The Assembly Read online

  Red Jade:

  Book 3

  The Assembly

  Stephen J. Wolf

  Copyright © 2016 Stephen J. Wolf

  All rights reserved.

  Print Edition:

  ISBN: 0-9969846-3-1

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9969846-3-8

  eBook Edition:

  ISBN: 0-9969846-5-8

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9969846-5-2

  To Kevin, the Randler to my Dariak.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: A Year Recalled

  Chapter 1: A Troubled Friend

  Chapter 2: The Bard’s Prediction

  Chapter 3: In Pursuit

  Chapter 4: Ervinor’s Army

  Chapter 5: The Silent Woodsman

  Chapter 6: Forest Folk

  Chapter 7: Kitalla’s Journey

  Chapter 8: Taming the Mages

  Chapter 9: Turmoil

  Chapter 10: Astrith

  Chapter 11: Disturbance

  Chapter 12: The Siege at Marritosh

  Chapter 13: Solitude

  Chapter 14: Astrith’s Decree

  Chapter 15: The Anguish of Life

  Chapter 16: Magehaven Revisited

  Chapter 17: Guilt

  Chapter 18: Into the Woods

  Chapter 19: The Outpost

  Chapter 20: Verna’s Mistake

  Chapter 21: Nightmares of the Warrior

  Chapter 22: Caravan in the Forest

  Chapter 23: Kitalla’s Wounds

  Chapter 24: Ervinor’s Plea

  Chapter 25: Gabrion’s Awakening

  Chapter 26: Trouble with Triggans

  Chapter 27: Kitalla’s Detour

  Chapter 28: A General Idea

  Chapter 29: Ordren’s Maneuver

  Chapter 30: Wood and Stone

  Chapter 31: A Mage’s Regret

  Chapter 32: Unexpected Reunion

  Chapter 33: The Course

  Chapter 34: Dariak’s Decision

  Chapter 35: Kitalla’s New Best Friend

  Chapter 36: The Tower Falls

  Chapter 37: Gabrion’s Test

  Chapter 38: The Magitorium

  Chapter 39: Kitalla and the Jades

  Chapter 40: The Wary Raven

  Chapter 41: The Breakthrough

  Chapter 42: Discoveries

  Chapter 43: Stories in the Library

  Chapter 44: Captain of the Ravens

  Chapter 45: Uneasy Truce

  Chapter 46: The Healing Jade

  Chapter 47: To Walk Among Friends

  Chapter 48: Healing Music

  Chapter 49: Building Trust

  Chapter 50: The Duel of the Mages

  Chapter 51: Exodus

  Chapter 52: Defensive Measures

  Chapter 53: Error in Judgment

  Chapter 54: Return to the Forest

  Chapter 55: Midnight Camp

  Chapter 56: Northward

  Chapter 57: The Summons

  Chapter 58: From the Ashes

  Chapter 59: Mourning

  Chapter 60: Unnatural Walls

  Chapter 61: Ousted from the Outpost

  Chapter 62: Dariak’s Return

  Chapter 63: Battle Dancer

  Chapter 64: Ervinor’s Sacrifice

  Chapter 65: Gabrion’s Charge

  Chapter 66: The Assembly

  Chapter 67: Battle’s End

  Epilogue: The Pieces Assembled

  Acknowledgements

  Websites of Note

  About the Author

  Works by Stephen J. Wolf

  Prologue

  A Year Recalled

  Two long months had passed and the winter was blowing harshly outside. Old Meriad hated the bitter chill and her soaked riding cloak clung to her fragile frame. She always traveled with a supply caravan when it was transporting thick blankets, for she could curl up in the cloths and keep herself as warm as possible without a fire. She never worried about the feral creatures in the land, for the caravans she chose always traveled with a contingent of well-trained guards.

  Her grandson welcomed her with a running embrace, knowing she could no longer hoist him into the air. He remembered to ask all the pleasantries before gently tugging her arm toward his room, where she would continue the tale of the Red Jade.

  She allowed herself to be escorted by the child, knowing full well that he would have food waiting there for her. His actions were presumptuous for a little boy, but she had honestly arrived only for him. She had no other purpose to visit this place and they both understood it.

  Seating herself and enjoying a few sips of warm soup, she asked him about his studies, his health, his exercise regimen, and the other things she felt required to investigate before turning to the purpose of her extended visit. He obliged her questions with as much patience as an excited boy could muster.

  Then came the question he both loved and detested. “Remind me what has happened so far.”

  “Years ago, there was the War of the Colossus. The Kallisorians, who hate magic, used some anyway to defeat the Hathren king. Hathren mage, Delminor, assembled and used the power of the Red Jade to summon a giant colossus that put an end to the fighting. Both kings and Delminor died that day and the Red Jade split back into eleven pieces that were scattered.

  “Delminor’s son, Dariak, went on a quest to find the shards of the Red Jade so he could use the power to restore the balance of magic in the land and bring peace between the nations. He didn’t really start off the right way, but he ended up meeting Gabrion and Kitalla in the beginning. Gabrion was a warrior from a small town and he went on a quest to—”

  Meriad lifted her eyes from her meal, wondering why he had stopped speaking. The boy’s face was contorted in a mask of pain as he recalled other parts of Gabrion’s journey. “Keep going,” she said.

  With a nod, he did, though he changed his focus. “Kitalla was a thief who wanted to get stronger so she would never be hurt again. Terrible things happened to her when she was a teenager and she lost everything she had.” He paused again.

  “Is something wrong, dear?”

  The concern in her voice frightened him, only because he wanted to hear the rest of the tale and if she felt he wasn’t ready to handle it all, she might not continue reading to him. He swallowed hard and pressed on. “They met Randler, a bard, and the four of them traveled through Kallisor and into Hathreneir to collect the jades. They were joined by a small army and they made camp in Marritosh. Ervinor sort of took over the army so Dariak could to go Magehaven and Gabrion could to go Hathreneir Castle.”

  The boy steadied himself with a rattling breath. “So much happened in both places. But in the end, Dariak managed to get all the jades except for the healing jade. The master of the tower, Pyron, escaped with it. As for Gabrion, well… he found Mira. And he…” The boy cleared his throat and added, “He ran off and no one knows where he went.”

  Meriad smiled at the boy. “Succinct and well-remembered,” she commended. “However…”

  “Uh oh,” he moaned.

  “You tell me.”

  But he didn’t want to so he shook his head.

  “When I left here two months ago, I challenged you to think about Gabrion’s motives along his journey and the ultimate fate that befell him. And your hesitation leads me to believe that you have not come around to understanding what truly happened.”

  He tried very hard not to yell in frustration. “But he killed her, Gran-mama. Even if the jade was really just using his anger to hurt her, he was still that angry.”

  “Not angry so much as hurt. But you raise an interesting point.”

  “I—I do?”

  She grinned warmly and twisted in her chair so she could lift the heavy tome from the floor. She set it on the edge of his bed
as always, then gently flipped through the volume until she reached the place where she had left off. “Yes, you do. However, I still challenge you to release your own feelings on the matter and try to see the rest as well. It is an important skill you must learn.”

  He sighed and then nodded his head. “I’ll try, Gran-mama. But it isn’t easy.”

  “No,” she agreed. “It never is.”

  Chapter 1

  A Troubled Friend

  A cool zephyr swept through Jortun, bringing with it the promise of a snowy winter. The air was bitterly crisp and heralded the onset of the deepest cold. Felluria pulled her shawl around her aged bones, muttering in the breeze. She truly hated the winter and spent a good amount of her wealth just to keep her home warm on the coldest of nights. She didn’t care how many trees were killed for one season’s worth of heat; she could pay for it and so she would have it.

  Despite the drain on the town’s resources and her sometimes severe attitude to the villagers, Felluria was well-respected as a leader. She accepted the title Matron from those below her, deciding long ago that she knew what was best for them and that they needed her guidance. Adopting a motherly role, she had nursed a dying village back to health, sometimes with difficult decisions that were met with dissent. But, as with a misbehaved child, she punished those who thwarted her, then offered forgiveness and a chance for redemption.

  The town was nestled near the base of the northern mountains, far from the warring to the south, and the fierce winds brought every whipping storm imaginable. Sand and rain were not a problem. The one thing she could never change, however, was the blasted winters.

  Felluria’s father had been an able carpenter and bricklayer. She had apprenticed under him and learned his skill well, bringing that knowledge to a people that lived in feeble huts of straw and poorly-secured slats of tender wood. Now the homes were built to withstand the force of the storms.

  To an outsider, the village itself looked strange. Many of the houses were misshapen and twisted. The roads were rarely in perfect rows. Channels ran along the front of each house, weaving back and forth as they traced through the town and led to a deep reservoir not too far away. When the sand and wind whipped through the village, it was guided along the odd pathways, branching randomly and therefore weakening until each gust of wind was mightily tamed and set softly aside. If sand built up, it would eventually run off as if in an hourglass. During the spring and autumn rains, the channels carved into the roads brought the water to the reservoir, which serviced the town’s needs for long periods.

  But snow just fell. It clung to the buildings and the ground. It clogged the channels and needed to be constantly cleaned out by the villagers, who knew it was best to stay inside when the winds were strong, or risk being swept along with them. No, the snow fell hard in wintertime and it blocked the roads and trapped the people in their homes until the worst of the storms died down.

  Felluria shuddered and readjusted her shawl, as if it could warm her thoughts and keep the snow from ever coming. It was the only thing that made her feel mortal. “More wood!” she called out to a young man lingering nearby. Silently, the muscled youth went off to do her bidding.

  She breathed the crisp air again, trying to separate its beauty from its warning. It was a scent most people would crave, inhaling to savor the perfect clarity. Indeed, she had done the same when she had first arrived decades ago. Until the snow. The cursed snow.

  Felluria moved away from the front porch of her house and walked the few yards to the woodshed. The structure was the size of a normal villager’s house; in fact, it had been someone’s home several years before, but it was handed over to the Matron so she could combat her bane. The old woman pulled the front door open and stepped inside, eying the rooms full of chopped wood as she walked from the front of the house to the back. The breeze did not touch her here, for the walls were strongly fortified by stone and oak. The entire place was filled with the scent of wood and she breathed it in as if it would prolong her successful, contented life.

  She made note of a few places where the piles could be higher or stacked more neatly so as to accommodate more wood. Those corrections would have to be addressed soon, for the winter could sometimes surprise them with an early visit, and she refused to be caught unawares.

  Felluria left the wood house and returned to her massive abode, which was over twice the size. She didn’t have servants, per se, but a number of villagers regularly helped her with menial tasks and preparing her meals. She was perfectly capable of doing these things herself, even at her age, but she didn’t argue with the assistance. It was fitting the people paid homage to her, as well as taxes.

  Afternoon tea was set out for her with a handful of cakes that she loved. They were buttery in flavor and very soft, which was important, for some of her teeth had gone missing over the years. Upon each cake was a sugary icing and slices of fresh fruit, today cut into stars. She admired the creative flourishes of the young baker and encouraged her to practice her craft so she could find true success at her natural vocation. Bakers wouldn’t ever earn more than her accumulated wealth, but people needed to eat and so a baker’s livelihood was secure.

  Eventually, the woodcutter returned with some well-chopped logs. Felluria made her way to the door to observe as he dragged the wood to the small side house and disappeared within to stack it. The blond-haired youth made a few trips to bring all the wood from his chopping area, and he worked silently, without a smile or grimace with any step.

  Behind her, Felluria could hear her helpers chattering away and though it irritated her, they spoke what everyone was thinking. Perhaps that was what irritated her the most. This strong young man was a mystery even she couldn’t solve.

  “—Nobody knows, Aissla, you know that,” one voice whispered.

  “I know, but somebody has to know something,” Aissla insisted.

  “Nope. He just showed up one day and started working.”

  “I don’t trust him, Veldi.”

  “Well, Matron seems to accept him, so should we all.”

  Listening intently from the doorway, Felluria smiled, imagining that the two teens were a little more than enamored with the young man’s looks and physique and were more frustrated that their attempts to get to know him had utterly failed.

  “Accept him? But he won’t even tell us his name. How can we trust someone who won’t speak?”

  “Maybe he can’t, Aissla.” Then Veldi’s voice went even quieter, making it hard for Felluria to overhear. “Maybe they cut out his tongue.”

  Aissla gasped in shock. “No,” she replied in protest. “He wouldn’t have let them.”

  “He couldn’t help it,” Veldi decided, enjoying her friend’s reaction. “They grabbed him, pinned him down, and did the deed. Chop! Like cutting a carrot. And poof, no more talking.”

  “You’re toying with me. Look at him. He’s way too strong to fall for that. And the way he hacks away at the wood. Have you ever watched him?”

  Veldi nodded. “Who hasn’t?” she drawled.

  The girls twittered with laughter. “But he looks like he really knows what he’s doing with an ax. You know? The grace in the way he moves. The power in his arms.”

  “You’re drooling, dear,” Felluria interrupted caustically. She stepped inside and closed the door. “The young man’s presence here is a mystery. There is a pain in his eyes that runs deep, and I think that is why he does not speak.”

  “Can we really trust him, Matron?” Aissla chanced, earning a motherly eyebrow from Felluria.

  “Indeed we should keep an eye on him,” the old woman said, then amended. “That is, perhaps the men should keep an eye on him to ensure he does not harm anyone.”

  The ladies giggled. “He doesn’t seem the sort, Matron, does he?” Veldi commented, looking at him through a window as he continued bringing wood into the oversized shed.

  “No, and that’s what puzzles me. Where does his pain come from?”

  All
three turned and stared at the young man walking solemnly into and out of the storage house, his arms and chest bulging with strength and purpose, but his face lacking any emotion at all.

  “I have to know!” Aissla decided suddenly. She separated herself from the other two and she strode out the door and stalked across the way to where the man was lifting another bundle of wood. “Excuse me!” she called, determined to succeed today despite failing previously.

  The man paused and looked at her, his body straining as he held the logs aloft.

  “I—ahem, my name is Aissla. W—Who are you?”

  The man blinked at her but he said nothing. After a few seconds, he turned and walked toward the shed. Not to be cast aside so readily, the girl stamped after him.

  “That’s rather rude, you know? We’ve put up with you here for weeks now. We’ve given you shelter and food and you haven’t told us your name. Is that so much to ask?” She stood with her hands on her hips, watching as he silently stacked the wood. He deliberately adjusted the cut logs so they would fit more neatly. Then he turned to get more.

  “Are you dumb?” she asked. “Or is Veldi really right? Did they cut out your tongue?” But as she asked the question, she knew the answer, for she had already spent a number of meals watching him eat in silence when he thought he was alone, and he certainly had a tongue.

  She waited inside the shed for him to walk out, gather a few more logs, and then return. Aissla reached out to touch his shoulder, but he suddenly jerked away before she could make contact. He staggered and dropped the load of logs, then lost his balance completely, crashing against another stack of wood and knocking it utterly to the floor.

  Aissla rushed to his aid, but the young man scrambled away before she could reach him. “I won’t hurt you!” she called to him. “Stop a moment. You’re bleeding. I can help you.”

  But the young man kept moving away from her, despite her persistence. They crossed the floor of the house and the woodsman realized she wasn’t going to stop. He made his way toward the back door and slipped out, slamming the door behind him and keeping her inside.