearing into the mass of moving bodies, rough hands grabbed him from behind. The merchant, whose attention was drawn elsewhere, noticed nothing. Aaron caught a brief glimpse of sneering faces before a hood was pulled over his head. He twisted and strained until a punch to the gut doubled him over and rendered him helpless. He was lifted, one arm wrapped about his torso and another around his legs, then carried away. If anyone noticed what was happening they made no move to interfere. Noise from the square fell away and, for a time, Aaron heard only the panting of his captors as their feet scurried across Norwynne's cobbled streets. Gulls screamed overhead while the crash of waves from the Barrens grew louder with each passing moment. Noise from the city faded and the wind, unhindered of a sudden by walls or dwellings, penetrated Aaron's clothing, sending a chill through him. He heard a boot splash in a puddle. Pant legs swished through tall grass. If his estimate of their rate of travel was accurate, they were in a field outside the walls. All at once, a burst of hollering broke out ahead. Aaron’s captors stopped only when they were thoroughly surrounded by the noise.
"Time to see if the mighty sorcerer's apprentice can fly!"
Whoops, hollers, and a raucous bedlam of laughter drowned out the sound of waves pounding the nearby cliffs.
Aaron was dumped on his back into something that felt very much like a large bowl that accommodated only his torso, leaving his legs dangling. Cold water sloshed at his arrival, soaking him through and causing him to gasp as its chill shot through him. Without warning the hood was yanked off. Right away, Aaron recognized his predicament. The thick timber crossbeams, a horizontal center cross, and a thick skein of rope tightly wound at the base between his bent knees confirmed that he'd been dumped into the basket of a catapult's throwing arm. Though relegated to ceremonial duty, Aaron knew the siege engine still functioned well enough. In a panic, Aaron tried to lift himself from the basket, but a meaty paw forced him back down.
"Where you goin', Squeak? Don't you wanna fly?"
Corrin leaned over Aaron and let loose a puff of breath so foul Aaron screwed up his face and sank as far as he could just to get away from the stench. Corrin was an ogre of a boy, a brute whose beady eyes, bull nose, stringy mop of hair, and club foot had to mark him as the saddest, ugliest scamp in all of Uhl. His appearance was not made any better by the rash and telltale signs of nails scratching across his cheeks where Aaron had splashed the reagent upon him. Plenty ridiculed Corrin over his appearance. Aaron never had, though. Such cruelty did not suit his disposition. That, and he also knew what it was like to be different. When he’d first met Corrin, Aaron had tried commiserating with him. That had not gone well, for Corrin had mistaken empathy for pity and hated him for it. Since then, Aaron had been marked as the bully's favorite target. The nickname Corrin had anointed him with, 'Squeak', had come about because, starting around two years ago, Aaron's voice had begun to change, often rising in pitch at the most inopportune times. Even though the embarrassing instances had decreased in frequency of late, Corrin continued to use the tired moniker instead of his proper one.
A crowd had gathered, obviously tipped off to what the Jackals had planned. Spread out across the misty field were many familiar, but not friendly, faces. Though Aaron liked to think none of them truly wished to see him harmed, they were all jeering and, possessed of a mob mentality, joined together in calling for Aaron to make good on his claim or else have Corrin do it for him. That claim had been made over a year ago. No doubt the recent reagent dousing had rekindled thoughts in Corrin's mind of making Aaron prove his assertion once and for all. Which meant in order for him to get out of this Aaron only needed to figure out how to fly.
Corrin dragged himself onto one of the catapult's horizontal crossbeams. Balancing there was no small feat given his misshapen lump of a foot, but he managed. With one hand holding himself firm, he swept his other across the crowd.
"We've gathered here today to see if a Squeak can fly!" Corrin soaked up the resounding outburst of laughter. Only when he'd had his fill did he stab a finger down at Aaron. "This one swore to all of us—"
"I never swore," Aaron said in a low voice, splashing at the water that had pooled at his stomach.
"–that he could fly. But did he?"
The crowd's response came as one.
"No!"
Aaron wanted to point out that most of them hadn't actually been there, so how would they have known what he'd said, but he was not given the opportunity.
"Has he?" Corrin continued.
"No!"
"Will
he?" Corrin didn't wait this time. "Oh, one way or another, he will!"
The crowd erupted.
Corrin took his time basking in the shouts of encouragement and laughter before he lowered himself from his perch. He fixed his beady stare on Aaron, speaking low so that only those closest heard him. "I'd give you one more chance to show us all up, Squeak, but we both know you don't have it in you." Then he turned and chuckled at his Jackals. "I bet he goes right over the cliff!"
Oh, yes, the cliffs, Aaron thought. He raised himself a little on his elbows, enough to gauge his distance from the edge. Folk called the cliffs the Breakers, though Aaron had always thought the rocks scattered at their base deserved the name more than the cliffs themselves. In any case, the cliffs represented a hundred feet of sheer descent with shallows and ship-breaking reefs waiting for him at the bottom. If they really meant to fire the catapult with him in it—and Aaron had no doubts they did—then an already bad day was about to get much worse. Briefly, Aaron thought about the soldier figurine, still stowed away in the satchel, and its so-called 'protection'. The bullies knew better than to mess with Tower property, and so the soldier had remained undiscovered. Aaron didn't really care if they took it away from him, for he'd never really had any faith in its enchantment. It was up to him to think of some way out of this or find himself dashed across the rocks below. His options were few: escape by means undetermined, convince Corrin and his gang to not go through with it (fat chance of that), or find a way to disable the machine without getting out of the basket. None seemed feasible. Yet as the wheels in his mind continued to turn, he suddenly remembered something that might prove important. It had rained that afternoon. Moving his head slowly so as not to arouse suspicion, he looked more closely at the firing mechanism. The throwing arm, trigger, and tightly wound rope that provided the arm's spring were all soaked through. Especially the rope. Aaron chewed his lip for a moment before settling back down. Suddenly, he was no longer worried.
The Five Elements Page 1