Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign

CHAPTER 25

An Unheard Prayer

SAM CARRIED BRANDON FROM the arena to the healer’s vestry, where Brandon’s body would be prepared and given to his family for a proper Passing Ceremony. For this man to be lying on one of the healer’s tables was devastating.

This had been the type of fight in which Sam could win by making his opponent submit. He had even trained the previous Peak and committed himself to this form of victory. He had hoped to secure the win without causing another death, but it was not meant to be.

He looked down at Brandon’s figure and watched as the healers gave way to the mortician. The people had adored his opponent. The mortician said he was a local farmer and ironworker. Sam even overheard the crowd that surrounded the woman in the first row say that she was his wife.

Sam thought back to how Josephine’s tears rolled down her face when he looked at her. The dead man’s sons were strong boys. They held their ground and did not look away. The oldest had even nodded and showed Sam respect as he held his father in his arms.

“What’s his name?” Sam asked the mortician. “It’s clear he was beloved.”

The large lady, dressed in black, with her hair tied in a bun, responded, “His name was Brandon Smith. He was the father of seven children—six boys and a girl. Another child is expected. Everyone knew him. His whole family is loved. He fought in this arena for 12 seasons.”

“May I wait until the family arrives? I would like to express my regret for their loss.”

The look on the undertaker’s face suggested that his request was odd. “Suit yourself,” she shrugged. “I don’t know how well you’ll be received.”

After a while, Brandon’s wife walked into the room. When she entered, Sam was standing over Brandon’s body with his back to the door.

Josephine paused, caught off guard by his presence. She swallowed and moved to the opposite side of her husband’s body.

Sam watched as she leaned over to hug Brandon’s corpse and kiss him on the forehead. She did this for what felt like an eternity. To Sam’s surprise, she maintained her strength.

When she rose to face him, Josephine started to speak, but stopped to catch the tears that wanted to escape. After three agonizing breaths, she said, “What’s your name, fighter?”

Sam wanted to make up a name and run from the room. He had to search for the nerve to speak. “My name is Sam.”

“Well, Sam,” she sighed, “my name is Josephine Smith. This is…” she paused to collect herself. “This was my husband, Brandon. He would have been proud to know you. The way you handled yourself, the way you have shown my family respect by carrying him from the arena, he would have found you to be a man of character. He would have believed his death to be honorable. My husband felt to die in battle was glorious. As much as I would like to be angry with you, I cannot dishonor Brandon’s memory with this emotion. I would like to invite you to his Passing Ceremony. It will be held tomorrow. I’m sure Brandon would’ve felt honored to have you attend.”

A young boy walked into the room. Sam watched as the child moved close to his mother. Just as Josephine had done, he bent over to kiss his father’s forehead. As the child straightened, he handled himself with a presence Sam felt to be far above his seasons. The boy walked around the table and stuck out his arm. Sam felt small as they took hold of each other’s forearm.

Brandon Jr. looked into Sam’s eyes and nodded, “You’re a mighty warrior, sir. My father’s death was glorious. I can only hope to be so honored that I might pass in this manner. I shall follow your career. Do not let my father’s memory pass with you.” The boy released his grip and left the room.

Josephine spoke after her son left. “He will be strong, for now, but he’ll seek solitude. My husband taught our sons that fighting in the arena is noble. He told them that if anything was to happen, they were to hold their heads high and be men. Brandon Jr. will cry when he gets home. But for now, he will honor his father as Brandon would’ve wanted.”

Sam fell to his knees and apologized. His emotions were so intense that Josephine had to comfort him. She encouraged him back to his feet.

“Please don’t, Sam. A man does not weep in the arena. My husband would’ve believed his death to be praiseworthy. His wish would be that you not mourn, but rather celebrate. After his Passing, I’d like you and your family to stay at the farm to celebrate with us. It would be an honor … if it wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”

Sam confirmed that he would attend. After he left the room, he joined BJ and Shalee who were waiting. Without saying a word, they left for the inn. Once they were settled in their room, BJ explained, “The remaining fights have been canceled in Brandon’s honor. The banker of the arena told me that every fighter will be paid as if they had won both their fights. Rumor has it that most of the city’s merchants will shut their doors for Brandon’s Passing Ceremony.”

BJ paused in thought. “Can you imagine how many people will be in attendance, Sam? A populated area isn’t considered a city until it has reached 31,000 souls. If most of these people knew Brandon, this will be a monumental event.”

Sam moved to stand over a wooden table that sat next to the cold hearth of the fireplace in their room. He poured a drink of water from the pitcher. The drink did not quench his thirst the way it normally did. After three more mugs and a long period of silence, Sam finally spoke. “I can only imagine what it would be like to be so well-loved by a community that everyone mourns your passing. I don’t know how I can step back into the arena. How am I going to face all these people? You should have seen his wife. She was so gracious and kind. Even her son was strong. Going to Brandon’s Passing will be far worse than battle. There’s no way I can continue.”

As soon as Sam stopped speaking, the ground beneath the city shook. The shaking lasted for 21 breaths.





From inside the Source’s cavernous home on Luvelles, Lasidious shook the remaining pieces of the Crystal Moon as he held them together in the palms of his hands. After he finished, he placed the crystals back into the pockets of his robe and stared into a shallow river of lava that flowed through the dragon’s cave. The images of Sam, BJ and Shalee shimmered within.

The God of Mischief laughed as he watched the misery on Sam’s face. Lasidious looked up and found the ancient dragon’s massive set of eyes and shouted, “He’ll fight again alright! He’ll definitely fight again! You’ll see!”

The Source’s voice was booming. “You find much pleasure in toying with mortals. I have seen many who call themselves gods fall because of the games they’ve played with those they created.”

Lasidious frowned, “You worry too much. I am the Mischievous One for a reason.”

The dragon leaned back and spread his mighty wings. A torrential wind filled the cavern. Lasidious’ hood flew back from the top of his head as the dragon responded. “Perhaps you’re right. Or perhaps your fate will be the same as those who perished before you.”

“Baaahh!” Lasidious vanished.

The dragon’s laughter shook the mountain. Many of the stones laying across the top of the cliffs toppled.





After feeling the quake, Shalee pulled BJ aside and told the trainer this was her series of moments to handle Sam’s despair.

BJ did not argue and left the room.

Shalee turned to Sam, “Sweetie, you have no choice. You must fight. You said it earlier when you fought the Minotaur. You’re fighting for everyone. Brandon knew what he was doing when he entered the arena. He knew there was a chance of not leaving alive. It’s obvious he was a good father, and he taught his children the arena is a place of honor. But my goodness, Sam, you can’t let this trip you up.”

“Okay, okay. Hold onto that thought. You’re not making sense. Brandon didn’t have his wife use magic to help him absorb punches like you did for me. This guy should have kicked my ass. The punches he hit me with, and the kick to my chest, should have knocked me out. He died because we cheated him out of victory. There’s no honor in that. I’m tired of killing. I’m tired of justifying my actions because I need to save this world. How can I face Brandon’s family knowing what I’ve done? How could you expect me to continue?”

Shalee moved close and placed her hand on Sam’s heart. Her voice was soft, but firm. “I want you to listen to me, Sam, and I mean you listen well. You trained to make Brandon submit, not kill him. I saw you swing. You couldn’t even see. It was dumb luck that you won. We both know there’s more at stake than one man’s life. If we don’t find a way to gain an audience with the King of Brandor and find the stupid pieces of this Crystal Moon, everything we’ve done will have been for nothing.”

A soft look appeared on Shalee’s face. “Answer me this, Sam. With what you know about Brandon, don’t you think he would’ve chosen to die so that you could go on to save the rest of his family? I do.”

Sam thought long and hard before he responded. “I don’t agree with your logic. I believe Brandon would’ve wanted to spend every last moment he could with his family ... even if he knew the world was coming to an end.”

Sam moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He grabbed one of the pillows and threw it across the room. After he watched it hit the door, he continued, “This place pisses me off! The gods are morons! I’ll keep fighting to save these people, but I won’t dishonor Brandon’s death by allowing you to use your magic on me again. I will fight like every other man. If I’m supposed to die, then so be it. I won’t look Brandon’s family in the eye and know that I plan to cheat others out of victory.”

Kael pulsated as the blade hung from Sam’s hip. “I think you’ve finally become a leader, Sam. I could not be more proud.”

Sam reached down, unsheathed the sword and lifted it in front of his face. “Shut up! Who asked you?”





Brandon’s memorial was like no other Sam had ever seen. It was held at the Peak of Bailem—Brandon’s favorite moment. Brandon had always said, “A hard-working man’s Peak is over when sun reaches its highest point because he wakes so early.”

There were thousands of people who surrounded the family as they stood on top of a hill. The family lifted Brandon into the air and laid him on a stacked pile of wood. Josephine and the children surrounded the pile with torches.

For the first series of moments since his arrival on Grayham, Sam listened to a prayer being shouted from the top of the hill. The prayer was addressed to Bassorine.

A tear fell from Sam’s eye. He knew their words were falling on ears that did not exist any longer. He did not have the heart to tell them their god was dead. Maybe it did not matter, since every soul ended up in the pages of the Book of Immortality anyway. Why destroy the beliefs of a family in mourning. It did not seem right.

To Sam’s surprise, Brandon’s father called him over to stand next to Josephine and handed him a torch. As the man squeezed his arm, he looked in the fighter’s eyes. “My son would have wanted you to light the pyre with his family. It’s a privilege to have the warrior who defeats you in battle honor you in this manner. It will help begin the healing process for this family.”

Sam took the torch, then looked at BJ. The trainer nodded. Sam turned to light the fire.





Late Bailem had come and gone and the party was just getting warmed up. Sam was sitting on one of the many chairs the family had set up around the farmhouse, watching a scene like nothing he had ever experienced. As far as he could see, people were eating and laughing all across the farmer’s land. No one appeared to be sad, not even the family. They all celebrated to honor Brandon as their fallen hero.

The moment came to give the toast. Each of Brandon’s nine brothers took a turn. Delbert, Brandon’s father, also spoke, followed by Brandon’s wife. Once she had finished, Josephine turned to Sam and asked him to make a toast of his own.

It was agonizing. It was not the idea of speaking in front of thousands of people, but more the pressure of speaking about a man he knew so little about. The fact so many people loved Brandon made him feel like the fallen was worthy of something grand. He thought for as long as he could, and then he addressed the crowd.

“In all my seasons, I’ve never met a man who was so beloved by everyone who knew him. I consider myself humbled to have met such a warrior. I only wish I could’ve known his qualities outside the arena. From what I know of Brandon’s life, I believe he was the kind of person I would’ve cherished. I will forever remember this Peak. The love that has been displayed here is worthy of the gods’ recognition. I know Bassorine will reward Brandon for a life well-lived. Let’s raise our glasses and celebrate this fallen hero, husband and devoted father.”

The crowd erupted as Sam finished his speech. Many of them moved to place their hands on his shoulders. Once the crowd settled, Sam turned to Josephine and whispered in her ear. He led her to a less crowded spot and handed her a pouch full of coin. “I’ve decided to give the winnings I received from your arena to help ease this family’s burden. Take it, and know that I care. I will forever be there for you should you need me.”

Overcome with emotion, Josephine held the bag close to her chest and cried. “Sam, you’re a good man. I … I’ll…”

Some of the women noticed Josephine’s demeanor and sought to console her. It was not long before they realized what Sam had done, and soon thereafter, the gathering also knew of Sam’s generosity.

Sam would leave Haven with a reputation as not only a fighter known for his barbaric victories, but also as a man of compassion and kindness. His actions on this Peak would catapult him to a new level of glory.

Siren’s Song, the Home of the Wisp of Song

5 Peaks of Bailem have Passed

George, Amar, Kepler and Maldwin had gathered at Angels Village before continuing on to Siren’s Song, a journey that took more than 4 Peaks. Dusk was approaching when they entered the mist, which reminded George of a cool, foggy evening in Florida.



They followed the river flowing away from Griffin Falls. The moisture in the air became more dense the farther north they walked. The mist created a climate that gave life to vegetation unlike anything George had seen since his arrival. Soon, darkness fell and Amar’s staff was necessary to light the way. After many long moments, they stopped to lie down. With so much moisture in the air, they could only hope to get a good night’s rest.

Kepler growled, “The mist has saturated my coat. I feel heavy. How can I prowl in these conditions?”

Amar lifted his staff, waved it in a circle and whispered a command. The moisture covering the demon-cat evaporated.

Maldwin’s nose twitched with excitement. “A yay alesoot tenguan yo maiyne.”

The jaguar nodded. “Tele pomayn og foway.”

Maldwin cleaned one of his front claws as he responded. “Nep, nep, osay poryolamay.”

George cut in, “What the hell are you two jabbering about?”

Kepler chuckled, “He wants Amar to keep his magic to himself. He said if it is used on him, he will give Amar nightmares. I, for one, appreciate the burden of my soggy coat being lifted.

“You’re welcome,” Amar said as he set the staff on the ground and motioned for the rat to relax. Once he saw the rodent lie down, the mage reached into his robe to retrieve his pipe.

George gave the mage a look of disgust, “Don’t light that nasty thing around me. You’re going to end up smelling like your brother. Do you really want to smell like him?”

Amar looked at his pipe, then at George. He was torn between defending his brother or agreeing with George’s assessment. After a while, he simply put the pipe away.

As they slept, George dreamed of Abbie. In his fantasy, Lasidious had returned his baby girl to him. They were with Athena, fishing. On Abbie’s first cast, she caught a good-sized trout that almost pulled her into the water. The dream was good, until the darkness fell across the pond. The next thing George knew, he was standing alone, and both of his favorite women were nowhere to be found. He called to them, but there was no answer. He knew the darkness had swallowed them. George panicked. He screamed over and over again, desperately hoping for an answer.

The vision changed as a speck of light appeared. It was small at first, but grew as it drew closer. The light turned into a large sphere. George was scared, but he could not run. He looked for an escape, but all he could see beyond the light was blackness. The ball was floating through the air, and just as it was about to crash into him, an electrifying scream filled his head.

George woke with a start and sat up. Confused, he scanned the area around him, but his eyes could not see anything beyond the light of the campfire. His companions were asleep, and his clothes were still saturated. He turned to grab his bag from behind a massive root that protruded from the ground. Inside it, he found a torch and pulled it out. Something told him he needed to leave the group. He could not explain the feeling, but somehow he knew it had to be done.

He stood, careful not to make a noise, grabbed his pack and walked toward the sound of the river. Once he was sure the light would not wake the others, he lit the torch and headed out.

The elevation changed at a rapid pace. It was not long before he was hiking, not walking through the darkness. The hillside grew steeper, elevating his heart rate as the river rapidly made its descent over the rough terrain.

He kept moving, pressing ahead with sheer determination. Eventually, he reached the top of the hill where the area flattened in front of him. George stopped to take a few deep breaths. He was not sure how long it had taken to get to this point, but it had been quite the hike.

A large pond stretched in front of him for as far as he could see. He should not have been able to see anything, but a strange, greenish glow filled the air that seemed to emanate from the pond. To the far side of this body of water, Griffin Falls could be heard crashing against the rocks. It was the epic force of the falls that caused the mist to fill the sky.

From the depths of the pond, a light appeared and made its way to the surface. George recognized the light as it approached. It was the same light from the sphere in his dream. He now knew it was the wisp creature of the mist who had awakened him and called him to this spot. The water fell from its smooth surface, and soon the large ball of energy was floating in front of him.

There was a long silence as he stood watching. He was about to speak, but the air filled with a song. The sound was beautiful, heavenly in fact. Though the lyrics were in another language, somehow, George could understand their meaning. Through song, the creature called itself a wisp. Further, it requested to be called by the name Cadromel.

“I know why you have come, George. Have you brought the envelope?”

George removed the envelope from his pocket and held it in front of him.

This seemed to satisfy Cadromel. “Are you prepared to surrender it in exchange for information?”

George nodded, “I’m ready to listen.”

Once again, the lyrics filled the night air. The harmonics of the wisp’s heavenly sound reverberated against the water of the pond. George watched as tiny waves beneath the sphere rolled away as if a pebble had been dropped beneath it. As the wisp’s song came to an end, the gentle roll of the waves dissipated.

George looked at the center of the wisp’s mass. “I understand. I already know the question I would like to ask. I would like to know how I can use my ability to rule this world?”

The energy moving inside the wisp looked like a controlled storm as it released short bursts of baritone notes. It felt like the creature was laughing.

“What’s so damn funny?” George queried. “Don’t you know the answer?”

The wisp went silent. The orb’s light dimmed, and the energy within its spherical body stopped moving. George was about to say something else when, suddenly, the creature released a blinding light that was combined with a thunderous, bass-toned eruption. Within this much darker melody, a powerful message was delivered.

George heard it loud and clear, despite having to cover his ears.

“Who are you, mortal, to speak to the wisdom of the ages in a manner most unbecoming of the god whom you represent? Kneel before me on the banks of this pond, or the information you seek shall forever remain locked within my eternal mind. Bow now, or leave my home none the wiser!”

Frightened, George did as he was told. He rushed to take a knee and lowered his head. He kept his eyes shut to protect them from the blinding light that penetrated the night. His mind ran wild with thought. He had no idea the wisp thought he was here to represent a god. He now believed it was Lasidious who was responsible for sending him on his quest ... not this supposed mage named Morre. “I’m sorry, Cadromel. Please forgive my rudeness.”

The wisp’s light faded, and its song went silent. An extremely long series of moments passed before the sphere decided what he wanted to do. As Cadromel hovered with his light diminished, he thought, This mortal possesses the knowledge I desire on his person. If I send him away without revealing the answer he seeks, I’ll never know Lasidious’ mind. Ohhhh, how I miss the Peaks of slaughter. If only I could devour this mortal and take the envelope from him. Curse the Collective and their laws of governance over the temple. Why do they protect the weak?

George was too nervous to move. He might as well have been a statue. Never in his life did he feel more insignificant than he did at this moment. It felt like sweat was pouring from every gland, and his mind was screaming, Stay still, George! Stay still. Just be still. Don’t piss this thing off anymore than you already have. Who knows what this freaking thing will do? Holy hell ... I miss home.

The glow within Cadromel’s sphere returned. I shall give this insolent human what he’s after. I want him out of my sight.

The wisp’s melody was soft and carried a sense of peace as it delivered the information necessary to rid itself of George’s presence.

Soon, George knew all about the Barbarian Kingdom. The barbarians would not know of his ability, and he would be able to enter Bloodvain’s arena without suspicion.

Once again, the light of the sphere became blinding. When George removed his hands from his face, the wisp was gone and so was the envelope. He had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he headed back to camp.

Though shaken from the experience, George now knew how to put his power to its best use. But had he created an enemy while gaining this knowledge? His face was a series of chaotic expressions as he chastised himself all the way back to camp.

When he finally made his way down the mountainside, the others were awake and night was fading fast. They expressed concern about his absence, though Maldwin’s worry was the only genuine expression in the group.

George informed them of his meeting with the wisp. “I now have a plan. I’m going to fight for the Crown of Bloodvain.”

“What?” Kepler growled. “Are you an imbecile? The barbarians are the most ruthless two-legs throughout the territories of Southern Grayham. They don’t allow magic in their king’s arena. You won’t be allowed to challenge their champion.”

Amar jumped into the conversation, “I agree. How do you expect to do this when you’re commanding the arts? Without your power, you’ll be pummeled into a pile of garesh.”

“What the hell is garesh?” George questioned.

Annoyed, Amar replied, “You know ... garesh ... when a horse lifts its tail and drops it to the ground.”

George laughed. “I get it. A pile of garesh, he says. I think I like that. I’m gonna start using it.”

Maldwin chimed in, “I like cheese, George!”

The group turned to look at the rat.

Kepler shook his head. “He just wants to be part of the conversation. This is the only phrase I’ve been able to teach him so far.” The jaguar smirked and shrugged. “I thought it would be funny.”

George chuckled. “I like this damn rat.” He leaned down and scratched the top of Maldwin’s head. “You guys are right. The Barbarian King won’t allow anyone who uses words of power or magical items in his arena. The king will only allow a fighter to wear a fur cloth to cover his family jewels.”

“Family jewels?” Amar quizzed.

George rolled his eyes. “For real? You really don’t know what that means? This place drives me nuts.” George grabbed his sack and lifted. “Family jewels is another name for your nuts, Amar. You know, the part that hurts when I kick you between the legs for interrupting me?” George released his grip and let them fall back into place. “Where I’m from, we also call it ‘your junk.’ Don’t make me kick you in your junk.”

Amar had to grin. “I apologize. By all means, please continue. My junk is fine without your foot being placed against it.”

Kepler snarled, “Humans!”

Maldwin shouted at Kepler in his own language, wanting to know what the humans were discussing. After Kepler explained, the rat rolled over onto his back and began laughing as he reached down with his front claw and grabbed between his back legs to express his understanding of the word, “junk.”

Again, George laughed. “Now, that’s the funniest damn thing I’ve seen.”

The group enjoyed a pleasant series of moments before George continued the conversation. “Anyway ... as I was about to say ... the king won’t let me in the arena in anything but a cloth. There are no weapons allowed. Think about this for a moment. I don’t need to speak words or use magical items. My ability works naturally, and all I have to do is touch someone. Not only that, but I can turn a specific part of his best fighter to stone, and they’ll never know it.”

“Yes they will,” Kepler responded. “Barbarians harvest the heart, lungs, kidneys, liver, and the brain before placing them in jars as part of their passing celebrations. They’ll know if you have done something when they open their champion up and see that his insides are made of stone.”

George thought a bit. “What do they do with the rest of the body?”

“Well…” the jaguar collected his thoughts, “for those barbarians who are held in high regard, they burn them on the Blood Sea. It is the sea that swallows them. Then everyone returns to their lair to celebrate.”

“There you have it,” George blurted. “I’ll turn the parts to stone that won’t be cut from the body. The sea can cover up the truth. I’ll turn the inside of their champion’s Adam’s apple to stone, or maybe the inside of a small part of his brain so he can’t get signals to the rest of his body. This would give me the moments I need to move in, smack him around a bit, make it look real and then run. I’ll figure it out before we get there, I’m sure.”

Amar stood, looked at Kepler and then started to pace. “George, when Lasidious told me I should travel with you, I didn’t imagine that you had this kind of nerve. If you pull this off, you’ll be ruler of the Barbarian Kingdom. We would be enemies of Brandor.”

Amar massaged the end of his chin. “My family lives in Lethwitch. If we become enemies of Brandor, you must promise we won’t attack Lethwitch.”

George nodded. “You’re right. This does present a problem. Athena’s family is also from Lethwitch.” He agreed not to attack the area only because he cared for Athena’s family.

George pulled out his map. The moment had come to formulate a better plan. “Kepler, it’ll take you at least 20 Peaks to reach the Blood Sea platform since you can’t ride the hippogriffs. Why don’t you go to the platform and wait for the rest of us to arrive?”

Amar stopped him. “Without kicking me in my junk, I need you to listen. We have a problem. We cannot fly to the Blood Sea platform. The hippogriffs do fly there, but they won’t take someone out of Brandor and fly them into barbarian territory. The rule of the kingdoms states: no being may fly into a kingdom he’s not from. The only exception to this rule is Angels Village, because it’s protected by the gods. The closest landing tower anywhere near Bloodvain’s is in Gessler Village. This is a place where the roughest crowds from both kingdoms have a tendency to migrate. This village is considered neutral territory, and it’s not owned by either kingdom.”

Kepler jumped into the conversation. “That’s because I dominate the passes surrounding the village. Gessler has been a continual supply for me when building my skeleton army. I stay out of the village for the most part, but on occasion, I enter to find a fool. I catch 40 to 50 victims a season as the walk through my pass. I don’t understand why they go to Gessler when they know I prowl this territory. Perhaps it’s because—”

“Kepler, will you get to the point?” George snapped.

“Sorry!” The jaguar’s eyes flashed. “I think what Amar is trying to say is that you’ll need protection while in Gessler since the crowd isn’t pleasant. I have an idea. Instead of meeting at the Blood Sea platform, I’ll make my way to Gessler, but it will take 23 Peaks to get there. I want you to arrive the next Peak. My brothers and I will be hiding in the shadows in case you need us. Get off the hippogriff and make your way to an inn called The Bloody Trough. You won’t see us unless you’re attacked.”

George responded, “Kepler, it scares the crap … wait ... it scares the garesh out of me that you can hide like that. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re on my side.” He reached down, picked Maldwin up and scratched the back of the rat’s head as he continued. “Your plan is a good one. We should do it. Will you ask Maldwin if he can project his visions to a group of people?”

Unsure where George was going with his question, the demon spoke with the rat. Once finished, the demon relayed Maldwin’s answer to George. “He said yes, but if it’s a big group, they’ll all see the same vision.”

“Exactly how big is too big of a group before they start seeing the same thing? How many people can he project his visions to before he has to stop?”

Again, Kepler asked and responded, “He said more than three and they’ll need to see the same image. He has projected visions to his entire family before and they total more than 200.”

The manipulator smiled. “Holy garesh! I bet he has no clue if he can do more than that. So ... less than three, he can project separate visions and more than three, they’ll all see the same thing. Is that what he’s saying?”

Again, the undead cat asked the rat to confirm. “He said you’re right, and he imagines he can project his visions to many more.”

George put Maldwin on the ground and then put his hands behind the back of his head as he started to ramble off another plan. “Let’s figure out what the three of us will do until Kepler gets to Gessler. I think we should go back to Lethwitch. We can spend some quality moments with our loved ones and work on the problem regarding rival kingdoms...”

George continued to ramble as he outlined a complete plan.

Three Nights Later

Fellow soul ... before we go on to the next part of the story, allow me to interject another small history lesson. This particular lesson is about The Bloody Trough Inn located in Gessler Village.

The inn acquired its name before it was built. When the people first began to travel to Gessler, the center of the village was used for watering the area’s horses. The people built a three-pace-high, twelve-pace-long, sloping, rock wall on the spot where the inn would later be built. Twelve troughs, six on either side, each formed out of rock, had been laid into the base of the wall.

A natural spring bubbled to the surface not far away and provided water for the area. Through a series of pipes, the people of the village used gravity to direct the flow to the top of the wall where the water funneled into each of the troughs.

One night, while the village slept, a double murder was committed. The bodies of the beheaded men were thrown across the top of the wall. The corpses plugged the flow of water, and when morning rolled around, their blood had stained the walls of one of the troughs and turned the water inside it red.

Though the blood faded over the seasons, this one trough had been labeled, and the family who built the inn decided to use this label as their inspiration. The inn was named The Bloody Trough. To this Peak, a man can take his horse into the tunnel below the inn and leave it to drink.





The assassin, Double D, had made his way through the first part of Skeleton Pass, and he was sitting on a stool inside The Bloody Trough. He was drinking ale and had been contemplating his trip through the second part of the pass when an unexpected event occurred.

The assassin had been paid over a season ago by one of the nobles of Bloodvain who lived in the Barbarian Kingdom to kill an arrogant sergeant for sleeping with his wife. The job was not one Double D would have normally accepted, but the pay had been up-front and substantial.

However, when Double D acquired the contract, someone talked. When his future victim heard that he had been solicited to kill him, the spineless piece of garesh fled before the assassin could establish a plan.

As always in life, things had a way of coming full circle. This particular barbarian, dressed in furs and heavy, leather pants, happened to walk into the same bar where Double D was sitting.

As Double D studied his future victim, the assassin knew the man did not know who he was. He could toy with the barbarian and slay him later.

“How’s it going, friend? Is it still raining out? Slight chill out there, eh?”

“Hmpf!” the man grunted.

The assassin smiled at the shortness of the exchange and asked another question. “Where you from, friend?”

The man did not respond and kept drinking.

Double D tried again. “Say, friend, where you from?”

The barbarian slammed his mug against the bar. “I have no desire to speak with a sad excuse of a man from Brandor. You’re pathetic. You’re garesh. You’re less than garesh. I’d rather spit on you.” He pushed the mug off the bar and demanded a refill.

The barbarian was large, more than a pace taller than Double D, and like most men from the north, he was strong. His long, dark hair hung to the right side of his rock jaw. The coldness of his eyes would have scared most men, but Double D was not most men.

The killer excused himself and walked to the far side of the bar to take a seat. He would wait for the big man to go out to the waste shed to relieve himself. Watching him pound one drink after another, the assassin knew it would not take long before the need would arise.

When the barbarian did stumble out and into the night, Double D followed. The assassin watched from the shadows as the barbarian opened the door to the waste shed and disappeared inside. He gave his unsuspecting victim a few moments, and then he pulled a mask out of his pack.

The mask resembled the face of a skull. It had been intricately painted and possessed a deviant appearance. The value of the mask was worth nearly 10 Yaloom. It was inlaid with gold and onyx to accent its features, but it was the magic that filled the mask that made it priceless.

As he placed the mask over his face, Double D vanished beneath a veil of invisibility. Without a sound, he walked toward the shed, opened the door and then stepped inside before he let the door close behind him with a thud.

The barbarian looked in his direction.

Double D smirked as the barbarian grumbled and turned back around to continue to pee into the large hole that was provided for the Bloody Trough’s patrons.

Double D shook his head from under his invisible veil. Many of the men from the north were crude. When drinking, the less educated liked to drop their pants around their ankles to show off their manhood. They did not care for privacy or modesty. This animalistic display did not bother the assassin, in fact, the barbarian’s mannerisms made his job easier.

Double D moved toward his prey. With the big barbarian’s back to him, he slid the mask to the top of his head and re-materialized. With a big smile crossing his face, he looked down at the leather pants that were bunched around the barbarian’s legs. A large knife rested in a sheath on the big man’s belt. It was army issue—the pride of the barbarian kingdom carved into its handle. The assassin moved closer and crouched into a position where he could retrieve the blade.

The man was so drunk, his stream of urine was moving all about as he swayed back and forth. At one point, the stream caught the edge of the barbarian’s pants. The splash from the spray landed on Double D’s hand.

Disgusted, the assassin pulled his victim’s blade free of its sheath. He lifted the tip of the weapon within a width of a fist of the barbarian’s buttocks.

The blade—three hands long, half a hand high and half a finger thick at its widest point—had hooks that ran along the top of the blade and rolled back toward the assassin’s hand. The barbarians took pride in their craftsmanship. They claimed that a sharper blade could not be found in all of Southern Grayham.

Savoring the moment, the assassin shoved the blade into the barbarian’s rectum. A twinkle of satisfaction filled Double D’s eyes as he lifted upward in the direction of the hooks and then ripped the knife out.

Chunks of the barbarian’s flesh fell to the floor of the shed as Double D ducked to avoid the barbarian’s elbow as the man from the north spun around.

Blood flowed freely in all directions as the barbarian’s drunkenness caused him to lose control of his spin. His leather pants tightened around his feet and caused him to fall face first into the hole.

The assassin made sure he gave his victim the necessary moments to roll over so that he could see his face. Satisfied that the barbarian knew his imminent death had been dealt by the hand of a man he had earlier degraded, Double D nodded. He pulled the mask back over his face and darted out of the shed, leaving the barbarian bleeding profusely and lying in a pile of piss and garesh.

The screams the big man released were horrific, but his cries would go unanswered. The barbarian’s tormented sounds would leave an everlasting impression in Double D’s ruthless mind. He would relish his enjoyment of the moment as he made his way to the other side of the village to enter the second leg of Skeleton Pass.

The people of Gessler would find the barbarian the next morning. He was covered by maggots and flies, and small, flesh eating bugs called sysers. The barbarian was unrecognizable—his face eaten to the bone, and there was no telling how many drunken beings pissed on him during the night and had not realized it.