Greyrawk (Book 2)

by Jim Greenfield

  GREYRAWK

  Jim Greenfield

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in USA

  Copyright © James R. Greenfield

  2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Contents

  Greetings

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Greetings

  Be welcomed to this place called Landermass! Breathe in the fresh cool air of Amloth, the warm most air of Cathar, the turbulent air of Anavar, the thin air of Kolstaar and the dry air of Ryammar. These lands comprise the major continents of Landermass and host the majority of the varied peoples of this world. The Altenguds created the first peoples and shepherded the land. Later came the Jungeguds and they kneaded the land to their purposes. The people of Landermass survived, thrived and held their own against the gods. But the Jungeguds never tire of meddling with mortals.

  Thunder Comes (A Lay of the Talos Company)

  Torches flare the distant hills

  Fire flickers in savage eyes

  Deep of night creeps forth

  A wave of dread, doom of hope

  Death lingers in the pastures

  And beneath the boughs of trees

  Dawn comes

  A faint flicker of light stretches from the East

  Light grows with a rumble

  Cries of dismay echo the distant hills

  A chorus of fell voices rises with the sun

  Pounding hooves and booted feet shake the mountains

  A wave rushes to the hills

  A wave of soldiers led by immortals

  Death comes

  Blue skinned demon wings herald deadly spears

  Rain of death from tiny archers

  Dance of swords, unnatural sorcery

  A tusked grimace and a flourish of swords

  Kerreth Veralier brings vengeance to Landermass

  The hills are cleansed once more

  Stillness follows

  Returning whence they came

  Vanishing as the wind

  Chapter 1

  The peoples of Landermass have been cursed with the light and the dark of the gods that created them. Altenguds created most races; Zidar, Men, Anethean, Daerlan and Tuors. The Jungegud Moruga, called the God of Twilight, created the Celaeri. Moruga was the only Jungegud to create a major race of Landermass. Most of his brethren did not possess the patience nor was their purpose to create. Moruga found a way to create the Celaeri with their pale blue skin and talent to rival the Daerlan. However, the Altengud Dwallond created the Daerlan and Dwallond's love of Landermass shone from the Daerlan, not so with the Celaeri.

  From Gerrand's Histories of Landermass.

  The memories of a vanished race still cling to the land where they dwelt and shades of forgotten people reach out to infect intruders, setting a darkness within them that time cannot shake. Ian Greyrawk sat on the outer wall of the crumbled ruins of Castle Greyrawk in the northern part of the kingdom of Cresida on the eastern side of Amloth. He turned his head as he listened to the soft voices of his dead ancestors that dwelt amongst the fallen stones. The ruins perched atop a large hill, called Greyrawk Mountain by the people of Cresida. Long ago it was called Adan's Hill by a forgotten people. The hill provided a view of the land in all directions, a commanding position for a castle that had housed the Greyrawk clan for generations. Greyrawk looked around him, trying to recognize some feature of the land from his boyhood. A light mist surrounded the hilltop and the weak sun did not chase away the damp chill. He pulled his cloak tighter again. The hill had grown wild now; no one tended it as he remembered. Vines threaded their way through the tumbled stones and bricks overrunning what man had built. From a distance, the shape of the castle had been difficult to discern; the hill had reclaimed it. Up close, he could make out the shape of the tower he lived in with his parents during the last years of the castle. Most of the rest of the castle appeared as mounds of grass and shrubs. Almost four decades had passed since he had seen the castle. He had been a child then and the castle had still stood although in failing repair. He remembered how his grandfather, Lord Aryar Greyrawk, sat in his carved chair holding his sword. The sword was longer than the height of the small boy that admired it. The blade felt cold and hard to the boy, but the metal would sing when his grandfather swung it. The curved handle seemed far too long for him to hold and later the boy learned it was a two-handed blade. Strange creatures were carved on it and a pale blue jewel was set in its hilt. War was coming and Greyrawk and his mother were sent far away to the south. Months later, the word came of the castle's fall. Grandfather was dead and Greyrawk's father was a prisoner. Months went by without a word, and then one day his mother held him tight and cried herself to sleep. He never heard her speak of his father again.

  Greyrawk and his mother stayed in the south with her relatives. Greyrawk grew up among cousins but was aloof and eager with his fists. He joined a group of mercenaries and fought throughout the southern lands of Cresida and the northern part of Anavar accumulating enough wealth to buy land. His mother died. After many years, the yearning to see Castle Greyrawk returned. He tried to stay at home but the pull of Castle Greyrawk was too strong. He sailed the narrow strait between Anavar and Amloth, riding northward into Cresida.

  He looked down on the terrain surrounding the castle. Lush farmlands and rolling hills led to the forests of the north. To the west, a forest broke the wind off the sea. To the East many small castles dotted the horizon and to the southwest a larger one sprawled amongst the town of Gornst. That was Belderag Castle; a hideous octopus of a castle reaching throughout the center of the town. It was also an appropriate description for the man dwelling within: Lord Dacu Belderag. Greyrawk's thoughts on the man that murdered his grandfather were central to his return. Belderag led the battle to oust Lord Greyrawk from his seat of power. Rumor held that Belderag, who was barely out of his teens, killed Lord Aryar Greyrawk sword to sword. Then Belderag claimed all Greyrawk possessions.

  As he got older, Greyrawk's thoughts turned more to the circumstances that separated him from his father and grandfather. He needed to put the past behind him, but it floated loose and elusive before him. Aryar Greyrawk was peerless with the sword and even at his advancing age, there were few men who dared cross swords. However, all Greyrawk had were stories handed down by servants and cousins and none of them witnessed the events. His mother gave him no information about his grandfather and very little about his father. Perhaps he began a quest to find out who he really was. All Greyrawk knew was he felt compelled to return to Castle Greyrawk. His wife Jaele had noticed his restlessness and suggested he travel to Cresida and see the castle. Perhaps that would stop the whispers in his mind.

  The day was passing and the air was noticeably cooler. He decided it was time
to find lodging. He did not know anyone in the area. He remembered some names, but many had died over the years. Friends of his grandfather and father may not be so eager to welcome him with the iron fist of Belderag hanging over them. His would have to find an inn, perhaps even ride into Gornst to find one.

  He descended the steep path and saw movement at the valley floor. A rider stopped on the path below him and shouted to him. Greyrawk moved closer. The man rode up to him noting Greyrawk's wide shoulders and the war sword. Greyrawk's dark hair settled on his shoulders and he wore his beard short and neat to minimize the white streaks of hair. The man halted several paces away.

  "This land belongs to Lord Belderag. What business do you have here?"

  "Just visiting my childhood home."

  "Who are you, stranger?" asked the older man. "No one has lived there for years." His clothes were neat but cheap, a serving man. He wore only a short sword and carried no shield. He was a generation older than Greyrawk but his tunic still bulged with muscle. Something about the man calmed Greyrawk and he spoke freely.

  "I am Ian Greyrawk, returned from the south. Who are you, stranger?"

  "Ian Greyrawk! This is news. My, what an imposing figure you are now. Time has got up to me and passed me right by. I remember a toddler named Ian clear as I'm standing here. You were always following me around, disrupting my metal craft. I am Colin Festin; I once served your grandfather."

  "I remember you Master Festin. Blacksmith weren't you?"

  "Still am. For Lord Belderag now. I'm afraid I am bound to tell him of your presence."

  "Do so. I am merely visiting ghosts. I have no intention of staying."

  "Well, Lord Belderag will be glad of that, but I can tell you there are others including myself who would be disappointed if you left again. It is not right, not having a Greyrawk watching over us. If you have a mind to stay a bit, visit Lord Nunderburg just north of here about fifteen miles. Tell him I sent you."

  "I appreciate your words, Master Festin. For now, I shall linger here. Tell your Lord I shall be gone by the morrow."

  "I shall. Did you know you look like him? In the eyes and mouth mostly."

  "Who?"

  "Aryar, your grandfather. Lord Belderag would have a start, seeing you with your pale skin and grey eyes. He would think Aryar had come for revenge."

  "If you have a moment, tell me about the fall of this castle. I was so young and heard very little."

  Festin shifted in his saddle and stared at the hill, his eyes seeking the past.

  "It was a sad end to this place. Your grandfather fought valiantly but too many allies switched sides. Some switched for money, some for fear. Many of them later regretted their decisions. Some took their regret to their graves and their sons now reject the choices of their fathers. Lord Nunderburg is such a man. Still, the numbers against your Grandfather were overwhelming. He sent back many a defeated war leader to Lord Belderag but there were just too many allied against him. Your grandfather had to ride out against his enemies - the stores in the castle were running out. He could no longer feed those trapped with him in the castle.

  "Your father rode against Lord Belderag too, but an arrow took him down and he was dragged away. When I went into service with Lord Belderag I looked for your father, but never did I find any trace. He was not in the dungeons. His name was not spoken. I heard rumor of a lower level of dungeons but could not learn anymore about it."

  "Thank you for your loyalty, Master Festin. If my father were alive, he would be seventy years old. I cannot imagine him surviving over thirty years in such a place. How did my grandfather die?"

  "Lord Belderag came at the end and killed your grandfather sword to sword in a tremendous fight. The battle should not have been equal, but Lord Greyrawk was tired and his leg ailing. He would not have been a match for many men then, but Lord Belderag's heralds proclaimed the victory as if Belderag killed a Lord Greyrawk who was still in his prime. All summer his heralds crossed the land building up his prowess as a swordsman."

  "He is not skilled?"

  "He wasn't then. He was young and hotheaded. Now he is no longer young, but his sword skill is better. I daresay you appear to be handy with a sword."

  "I have some skill. What happened to Grandfather's sword?"

  "It hangs in the Great Hall at Castle Belderag. Belderag still enjoys pointing it out to his guests."

  "I see. Why did you say it didn't seem right not having a Greyrawk watching over the land?"

  "It's hard to say precisely, but your family seemed to fit in this land. The crops never failed, the livestock did not fall to disease. Nature and the Greyrawk's seem to have had an affinity for one another."

  "Interesting. I assume then that Belderag shows no such gifts?"

  "No, and that's only one of the problems we have with him. But I should say no more about it. Speak to Lord Nunderburg if you wish to know more. Do not stay in the hills after dark. There are fell creatures that have crept out of the dark places of the world since your grandfather's death."

  "Thank you for your words, Master Festin. I wish you Godspeed."

  "And to you, Lord Greyrawk." He rode away before Greyrawk could correct his salutation.

  Greyrawk sat on a large rock at the base of the hill until darkness fell. He was not inclined to stay on the hill and yet he could not bring himself to ride to Nunderburg Castle. He was not as committed as he thought to reclaim his heritage. In many ways, he would prefer to ride away, forget his past, father, and grandfather. He closed his eyes and pressed his thumbs against his temple. The thought of his grandfather's sword a trophy on Belderag's wall did not go away. It was an insult. An insult that must be answered for by Belderag.

  "Come, Spirer." He led his horse down the hill to the road below. The sun was low in the afternoon sky and the clouds were high and few. He decided to ride north to Nunderburg's castle and put many miles behind him before night. He passed many people on the road with their carts but they did not meet his gaze and only noticed his sword. Not one person greeted him and although it was not odd in itself, people of the land seemed to have a downcast aura around them. He sensed the despair and hoped it would not cling to him. He stopped by a tree just back from the road and ate some food and let Spirer nibble some grass. The land was beautiful and even Greyrawk Mountain was beautiful in its wild appearance. He felt a cooling breeze from the rise of twilight and mounted his horse to cover the last miles.

  It would be a clear night and the stars lit the darkening landscape before him. He mounted his horse and sat for several minutes, then turned northward. The evening was quiet and he heard animals in the fields. The land seemed prosperous enough. Did it profit from Belderag's rule?

  There was a slight sound behind him just off the road. It seemed like a voice, or perhaps music; water running over rocks in a stream. But there was no stream.

  He decided to walk his horse for a while. The night was cool and quiet. He headed north, still undecided on what his goals were. He knew Jaele waited for him back in Peradon but did he really want to give up his sword and live as an innkeeper? It was a pleasant life but here was a place named after his family. What could be better than reclaiming that land? He had money; perhaps he could buy the land back. It was a good thought.

  The gentle music stopped and a hissing began. At least he thought so, but he could never clearly hear the noise. It seemed to move around him just out of reach. But it made his skin crawl.

  He quickened his pace as his heart pounded. Perhaps he would not reach Castle Nunderburg after all. It was already getting dark. Festin had cautioned him not to tarry after dark. He walked fast and considered mounting his horse. Then the night became absolutely silent.

  The creeping flesh feeling continued. He felt certain he was followed. Slowly he drew his sword. His sheath was lined with cloth to keep the blade silent while being drawn. His skin tingled and his pulsed pounded in his veins. His left hand tightened on the blade handle and he rose to the balls of his feet. Wig
gling his right hand fingers rapidly, he rubbed his tongue over his teeth.

  A dark shape flung itself from the darkness and Greyrawk whirled to meet it, his sword drawing blood. The creature howled and spun away. It began circling. It the dimming light Greyrawk could not see exactly what he was fighting. It was man-like, but moved on all fours, as fast as a cat and as large as a wolf. It jumped forward so fast Greyrawk barely hit it with his sword as he turned aside. A claw-like hand tore his sleeve and a trickle of blood seeped from the lines on his forearm. Repeatedly the creature drove into him but each time Greyrawk's sword bit deeply and the creature snarled with pain. Black blood dripped off the white blade of his sword. The creature heaved with heavy breathing and vanished.

  Greyrawk listened for several minutes but heard nothing to alarm him. He saw to his scrapes but they proved minor. They did sting but he ignored them. His horse had bolted when the creature attacked and Greyrawk saw its silhouette a few score yards up the road. The horse had calmed and nibbled on the grass as he approached. He took some food out of his saddle pack and ate it, drank some water and sat on a rock tending to his wounds.

  His unrest grew. The creature had returned and by the sound more than one creature stalked him. He drew his sword and let them come. He swung his sword and they backed away but he felt an unfamiliar tingle in his fingers; was his wound poisoned? Again, they rushed him and again he drove them off. Again.

  Greyrawk's arm ached. He swung his sword more against these creatures than in many skirmishes as a mercenary and he was winded. The creatures hesitated. Greyrawk felt the muscles burning in his arm but knew he had but one more chance to drive them off. He shouted as he drove forward. The creatures roared and attacked. Suddenly a shape crashed into them, a long spear jabbing and piercing their dark hides. Greyrawk struck his foes repeatedly, somehow aware of his companion whose lance brought bloody pain to the creatures.