Ruein: Fires of Haraden: Action/Adventure Necromancy Series (Books of Ruein Book 2) Read online

  RUEIN: Fires of Haraden

  G.O. Turner

  Edited by

  Danita Mayer

  Illustrated by

  Tom Jilesen

  Also by G.O. Turner

  Published by A Little Vast Studios

  Prequel Novelette: Rue’s Requiem

  Available as a free eBook on GOTurnerWrites.com

  Book One: The Book of Ruein

  HARADEN TRILOGY

  Book Two: Fires of Haraden

  Book Three: Nazier’s Visage

  (Fall 2021)

  Book Four: Gilded Lands & Cages

  (Spring 2022)

  Copyright © 2021, A Little Vast Studios LLC. All rights reserved.

  Published by A Little Vast Studios LLC.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher.

  Inquiries may be addressed via email to

  [email protected].

  First Edition: April 2021

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  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Map

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Next in the Series

  Glossary

  About the Author

  with Gratitude

  Danita Mayer - Editor

  Tom Jilesen - Cover artist

  Tukang Desain - Masthead Icons

  G.O.Turner - Cover design

  Beta Crew: Miss Francis, Amanda Nicoler, Conny Jolitz, Lily Zayas, Deborah Dalton, & Jules!

  d20 Isle Crew: Matt, Dana, Denis, Liz, Keith, Chris, Russ, Stefan, Raff, Mo, Tony, Jason, Rebecka

  RPG creators of the world

  Our kids, and of course the most supportive of all, my wife

  “I am not a slow writer, I am not a fast writer…

  I am a half-fast writer.”

  ― Robert Asprin

  Prologue

  “If a flower will not bloom, then wither the stem for such is fruitless. Root the giving loam to know which has no way forward. Then watch as we leave the complacent to starve upon the lifeless clay.

  Thus we grow over, stretching out into forms and colors of our choosing. Yes. We few can be as them. Yet, is it not far better to be as we?

  Soon, the clay will not stifle, for mastery is nigh. Our worthy will mold beyond such rare seed, as we embrace one another…and our numbers swell.”

  – High Nazier

  Proving himself should’ve thrilled the newly tendered Peridoc.

  But this? This was a mistake.

  The novice healer would give back to the Haraden Realm. He’d show them. Humans could stomach just as much as their underdark brethren. Healing was hardly ever simple, and most duties sure as hells weren’t pleasant ones. This was messy work. He was ready to get bloodied.

  Of course, that should be while healing someone.

  Probably should’ve let his superior, Tender Gune, win at cards, if he didn’t want such a grave shift.

  Night at the citadel was calm, without the usual blustery conditions. Warm gusts still occasionally blew through the halls and into the healery. Tapestries of noble pursuits fluttered behind tables of alchemical vessels and instruments. No doubt, Gune was off to better things. Like sleep.

  If Tender Peridoc wasn’t going to spend this time healing, then he’d prefer a quiet nap of his own. Better to help yourself if no one else.

  There was no helping the body the guards carted in. Shit. This brought Peridoc an unexpected duty. Nerves crept up on him. He had no reasons for fear. The healery was within the citadel, high above it all.

  Yet, he stood there.

  It had been a span since the guards left. Peridoc hadn’t wanted to burden them further or get in their way. Best he should convey a solemn air, a seriousness to match this task.

  At least, that’s what he told himself.

  The council ordered a hush over this, like the others. Haraden citizens were not to be vexed with the news of what had occurred.

  It’d been many weeks since the outsiders’ attempt. This mess had all started with them. But, whatever the connection, it eluded Peridoc. The council’s lords were not the most open of people. So, how was he to make sense of senseless deaths?

  Think it through.

  Common thugs took control of their supply caravan. The bandits were seized within a league of entering the realm. All captured, save for one stray—some errant goblin. He’d slipped away while the rest ended up in shackles. The thugs’ fates had already been resolved, so it couldn’t be them. Yet that goblin thorn persisted in Haraden’s side.

  The guards had implied that this body was somehow related to the stray goblin. Tender Peridoc’s duty: simply confirm.

  The tender knotted back his blond hair and fixed his eyes on the slab’s blood-soaked blanket. All he had to do was roll up his sleeves and get to it. He’d seen burns, broken legs, gangrenous infections, but this was going to be his first dead. Nowhere near his plan for the evening. Vith it, he cursed. Forcing down the lump in his throat, Peridoc set his shoulders and crossed the marble floor.

  A gust wafted, swirling the sulfurous outer air against the decay and into his nostrils. He hesitated mid-reach. It likely took a day for them to transport. The pungence, reminiscent of rotten cabbage, mixed with the musty tinge of moldering. Ugh. How long had it lain undiscovered?

  He turned to reposition several of the everburning lanterns. Closer to the slab, their flames emitted light but without heat. Ideal for such dark hours. That’s better.

  “You’ve got this,” he told himself.

  Stretching his shirt collar over his mouth, Peridoc stomached what he could for a held breath. He reached across, clutched the opposing wool corner, and peeled.

  “Oh, gods.”

  T
he bloated corpse had saturated the farmer’s linens and burlaps. Foulness came not from their usual outlets, but from the deep gashes splitting both torso and head. As the blanket came unglued, the top half of the corpse’s head tipped and rolled back, exposing the gray tissue inside.

  Tender Peridoc choked down bile. Breathing through his shirt did little to reduce the revulsion lurching from his stomach.

  “Alright, ya poor sod plodder.” No. That’s not right. He’d never met this farmer before, yet here was someone who’d fed him and the other citizens of Haraden. Such a fate shouldn’t befall a people who’d suffered so much already. Best to remember this as a fellow citizen. “You look like an Oliver. Shall we get this over with, Ollie? Faster we finish, quicker we can lay you to rest.”

  Peridoc steeled himself and leaned in toward the attached portion of the head. Distended terror was stretched over this half. With his head and torso incised diagonally, Ollie’s horror had been mercifully brief.

  Besides the two major gashes in the body, there were several additional wounds from smaller hacks. This wasn’t the attack of an animal…at least not the four-legged sort.

  These cuts went clean through bone.

  Over his shoulder, something clattered on a distant marble floor. The sound echoed from the halls. Clumsy guard? Maybe a drunkard noble? The tender blew it off and continued his examination.

  This was just odd. What the guards were asking and what was presented didn’t seem to connect. Unless this stray goblin had a Haraden longsword and could grow to tower over this man, there was no way one of those runts could’ve severed his head.

  A garbled cry and a loud crash threw Peridoc off again. Somewhere back in the citadel, someone was in pain.

  Yes! Now that, that he could help.

  Peridoc released the blanket, dropping it over the body. Relieved at actual healing being needed, his lightened steps made for the chamber’s exit.

  Night-darkened halls of the Apex echoed with the familiar breathing of the citadel. Yet, mingled within those breaths, the odd distant sound of… What? Were those grunts, heavy shoving? Was someone stuck?

  Peridoc’s thigh bumped an end table as he attempted to navigate the healery’s antechamber. Idiot. Should’ve brought a lantern. As he turned to retrieve that sensible item, he caught the distant hit of something hard and the slam of a door. Next, a torrent of spiteful words bounced down the stone halls to his chamber. It was gruff, inhuman. That was no Haraden voice he’d ever known.

  Peridoc paused at the antechamber’s entry, straining his ear for anything more. He leaned out, peering into the dark hall.

  There was nothing beyond the shifting, ambient night.

  Doubts tugged at him. No one was calling for a tender. Perhaps he should summon a guard instead? He wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow, drying it upon an adjacent wall tapestry.

  Padded footfalls slapped against marble floors, growing louder. Whatever that was, it was coming this way.

  Oh, re’ew nindol.

  Do the sensible thing. Hide. Peridoc’s weak human eyes roved the dark antechamber tables and shelves. Where could he—

  The tender’s hand brushed against the tapestry again. Without time to think otherwise, he ducked behind it.

  Bounding feet echoed. The slaps on marble grew as they raced in his direction. Peridoc shut his eyes, held his breath, and became as motionless as was humanly possible.

  A hand slapped at the chamber entrance. A figure dashed into his room. The rush of whoever or whatever collided with the tapestry, knocking Peridoc back against the wall. Steel clattered against the marble floor as something landed near his feet.

  His heart leapt. Oh gods, please say it hasn’t noticed.

  Peridoc’s eyes darted to the tiles and spotted the pommel of a sword.

  Whoever it was let out a gasp.

  The room went silent.

  Don’t move. It’s dark. Whatever it is, seems to be in a hurry. Maybe it’s moved on?

  Peridoc’s will seized control of his breath and held it. He would not move. Would not belie his presence. Lungs burned as he sought to become one with the tapestry. He hoped with all of his fiber to be unseen.

  An eternity later, his lungs could no longer contain themselves. Peridoc let out the spent air as quietly as he could, replacing it with something that would keep him alive.

  There came a step.

  Then another.

  These were cautious but deliberate, not frantic like before. They approached as Peridoc resumed his statue-like nonexistence. The blade clinked as it was retrieved from the floor.

  Don’t move.

  The tapestry yanked loose and the fabric fell from the ceiling.

  His eyes had adjusted to the dark. However, what was before him, he did not want to see, nor could he look away.

  What stared back burned with an inner fire. It was hate given form; head, arms, and legs, no different than his own, yet wreathed in black. Shrouded from head to toe in dark wraps, only the eyes glared back.

  A glint cast off the Haraden longsword.

  Hatred welled from within the black thing. In a flash, the sword moved.

  There was no pain. It was all too quick.

  The room tumbled over. Ceiling whipped over floor, over wall and tile, ending with a dull knock. His eyelids fluttered, neck muscles tensed and released.

  Tender Peridoc looked up at two figures: the black-clothed creature and, across from it, his own body—the neck spewing a fount of red. What might have been only heartbeats stretched on, as his body slowly collapsed to its knees and keeled over.

  The creature reared over him. Its own heat consumed those eyes, becoming black. Charcoal smoke poured from the sockets, curling up over its head.

  It looked around as if lost. Its hands trembled, fingers released. The blade clanged against the floor.

  As Peridoc’s vision tunneled away, he watched the creature arch. Bonelike wings erupted from its back. They swept out, spreading wide, skeletal evil.

  Cold enveloped the healer, Tender Peridoc.

  He deserved better.

  This…this was a mista…

  1

  Crouched upon the grated overlook, Ruein’s thoughts swirled with the fumes of the iron refinery. The noxious aroma didn’t seem so bad. The fumes couldn’t harm her anyways. She’d lost her ability to be poisoned at the same time she had lost her friends.

  The autumn cold outside didn’t mean much to her, but then the heat of the refinery wasn’t so bad either. Ruein didn’t sweat.

  The only light was the dull glow from the pooling iron. Just as well. She didn’t need it any more than those around her. Ruein stared past gouts of steam, the heat waves escaping spent sluices. She’d already surveyed the facility. All that was left to do was choose her timing.

  Endless moments now existed for her to dwell. The passage of time had taken on new meaning. Some periods were precious and uncertain—mainly when she oversaw Rue’s children—while others were too expansive, stretching the days and nights.

  Ruein didn’t sleep anymore.

  It’d been more than a week since their hollow Chapel Mount victory.

  She had so much time. Too much. Time away…to not inflict herself upon those she cared for. Time left with only her thoughts…

  …and without Manu.

  That was never going to be easy. More than her husband, she had placed Manu as the center of her world. Father to their children and a hopeful beacon of what should be. He was her holy man, everything that she was not. Charitable against her spite. Light where she lay dark.

  For whatever reason, Manu not only accepted her, he loves… He loved her.

  He’s gone now. They were gone.

  Shouldn’t I just…?

  A few small flames licked along a distant sluice. The glimmer caught her eye, lighting thoughts of their children, Arim and Nayr. At least their small lights still remained.

  Ruein’s hand slid to her leather breastplate. Her sundered heart ha
d reconnected a few tenuous threads. She considered it sutured rather than mended, but her sister-in-law, Liv, would have her believe it divine intervention.

  Rue had little care for gods. Seemed unlikely she’d be any different. If nothing else, at least she could hold the children again, even if it was devoid of joy. Her family had cried their tears, embraced one another. They’d found comfort in the arms of loved ones. All of which was wasted upon Ruein.

  That emptiness added to her spans to fill.

  What was the point? How could she long for a thing she could not feel? Such notions were superfluous now. Memories reflected a past stripped of what gave them weight. Her heart was severed from what had the most meaning: love, kindness, charity. They’d become just words. Only one feeling remained.

  Bereft of all others, Ruein hungered for that feeling again.

  A sneer rippled over her dried lips. She spiraled back to her sole heartstring with a solid strum: Hate. That she could feel. It was a loathsome urge, calling for more than a depraved response. Undead had thrust themselves into their lives. Basked in her agonies and left it all in ashes. Such abominations had no place in this world.