(Excerpt from Science-Fantasy Novel)

CHAPTER ONE

I

Zareena glanced furtively toward the felinoid captain and his unwashed crew. Like a pack of starving animals squatting around their prey, they tore apart the still-steaming carcass of the enclave ambassador. Negotiations with these barbaric catweres was a tenuous matter at best. Evidently, hunger got the better of their taste for diplomacy. 

With Torval dead, and she in fetters, there could no longer be a treaty. More blood would be spilled.  Zareena tried to slip her delicate hands out of the manacles that chained her to the cluttered deck. It was useless. Her wrists were raw from repeated attempts. A wave of panic began to wash over her, but she fought it down.

Her bravado quickly melted as she suddenly remembered the Captain's leering expression when his men had first dragged her onto his vessel. The Cattin leader had walked up, tore at the robes and veils that concealed her voluptuous body, and then let out a lusty sigh as he stepped back to appraise her physical gifts. Zareena shuttered.

With renewed vigor, Zareena pulled on the chains. Again with little success. The Cattin sailors roared in lascivious laughter.

Zareena looked away just as the captain buried his claws into Torval's throat. She heard a sickening snap, and then the sound of rending flesh and muscle. After a victorious roar, she could hear insatiable chewing.

Poor Torval...  

II

The tip of the sonic barb hummed past Brennok's head and wedged itself into the stone wall behind him. As the korg warrior struggled to dislodge its weapon, Brennok used the opportunity to draw Flame Breather from its holster. Unfortunately, the reptilian was fast. It lashed out with its tail and knocked away the sidearm. Brennok's hand burned. Flame Breather slid down the temple hallway, and disappeared into the darkness.

Cowering behind Brennok, Pol held a chromium arm up in defense, and tried desperately to elicit the effects of tolka. However, he had been severely damaged by the korg's surprise attack, and was unable to do so. His speech was slurred, and the glow in his crystal eyes had dimmed. Brennok feared Pol would cease functioning before the korg could be defeated.

Focusing on the reptilian's torso, Brennok waited until its scaly tail had stopped whipping around. Then, as the korg prepared to leap, Brennok pulled the tolk stave from Pol's grasp, and twisted a bronze band within its handgrip. The carbonite crystal at the end of the stave crackled to life. Just as the korg sprang, Brennok lowered the crystal toward the reptilian and clumsily muttered a tolka incantation. The korg became transparent and hissed in agony. Its final shriek echoed through the massive chamber as it dematerialized in mid-leap, showering Brennok in its ashes.

Exhausted, Brennok slid down the wall and collapsed next to the Druud. After a few silent moments, he realized the metallic being was unnaturally still. He checked Pol's eyes then cursed. Pol’s optical crystals had burned out. Brennok sat there, stunned.

Though he had known the Druud Vox for only a short time, he had come to depend upon the chromium being's sage wisdom and guidance. Pol had helped Brennok to heal from the near fatal wounds he had sustained during the Cattin ambush. He had also helped to ease Brennok's anguish over the abduction of his betrothed, Zareena, daughter to the Enclave Prefect of Abraxia. The Prefect himself had been brutally assassinated shortly after the ambush. All hopes for peace were gone, and all out war was imminent.

During his long recovery, Brennok learned a smattering of tolka from Pol. Commonly referred to as ElderSpeak, the magical language was not as hard to grasp as he had heard. But now, Pol was gone. There was nothing Brennok could do for his metallic friend except sadly whisper the Chant of Ascendance.

Brushing himself off, Brennok picked up the heavy bronze medallion the korg had been wearing. At its center was a brilliant sapphire surrounded by semi-precious stones. Brennok turned it over and read the inscription etched on back: "Ocularus Xo Garr." Brennok swallowed.

The sinister events of the past few weeks suddenly made sense. The uncharacteristically bold raids by the Cattin; the abduction of Zareena, followed by the assassination of her father, Lord Durren; and then, the cryptic references Pol had made about a "shadow reaching over the land."

Someone was trying to destroy the Yamar Affiliation. The medallion was the key to this intrigue. It proved dark forces were rallying against the Yamarian peace efforts. Brennok was certain Xog had returned to finish what he had started five years earlier: His sadistic domination of Ilandor.

Brennok slipped the medallion into a pouch.

He knew what he had to do. He retrieved Flame Breather and then picked up two leathern satchels; slinging them over his shoulder. He then hefted the old man's stave, and strode through the chamber portal.  As he did, he took one last glance at the stone caryatid carved on either side of the archway. Pol had been examining the life-like figures when the korg attacked.  It was ironic that after weeks of having wandered lost through the labyrinthine halls of the subterranean temple, Pol should die when he did.

Brennok retrieved his sidearm and slid it into its holster. Giving a final glance at his robotic friend, he turned his back and twisted the bronze band on the stave. The carbonite crystal illuminated a small part of the corridor around him. Carefully, Brennok edged forward, tapping the floor with the bottom end of the stave. He used it to feel his way through the darkness. After a while, he reached the bottom of a long flight of stony steps. Moonlight illuminated the upper part of the staircase. Relieved, Brennok ascended toward the surface.

III

Zareena stroked the surface of the chromium water as the Cattin skiff drifted downstream. The liquid metal felt soothing. Trailing ripples caused the light of Those-Who-Look-Down-From-Above  to sway and dance on its calm reflective surface. The Captain was below, snoring loudly, sated by the gruesome feast.

Zareena wished beyond hope that an Abraxian warship carrying her lover would sight them and take pursuit. She knew she wished in vain, though. For Brennok was dead. He had to be. As were all the members of the delegation party. No one, she thought, could have survived the carnage.

Despondent, she gazed into the sea of liquid metal as tears streamed down her face. All was lost. Nothing the Cattin would do to her mattered anymore. For in her heart, she, too, was dead.

IV

The portal led to an open cavern through which Brennok could see the face of an obsidian mountain range. Before he could exit the cavern, he first had to pass through a field of waving glassweed. He used the metal tolk stave to brush aside long clumps of the plant as its razor-sharp leaves vibrated wildly. Glassweed was deceptively deadly. The way was hazardous, but Brennok made it through with only superficial cuts.

Brennok made his way out of the cavern and onto a mountain ledge. He could smell the sickly-sweet scents of the swamp below. For a moment it reminded him of that evening in Tularr. With Zareena. Even then, as young and as beautiful as she was, she had had the strength and courage to lead her people. Hopefully she had the courage to endure the Cattin's hospitality.

Brennok stood at the edge of the precipice and surveyed the fetid landscape below. In the distance, beyond the obsidian mountain range, he could see the faint gleaming of the protean ocean. It separated Ulnar from the other lands of Ilandor. Despair and exhaustion weighed him down. It would be weeks before he could reach the coast. By then, the Cattin raiders he had been tracking would have reached their pride in Felgorr; and, in all probability, would have sold Zareena into slavery. Or, perhaps they would have decided to keep her for the leader of their pride, as a source of pleasure. Brennok forced the thought aside.

Suddenly, a Druud patrol flew through the starry sky. It was comprised of three chromium-skinned women who rode stoically atop winged gaalas. Brennok's heart swelled when he saw that they wore the faceless helmets and long crimson robes of Arbiters. He twisted the bronze band above the handgrip of the tolk stave even further. The crystal’s amber light grew brighter. Brennok waved the stave over his head, hoping the riders would notice his signal, and investigate. If they abided by the Druud Code of Assistance, he could secure passage with them and fly to Felgorr. He would then reach the plains lands ahead of the feline marauders. Once there, he would rescue his mate by any means necessary. Even if it meant unleashing the awesome power of the ancient tolk stave.

Once he did find Zareena and was able to return her to the enclave keep, he would book passage on a Lanarian sea vessel due South. Three days sail would bring him to the island of Cunari; to the Kabuli temple where he had hidden Light Brand five years earlier.

Brennok had laid the enchanted blade on the outspread palms of the giant silver idol. He gambled that the dwellers' reverent fanaticism would dissuade them, and others, from attempting to loot the shrine; thereby protecting the godbane weapon.

Brennok had no choice. He had to retrieve the only weapon forged that could destroy Xog’s avatar. Despite his attempts to lead a peaceful life, Brennok found himself once again drawn into a series of insidious intrigues. He remembered something Pol had once said to him:

Brennok, my friend, no matter how many years may have passed since you last wielded a blade in combat, or how many paintings you may painted or poems you may have written since, the truth is inescapable: You are a Godslayer. And as long as the dark gods conspire to wreak havoc in Ilandor, you will always be called upon to wield your blade once more...

Grimly, Brennok waved the stave again. In doing so, he managed to catch the attention of the last Arbiter in the flying patrol.

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