Grea'nock

Literally meaning "green rock," this term was used to describe the way the world was, back in the days of the beginning. Those were the days when Dagoth-the first evil-and his servants arrived in the world and began an epic war with the four houses of immortals. Those were the days when Kingsteel, a mortal man and warrior smith, defeated Dagoth-and there was hope.

Those days have gone. Kingsteel is long dead. The might of his blood is lost, and the four houses have grown secretive. In their shadow, the villages of men and dwarfs developed into vast empires-and turned against each other.

But then, people came who paved new roads to new places, crafted out of the rubble of the past. Far from war and on the edge of the wild, they built cities reborn from the ashes.

Two young heroes in the making-the gentle giant Erik Iron Rod and the girl of his dreams, Gayle Fletcher-join forces with two mysterious adventurers: Jase, a Quadrian Elf swordsman, and Fenrix, the famous hunter of dragons. Although raised in a peaceful farming town, Gayle and Erik quickly find themselves swept up on a world of war and enchantment teetering on the edge of ruin.

For Gayle, the girl who would be queen, the future is yet to be written.

Grea'nock

Now, this term means time lost ... and the way the world will never be again.

Grea'nock

iUniverse, Inc.

Contents

Prologue.......................................................viiChapter 1: Hillsborough........................................3Chapter 2: An Unlikely Meeting.................................5Chapter 3: Getting a Group.....................................16Chapter 4: The Road South......................................25Chapter 5: The Hunt Is On......................................35Chapter 6: Tree of Two Worlds..................................46Chapter 7: Elven Home..........................................59Chapter 8: The Path of Enchantment.............................74Chapter 9: The Girl Who Would Be?..............................89Chapter 10: Predators, Prey, and Provision.....................103Chapter 11: From the Depths....................................113Chapter 12: From Darkness to Light.............................126Prologue.......................................................143Chapter 1: Hunted in Dreams....................................144Chapter 2: Returning to Darkness...............................160Chapter 3: Rebuilding..........................................170Chapter 4: A Time of Majick....................................179Chapter 5: Lovers' Quarrel.....................................185Chapter 6: Majick's Mischief...................................188Chapter 7: Family, Friends, and Foes...........................195Chapter 8: Reclaiming Old Strength.............................199Chapter 9: The Hard Press of Darkness..........................211Chapter 10: As Evil Comes......................................231Chapter 11: The Counterbalance.................................243Chapter 12: To What End?.......................................251Epilogue.......................................................253Glossary.......................................................265

Chapter One

The mountains—there was something about them that comforted the people who lived nearby, though the range had become as quiet as the grave due to the lack of dwarven industry, and haunting voices echoed from peak to peak amid the winter storms. Still, those living near their base saw them as a lasting structure of security. Unlike the fortress cities of old, the mountains were pure and indestructible. "No army will ever pull those walls down," many of the old-timers would say.

Here at the base of the Northridge Mountains lay the gentle foothills of the township of Hillsborough. The wealth of the foothills of Northridge was in the trees, from the evergreens of the higher slopes to the municipal orchards that lay south of the town. The town of Hillsborough grew as rich in people as it did in lumber- and fruit-bearing trees in the several generations following its founding.

The men of the mountains, or Mountainfolk, were the first to live here. Giant-like and incredibly strong, these hardy folk were among the very few capable of living among the giant yews of the highest northern slopes. The smaller yet more ferocious Hillmen who lived and hunted throughout the barren hills to the east also came to trade among the townsfolk of Hillsborough.

Then there were the Vanguard. They were the descendants of the people who populated the great fortress cities that used to dot the land. They were the largest in number in the town yet were smaller and weaker than their wild cousins. However, among men they possessed the greatest knowledge of industry and considered themselves the upper crust of society.

But it was the dwarfs of this region who were considered by most to be the real high society. Although few and far between, dwarfs who lived among the peoples of Hillsborough had become synonymous with convenience and innovation.

The most mysterious of all were those descendants of immortals and men who still walked openly in the world. These half-elves and Quadrian elves lived and traded quietly among the people of Hillsborough.

The town itself, sitting on top of the broadest foothill of Northridge, was walled in by a large square of blue granite. Each home of Hillsborough was made of the same granite as the protecting wall, and the streets were paved in the same.

The farming folk of Hillsborough worked the orchards to the south yet still enjoyed the protection of the walled town, staying safe from the wild. There were, of course, those who lived among the wilds of the green world. These people only ever came to Hillsborough to trade. This sort was never well liked or trusted within the walls of the town. This sort never really cared for the trust of the sheltered folk and never will.

Chapter Two

A wide gravel path begins out the south side of Hillsborough through the wall's only gate. This path leads south down the hill and through the first of many municipal orchards. When the gravel gives way to dirt, this is called the Green Path.

Lumbering up the Green Path on a late afternoon day in early autumn, there came a large man of the Mountainfolk. "Boy" would be more accurate, being as he was only sixteen years of age. He was a man in size alone. His movement was aided by a large iron rod, nearly as tall as he was, that he took everywhere with him. He was limping from a childhood injury that had never quite healed and was dressed in soot-covered clothes. He was wearing gray torn work clothes under a brown apprentice tabard. Wearing a tabard was an outdated tradition, but his employer, Kreg, insisted he wear it. Kreg had taken him in after his parents had died.

His name was Erik. Because of the giant walking stick, he was called Erik the Rod, or just Rod for short. Due to his injury and a healthy appetite, coupled with the fact that he was of the Mountainfolk, Erik was enormous. Not only was he very tall and muscular, but he also had a large belly and a round face that made his eyes squint.

On this day, the blossoming apple and peach trees were shedding their petals and giving off a sweet scent. The petals painted the deep green path with wisps of pastel colors that shifted slightly with each breeze.

Erik was red in the face, huffing and puffing his way up the green path toward Hillsborough. He was carefully cradling a wreath of blue plum blossoms, the rarest and finest flowers known in that region. He was to present the gift to the girl of his dreams, Gayle Fletcher. She was a raven-headed Vanguard who lived in town. Only a year older than Erik, she was already regarded as one of Hillsborough's finest archers. Erik knew blue was her favorite color and thought the wreath of flowers would make a good present before he asked her to the harvest dance in the town hall later that year. With considerable effort, he made it to the south gate only to be greeted by the unkind voice of his employer, the smith, Kreg.

"There you are, you miserable heap! Where have you been? Not gathering wood for the smithy, I see. Instead you're out picking flowers?" Said Kreg as he came stomping from around the other side of the gate.

"We have plenty of wood for weeks of work, especially now that there is another smith in town," replied Erik.

Kreg's face contorted into an enraged mask. Erik knew that he did not like being reminded that there was a new smith in town—let alone a dwarven family.

"Do I need the word of an apprentice to tell me how to run my forge?" bellowed Kreg at Erik.

Kreg was also of the Mountainfolk, although not nearly as large or strong as Erik. He was instead cruel and strong-willed. He was a sight of frightening measure when he was angry, and he had beaten Erik in public many times. Now he was very angry. His black hair was dirty and matted, and a beard streaked his murderous face. He was wearing only his smithing apron atop his trousers and black, steel shank boots. His hammer in the hand, he drew back, but he was halted.

"Hold, Kreg! You are to move this argument out of the gateway, or I'll clap you in the stocks for my own amusement!" said a stern voice.

It was the captain of the gate guard, Dregor, a Hillman by birth, but raised a Vanguard family. Dregor was much smaller and of slighter build than Kreg. His bronze hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a weathered but thoughtful face of tanned, almost leathery skin. His beard was braided and beaded in the dwarven fashion, and his piercing blue eyes gave him a fierce appearance. Clad in dwarven forged mail from spaulders to boots, with a long sword at his side, he gave anyone who looked his way the feeling that he meant business.

"My apologies, Lord Dregor," Kreg responded. "Where would we be without you here to protect us from apple thieves?"

Erik smiled at Dregor and had turned to continue toward the Fletchers' place when Kreg's foot caught him at the ankles, and over he fell, crushing the wreath beneath him. His iron prop clamored loudly on the cobblestones and rolled away.

"Serves you right, you worthless heap," said Kreg. "If you want to spend the day picking flowers, then you can earn your keep selling them in the square for copper because I'll not have you!" Dregor came forward, fingering the pommel of his blade. Seeing Dregor's approach, Kreg withdrew and headed off toward the Grey Ram, the town's only pub.

Erik picked himself up slowly, not believing what had just happened until he drew his left hand out from underneath him. The wreath he produced was a mess of crushed flowers and broken limbs as he rocked back to his knees. It was all he could do to keep from screaming at the top of his lungs. His face went red, and he started to shake. Kneeling on the side of the street, as the ox-drawn carts left through the south gate, Erik slung his apprentice tabard to the ground with a roar. He was picking himself up and looking for his staff when Dregor took him by the arm and lifted him the rest of the way to his feet. With his other hand, Dregor returned Erik's staff.

"On your feet, boy. Don't let that dung-heap of a smith burden you a day longer. I am tired of watching him abuse you," said Dregor.

"How will I make a living? Where will I live? Gayle won't want to dance or even speak with a fat, homeless cripple!" replied Erik while turning his head from side to side.

"You, who can barely walk, risked life and limb in the wilds to find a truly rare gift, just for a girl, when you could have sold these for a week's worth of wages. This girl would appreciate that if she had any sense," answered Dregor.

"What of the rest of it then, captain? I would be a thoughtful but homeless and fat cripple," stated Erik.

"I can take care of that!" said Dregor as he produced a key and a large coin purse from a satchel on his belt. He handed them to Erik.

Erik took them, unsure of the meaning of this gesture.

"The key," said Dregor, "is to the southeast corner guard's post. There you can stay as long as you like. It is not much, but fine for a bachelor's life. The purse is a gift of sorts. It should be enough for you to eat and drink on for months. Should you need more, you should head to the Grey Ram this evening. Many of the tradesmen spend supper there and talk amongst each other for extra help. You may not find another master to apprentice under, but at least there may be some odd jobs for honest coin."

Erik's eyes widened in disbelief. "I can do a few things with ordinary arms but I can not mend stone or even your fancy armor," said Erik.

"I guess I will go to your competition for that—and I don't mean Kreg. He is finished in this town, especially with what he is charging for his labor. The dwarf will have all his business within the month," replied Dregor.

Erik smiled. "I can't believe something good is actually happening to me."

Dregor laughed and said firmly, "It's been overdue and I am sure you have questions as to why I have done this but I will explain later Go enjoy your moment. I recommend the Grey Ram." Looking thoughtfully at the crushed wreath on the ground, Dregor bent down and plucked an uncrushed flower from the wreckage and handed it to Erik. "But first," he continued, "take what is left of that wreath to the Apothecary. Be sure not to let the blossoms fall. They are still quite valuable even in this state."

Erik, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened, stooped down, grabbed the wreath, and hobbled off. Dregor, smiling, shook his head and resumed his duties.

* * *

There was a loud clang at the doorway of the Apothecary as Erik entered, smacking his staff against the doorframe accidentally.

Kristia looked up from a well-portioned pile of various ingredients she had just chopped to see a very large, rather confused Mountainfolk stumbling through her door. Kristia was a kindly silver-haired widow. She still ran the shop in her husband's absence. It was her charge to daily prepare all medicines needed for use at the hospital, as well as any other remedy any paying customers might need.

"Hello, Erik," she said, genuinely surprised to see him. Erik just stood there blinking for a second. Then he held up the crushed wreath. Kristia hurried forward with a joyful squeak. She quickly grabbed the wreath and began to clip the crushed blossoms off into a large mortar. "You're a fine young man to bring this here for medicine and not waste it on some foolish girl. You will be paid a fine price," said Kristia as she hurried to a nearby drawer. She grasped a small stack of gold and silver coins and thrust them into Erik's hand. "Now be off, young man! This infusion will take complete concentration on my part." Erik nodded and left without question.

* * *

Erik wondered what his life would be like on his own, free from that tyrant Kreg. He would have a hard time filling his own days with backbreaking labor.

He was now nearing the Grey Ram as the sun was setting. The last light of day painted the blue granite red. Above the double doors of the Grey Ram, which stayed propped open at night to attract patronage, the granite blocks were carved in the image of a ram thrusting a mug of ale from left to right across the doorway. Erik always found this image amusing.

The doors opened as Erik approached. It was the barkeep, Jared, and his brother, John, propping the doors open for the night. After wedging the door open, Jared looked up and in a pleasant, yet businesslike tone, greeted Erik. "Hello, big fellow, come on in—have a roasted ram shank and sit a while!" Erik smiled and hobbled in with the sound of his staff beating the pavement.

Not two seconds after Erik walked in, Kreg arose from a table in the corner and approached, shouting, "Shouldn't you be selling flowers, you ungrateful heap of—" Before he could finish, he was effortlessly knocked to the ground by Erik's outstretched left arm. Kreg hit the ground with a groan and rocked back on his arms to see Erik towering above him.

"I no longer work for you, Kreg. Should you come near me again, I will put you down," Erik threatened in his most menacing tone. Seeing that his threat had little effect on Kreg, who was naturally skeptical as to whether Erik had the capability to finish him or the money to pay for the burial (which is the law), Erik then smashed the table Kreg was lying beside to splinters with one heavy stroke of his rod. Kreg's eyes widened as he skittered backward and away from his former ward.

Jared yelped, "Erik! Tables are made from trees, but do not grow on them. You will have to pay for that!" Erik turned and approached the bar at the back of the lamp-lit tavern and slapped down a stack of gold that would pay for the table many times over. Jared understood his meaning and said aloud for everyone to hear, "That is far too much. This amount would pay for a proper burial."

Erik looked back at Kreg and said, "Well, since I do not want to offend the towns guards, especially since Kreg has been overcharging them for his services, make it a round for these who serve and a ram shank for supper."

The half-dozen or so guardsmen let out a cheer to help goad Kreg, whose eyes now glinted with rage as he took his hammer from his belt.

"You're not going to use that in your condition, are you?" said a youthful voice from what seemed to be a smaller man in the doorway.

No eye in the tavern had beheld him before now. Dressed in a sleeveless leather jerkin over a gray wool sweater that came halfway down his arms, he additionally wore a large knotted hide belt, off which hung two beautifully decorated scabbards for the elvish-style short swords resting in them. His light brown trousers were tucked into finely crafted boots of land drake hide. This person was obviously a professional adventurer, or else a rich man looking to get robbed or murdered. His locks of dark brown hair were flecked with silver and tucked back behind long pointed ears. The luminous star fire in his dazzling blue eyes left no doubt that he was an elf.

"Elfling, are you old enough to be here or even away from your mother?" jeered Kreg.

The man answered plainly. "Your eyes deceive you, child. I am much older than any hag you could have crawled out of."

Kreg spun into an immediate rage and with a leap forward swung the hammer meant for Erik at the strange man. The man quickly ducked under the blow, tumbling into the middle of the room. He sprang up to his feet with blades drawn. He then asked aloud, "Is this man a public servant?"

One of the nearby guards replied, "No. He is a member of questionable standing with the trades guild. Will you duel, or shall we intervene?" The stranger watched Kreg approach, preparing another swing with his large smithing hammer.

As soon as Kreg came close enough to strike, Jase smiled and said coldly, "Duel."

What happened next was almost too quick for the eye to manage, and those who saw it were left dumb and blinking for some time before Stephan, the senior guard present, said, "I'll get Dregor."

In two blinding motions, the stranger had severed Kreg's arm that was wielding his hammer, while at the same time decapitating him with the other blade. He then plunged both blades into Kreg's quivering torso before his legs gave way. Kreg fell over in his favorite word—a heap.

With his blades still sticking out of Kreg's corpse, the stranger leaped over the body and proceeded to the bar. He took a stool next to where Erik was standing, as the latter man's mouth hung open in amazement. The patrons of the tavern, all now terrified with the exception of the guards, began leaving. Duels were not illegal but were still rare with in the walls, and only seldom did they ever end in a death.

John was doing his best to clean up the mess now that the guards had taken the pieces of Kreg outside. John looked pale and ill, but for some reason, Erik could not take his eyes off the blood. Jared was furious. "You can't expect to be welcome here after killing one patron and frightening off the others!" screamed Jared, who was standing right across the bar from the stranger.

Erik snapped out of his trance and said, "That's enough, Jared. I will pay for your lost business tonight, and besides, the guards will want to drink and talk about this one tonight!"

The stranger raised his right pointer finger and said, "Indeed, but no need. Keep your gold. I have some of my own fine metal," From underneath this jerkin he produced a small bar of smooth white metal and laid it on the table. "There you are. That will, of course, cover a healthy tab as well."

Jared picked it up and looked at it skeptically. "Way too heavy to be silver. What is this well-polished steel?"

The stranger shook his head in disbelief and said, "Has dwarven industry become only legend? That's platinum you're holding."

"What in green hell is plate'em?" barked Jared.

"True silver," said a rough voice from behind. They all turned their attention to the middle of the room to see Dregor standing there frowning, and the town's new dwarven blacksmith smiling next to him.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Grea'nockby James Ramey Copyright © 2011 by James Ramey. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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