Fox Elvensword and the Sword of Bhaal: Book 1

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© 2014 George Allen Butler II. All rights reserved.

Image Illustrator : Ilich Henriquez

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Published by AuthorHouse 08/13/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2892-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2891-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-2890-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014914291

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. The Sword Of Bhaal

2. The Price Is Paid

3. Feeding The Sword

4. Beginnings

5. The First Signs

6. Spell Trouble

7. Ranger School

8. Ellwin

9. The Big Test

10. Resurrection

11. The Naming

12. The Death Of Alanawen

13. House Elvensword

14. Ellwin

15. Wanderlust

16. Grandefore

17. Oracle

18. Reunion

19. Bhaal

20. Serran

21. The Return Home

22. The Dragon Responds

23. The Sword Revealed

24. Preparations

25. Into The Maw

26. Redemption

27. The Body Snatchers

28. Sven Reborn

29. Evaluation

30. The New Group

31. Insertion

32. Lizards

33. Daemon

34. Exodus

35. Epilogue

About The Author

This book is dedicated to the Soldiers of Delta 26 TAB with whom I served in Afghanistan and the men of the oval table who helped give Fox life all those years ago.

There Will Come A Time Of Great Need, A Time When All Elves Will Look For A Great Leader To Unite Them Against A Common Foe.

Out Of This Time He Will Come, A Reaper, A Soldier And A Slayer. He Will Shoulder The Burden Of The Generations Before Him. He Will Sweep Clean The Enemies Of His People And Lay Demons At Their Feet. His Skills Will Be Legendary. His Sword Will Be Feared.

The Elves Of The World Will Flock To Him. He Will Gather Them And Guide Them To A Place Of Chaos. An Exodus Of Lives For A Place Of Destitute Made Great By His Presence. He Will Place His Throne In Plain View Of The World. All The Kings Of The World Will Bow Down To Him. His Empire Will Have No End.

As revealed by Thaddeus, the first day of the world.

On the bloody field of death, the ranger is king.

Lord Fox Elvensword.

CHAPTER ONE

THE SWORD OF BHAAL

50561.png HAAL SAT ON HIS most prized possession, a golden and ivory throne bought with the money he had earned during the adventures of his youth. It rose up from the floor like the stump of a once magnificent tree. Two huge armrests flanked each side of the seat, fanning out at the top to end in a smooth flat surface. Gold, etched with runes, spiraled and swirled through the structure everywhere. The sides were as the bark of a tree, rippled and pitted as if worn by time and water damage. The back reached up high enough to support his slender shoulders and bent back into a curl like the edge of aged parchment.

Bhaal, however, was in stark contrast to the throne. His once statuesque body had wasted away. He was nothing more than skin and bones. The stench of his breath was that of a carcass. The dark black orbs that were his eyes stared straight ahead from his skull into the hallway before him. He had the look of someone seeing into eternity. A tarnished bronze crown sat on filthy, dusty black hair. His tunic had rotted away to nothing more than tatters. A rusted shirt of chain mail rested upon it, torn away at the waist. His leather breeches had dry rotted away from the knees down. A rusted chain skirt covered his thighs. Its links were broken and jagged at the seams. High top plate boots, rusted from years of neglect, covered his feet. The heavy coating of dust upon him told those who looked at him that he had not moved in years.

It was hard to tell that Bhaal was still alive, but alive he was. He had somehow managed to live far beyond his own time, existing without eating or moving. The physicians had given up long ago on trying to figure out what it was that kept him so. Theologians had inspected him. Philosophers debated his refusal to die in his present state. In truth, he had not spoken in twenty years, even though the wilderness and upstart usurpers carved away at his vast empire until all he still owned was the small town of Nineveh that rested at the base of his small keep.

And then there was the sword. An elegant bronze and Damascus steel broadsword reaching up from the base of the throne to the palm of Bhaal’s hand. Its point made a gouge in the floor. Red rubies adorned the hilt and pommel, and even through years of non-use the whole sword was immaculately polished and clean. It was the sword that had carved out Bhaal’s once mighty empire, and thousands of legends were attributed to the revered artifact. Forged from pure dark iron found only on the plains of the Abyss, it was rumored to have dispatched more than one daemon from existence.

It was this very sword that brought Niana to the small keep. Being a dark elf, she had no fear of creatures that were unnatural, and it was common knowledge that Bhaal had been undead for some time. She looked over the whole room, carefully committing the whole place to memory. It would be imperative that she knew every nook and cranny.

Plenty of room for a fight, she mused. Excellent position here at the doorway to cast spells over the heads of the fighters. Two skilled warriors abreast would keep Bhaal from getting at her. She would need at least four or five in all. Sven, her champion, would be her main combatant, and Cord would carry the axe she would need to cut off Bhaal’s hand. She would need someone to help with guards, should they appear. Her sister came to mind. Breeya always wanted to come along. One more, she placed her finger at the corner of her mouth and tapped. She would need a skilled acolyte should things go wrong, but healers were a messy business and expensive too. Later, she thought, I will get my last position filled later.

The eyes of Bhaal had not moved the whole time. He continued to stare straight down the hall behind her. If he had a single clue that she was plotting his death, he did not show it.

She turned on her heels and walked deliberately out of the room and into the hallway beyond. The guard she had ensorcelled into slumber was still asleep at his post. Drool dripped from his lips as she passed him. The road beyond was still dark and devoid of guards. She wrapped her cloak around her and proceeded back to her home in the underground caves to the north.

It was early in the morning when she entered the quarters of Serran. He was dressed in his usual red cloak. A large white marble altar with black swirls served as his work place. His attention was forever fixed on the books he studied diligently. Aged books littered everything in sight. Red fires licked at the walls of his cavern, from braziers placed evenly throughout. Scraps of wood, steel and bone littered the corners, and burnt candle wax stained the floors. Only a bed made from stuffed burlap sacks, covered in exotic animal furs, hinted that he lived in this place.

I will need the use of your axe if you want me to retrieve that sword for you, Niana interrupted.

The axe is extremely valuable, Serran stated, his attention never leaving the book he was reading. A boney hand covered in rings raised and began making gestures in the air, as he mouthed some incantation.

Niana cast a spell of protection on herself in response. She knew Serran to be evil, far more evil than anyone had a right to be. With this man she could take no chances.

You realize that the price of losing the axe will be very high? Serran turned to look at her. His face had a chiseled handsomeness that she admired. Deep inside, she played with the idea that the price of losing the axe would be paid in his bed. She stifled these thoughts lest she reveal her indiscretions to him. She had playthings to occupy those moments of need, Sven and Cord were among them.

I won’t lose your axe, and besides, if I did, I can easily pay the price, she said. Her mind was still alluding to some deluded servitude to the sorcerer.

Serran looked deep into her eyes. Indeed you could, he said knowing what she had that he wanted. He crossed the room and pulled the menacing looking axe out from behind a pile of wood. He crossed the room once more to stand before her.

Lose my axe and pay my price or don’t return at all, Serran sneered. If you run off with it I will find you and you will wish death was the worst thing that could ever happen to you.

Niana grabbed the axe confidently and disappeared from sight. She had clever tricks and spells at her disposal, but none of that did anything to quell the fear she felt of the man. Gripping the axe close, she ran through the hallways carved out ages ago by slaves. Her apartment lay at the far side of the underground city and she meant to reach it before Serran changed his mind.

Once there, she scrambled with relief into her room and threw back the sheets of her bed. It was an elegant affair of rich, luxurious sheets and soft, feather filled pillows. Just being here made her feel safe. All thoughts of Serran’s threats vanished and she was back to her carefree self once again. She placed the axe in her bed and covered it up as if it were sleeping. She was secure in the knowledge that the spells placed on her personal residence were sufficient to guarantee the item’s safety. She walked out confidently to meet her sister in the main hall.

BREEYA SAT IN the dark tavern, watching Sven and Cord playing a drinking game with Threan, a young acolyte in training. He had been bribed with gold coins to accompany them as per Niana’s instructions.

Threan fit those instructions to a tee. Breeya knew the young elf to be boisterous and foolish to no end. She also knew that Sven had no intention of guaranteeing the boy’s return should they fall into trouble retrieving the sword. No sense in cutting Threan in for the split they promised him. It was her duty to murder him if things went well. The sharp dagger in her boot would do the trick.

She looked over the rest of the group and evaluated them. They had been her constant companions her whole life. Niana had taken her in the day their mother was murdered by that foul assassin Devin in this very market. Her sister had let her have the killing blow some twenty years later when they exacted their revenge on him and his barbaric crew. Sven and Cord had shown their true loyalties to her that day. What Niana had done to the one that ordered her assassination was done in private, Breeya knew it had given her immense pleasure. The woman’s head still floated in alcohol in the glass jar of their main chamber as a warning to those that meant to cross her.

Breeya liked Sven most of all. His skin was just the shade of darkness she desired in a man. He was also confident, the kind of confidence one could get only from mastering the arts of fighting. Breeya had watched Sven master the gladiator pits, winning hundreds of contests. He walked with confidence as if he owned everything in sight. She liked to fancy that he was her champion, a guardian who would slay anyone who threatened her.

Cord was altogether different, built big and strong. His muscles bulged out of his tunic like monstrous growths. Walking like a yak, Cord swayed from side to side. His hair never seemed to be combed and his manners were atrocious. What Niana saw in Cord she did not know.

Sven and Cord both felt the same way about Breeya. She was a slave, completely devoid of magical power and she belonged to Niana just as did they. Cute, but she was just not worth the effort. Besides, if all went well with the raid on Bhaal’s keep, they would be more than welcome to have their way with her, with or against her will.

Niana entered the commons of the main hall. All eyes turned to her. Sven, Cord and Threan stood up from their stools and walked to a table next to her and sat down. Breeya joined them.

I have the axe we will need to cut off Bhaal’s arm, Niana announced. Are you satisfied with your down payment?

Threan nodded as he looked down at the skin-tight buckskin pants Niana was wearing. It was clear his thoughts ran to lust as he looked at her.

When will we be leaving? Sven asked inquisitively.

Just a few hours before sunset, Niana replied. Get yourselves ready, pack light, but bring what we will need. We will meet here, she said as she turned to leave.

Sven thought it was odd that she used a term like sunset. He pondered this until she turned around and he saw the roundness of her bottom and then all of his thoughts turned to lust as he watched her walk out the door. There would be more to be had than just Breeya if all went well.

THE KEEP LAY before them. Breeya had led the way. She had her dagger hidden in her cloak just in case. Sven stood close beside her. His chain shirt was gleaming in the light of the fading sun. His twin kukris, a pair of swords bent at a forty five degree angle halfway down the blade, were firmly in his hands. They had been magically blacked as well as having other enchantments placed on them. Cord stayed back to protect Niana and carried the precious axe borrowed from Serran. Niana and Threan stayed near the rear. They covered themselves in cloaks of dark hues and traveling boots, ensorcelled to make no sound as they walked.

Niana shoved her way through the group to the front as they reached the wall. She motioned for Cord. He ran over and bending over, braced himself against the wall with his hand firmly against the stones. One by one they climbed up onto him, then onto the wall. Once there, they swung their legs over the side and jumped off to land on the ground. Sven, being the last, stopped at the top of the wall and pulled his friend up so he could cross also.

They scampered across the grounds between the keep and the wall in magical silence, using the shadows whenever they could. The bridge was unguarded as it had been the night she first visited it. All was going well so far. They crossed the bridge as tactically as they could. Cord went first and then pulled guard on the other side as the rest crossed one at a time. Sven went last, since he would be needed there should some guards come from the wall to intercept them.

The guard inside the keep was asleep as expected. His feet propped up on a stool as he lounged back on his bench. His back rested against the wall. Niana motioned for his immediate death by sliding her finger across her throat.

Breeya tiptoed up to the man and slowly pulled her knife out of her cloak. She grabbed his mouth and held it closed as she forced the sharp edge of the blade against his jugular and cut his throat while forcing his mouth shut. It was the violent spray of blood gushing out of his throat that awoke him. She held his mouth closed as she stared into his dying eyes. What a glorious way to die, she thought, getting to look at my beauty as darkness closes in around you.

When he was finally dead, she lowered him down to the bench, making sure his helmet did not fall to make a sound. She placed his spangenhelm on the bench beside him.

As planned, Sven was the first to enter the throne room. Cord and Niana followed and took up their places on each side of the room. Threan and Breeya took up positions behind Sven. Threan prepared his best healing spell.

Bhaal stood up abruptly without warning. Years of dust, disturbed by his sudden movement, made a cloud that hung in the silence that continued. He looked from right to left and made assumptions of his foes’ abilities. He brought his sword up slowly in a defensive posture and looked ready for combat.

I thought you said he was dead and had not moved in years, Sven said pointedly to Niana.

I said he was most likely dead and did not move when I was here, responded Niana. If I thought he was dead I would not have brought so much help.

Sven nodded and readied his weapons. The sword Bhaal carried was much larger than he had anticipated. The gleaming edge promised some sort of magical enchantment, not to mention that Bhaal himself moved with an unnatural speed Sven had not faced before. Sven’s assessment of Bhaal was that he was unnaturally deadly, and Sven did not want to die here.

Bhaal exploded into movement. A series of figure eight swings assailed Sven, who began his own series of blocks in an attempt to draw the sword into position, but, being caught off guard, he was slow and even absent in some of his blocks. Blow after blow reached the dark elf swordsman. Cuts here and there dripped blood in several spots on his arms and legs. It was clear that even though Niana’s champion had felled several combatants in the arena back in her home city, he was no match for Bhaal.

Threan recovered from his shock. This was the first time he had ever seen combat, not to mention the first time he had ever seen an undead creature. He quickly fell into spell casting mode and healed Sven just as he was starting to fall.

Hurry up with that or we will all die here! Niana screamed at him.

Cord saw his friend in danger. It wasn’t part of the plan, but he began swinging the axe back and forth in a desperate attempt to push Bhaal away. Time and time again the axe bit into Bhaal with no reaction from him. No blood sprayed out as the axe tore away at the feeble chain. It was as though the lick was totally immune to the nasty axe’s edge.

Niana, seeing that direct damage was useless against the lick, began weaving a deadly spell. A round ball of light sprang from her hands and struck Bhaal’s exposed side. He flew sideways to slam against the throne and fell forward to land at Cord’s feet. Cord quickly backed away lest the fiend notice him. Bhaal placed both hands under his chest and sprang back to his feet immediately and rushed Niana.

Sven was there to intercept him. He barreled into Bhaal and tried to toss him off his feet. Bhaal struck Sven cleanly in the back, sending him to the floor. Sven somersaulted out of the way of Bhaal’s next overhead swing and sprung up to his feet with both kukris ready. The two continued their fight.

Threan set himself back farther against the wall. He positioned himself so that he could easily reach the hallway should things go sour. Once he felt safe, he began casting once more. His second spell landed just as he saw Sven take a savage cut across his throat. The slice was severe enough to kill Sven outright and would have if the spell had not landed in time. Immediately, Threan began his third spell.

Breeya watched the fight from the safety of the hall. It was not her job to risk her neck and she held no intention of doing so. She slid back there just as Bhaal had attacked. Twice she saw Sven slain only to regain his feet and continue the fight. She looked from him to Cord and then to her sister as she waited patiently for the sword to fall.

Bhaal was no fool. He had dropped the fighter twice now, only for him to be saved by the dark elf in the rear of the room. So he changed his tactics, trying to get the swordsman to back into the acolyte. Sven had backed into Threan just as his third spell was cast. Bhaal had waited, and here was his chance. He swung low and connected with Sven’s leg, tripping him. Sven fell sideways, leaving the acolyte open. Threan’s eyes went wide with shock as Bhaal’s blade spun around and chopped into his head, dazing him. Then, quicker than anyone could have imagined, Bhaal thrust his sword hard into Threan’s stomach.

Cord quickly returned to his position just as Bhaal struck. It was the moment he had been waiting for. He swung the axe in a straight downward chop with all of his might and severed the arm of Bhaal at the wrist. Bhaal spun around to face Cord directly quickly and brought his fist around to connect with Cord’s face. Stunned, Cord lost his balance and fell backwards hard into the wall. The axe spun wildly out of his hands and landed far to Cord’s left. It clanked loudly as it toppled end over end through the great hall.

Breeya moved as if by instinct. Her only job in this battle was to grab the sword should it fall out of Bhaal’s hands, as it just had. She darted toward Threan with no care for her own safety and wrenched the sword violently from his chest. Threan managed to grasp her arm as she began to sprint out of the throne room. She jerked away and he toppled over onto his face, blood pouring out of him like spilled milk.

Bhaal turned just in time to see the elf sprinting away with his sword. Another blast slammed him back sideways into the wall. He scrambled back to his feet as Niana and Cord ran out of the room. He grabbed up his severed hand and held it in place. Only Sven was left in the room and Sven was already on his feet. Bhaal, knowing where the axe had landed, made his way back to it.

Sven stood there dumbfounded. Should he try to save the axe or just escape? Threan was dying, his blood flowing out on the ground. A puncture wound through his lungs had kept him from casting. Without the acolyte, he knew he could not defeat the lick. Niana had left, so now there was no spell casting. Even Cord had fled in panic.

Let’s go, Sven, Niana cried down the hall. I’ll pay the price for the axe.

Bhaal turned around with the axe in hand. His arm had healed. But Sven was out of all but throwing range and fleeing down the hall. A throat unused far too long tried to scream out for guards to cut off the elves’ escape, but all he could manage was a croak more akin to a frog’s belch. The image of Sven was etched into Bhaal’s mind. He would remember this bastard. He would remember those who had stolen his holy sword from him.

In a fit of anger, Bhaal walked forward to where the acolyte was still bleeding on the ground. He hoisted the axe high over his head and chopped repeatedly into the dying dark elf. This one, at least, would not get away to brag about the day he stole from Bhaal.

Sven ran for his life. He was quick, but the group he was with had a good head start on him. Only a rope met him at the wall. He climbed and dropped to the other side. It was a long sprint to the cave entrance, but Sven made it.

Breeya sat on the floor of the cave, out of breath. The precious sword sat on her lap, still dripping Sven’s blood. Niana and Cord were there also, panting. All thoughts of security were cast aside as terror gripped the group.

We lost the axe, Sven said through heavy breaths.

I will pay the price, Niana said, her chest heaving. None of you will.

Niana, Serran is evil, Sven blurted out, Who knows what he will demand of us?

Where is Threan? Cord asked, but he already had an idea about that.

Dead, Sven said. Who cares?

Then that settles it, Cord began, We cannot hope to take the lick without some healing support.

We have to go back and get the axe. Sven pleaded. We have to find a way!

There is no way, Niana stated. He is too much for us all, much less without an acolyte.

As if to answer, Breeya stood up and cradled the sword, as if it were a child. She started to lead them back to their underground home, where they lived. Sven looked back as if thinking about some way to save the lost axe, then hurried down the corridor to join his friends.

CHAPTER TWO

THE PRICE IS PAID

50714.png ERRAN HELD THE SWORD out in front of him. He was finding it hard not to smile as his plan unfolded to perfection. Not only had the foolish Niana brought him the valuable sword, she had lost the axe as well.

‘Lose my axe and you will pay my price’, I said, Serran recounted for her.

I will pay your price, milord, her eyes traveled from him to his bed. This time she hoped he caught her meaning. There were few men in the underground who would pass up the invitation to have their way with the sorceress.

Serran happened to be one of them. He had no desire to play with the temptress at all. His plans dictated a different course.

It is my understanding that your sister belongs to you personally, he stated flatly.

She does, milord, Niana replied all too quickly and then regretted it as she caught his meaning. All three looked at Breeya in shock, who in turn looked terrified. Breeya had no desire to stay here with the evil man.

Sven started to walk forward as though to do something, but Cord caught his arm. There is nothing we can do here, my friend, Cord said.

The platinum we agreed to accept for the sword is by the door, Serran began, Take it and go. The ownership of your sister is my price for losing the axe. Serran turned to look into Breeya’s eyes, She will not be leaving with you.

Surely there is some other arrangement we can come to, Niana pleaded. The thought of leaving her sister here turned her stomach.

There is nothing else I want from you, Serran stated angrily. Now take your payment and be gone. He turned his back on her to place finality on the subject.

We will be seeing you soon, Niana said as she backed away. She tried to think of something clever to say or maybe an offer for the mage, but nothing came to mind.

No you will not, Serran nearly shouted and then started a low chuckle. I doubt you will ever see her again. His eyes gleamed as he laughed. It was clear he enjoyed her fright.

Cord did his best to drag Sven out the door. The big man was near breaking point. It was his intent to drag Breeya out with him or die trying. Cord had no clue that Sven cared so much for the girl.

Niana took one last look at Serran with pure hatred in her eyes. Soon my friend, she thought, very soon we will get our revenge on you. She grabbed up the money and backed out of the room. She pushed past her slaves and headed off to her room. It was clear that she wanted no lip from either.

Cord still clutched Sven about the wrists, steaming. Both were standing outside waiting on her, and then the two followed close behind. All thoughts of celebration were gone from their minds.

As soon as the door was shut and locked behind him, Serran grabbed Breeya’s arm and dragged her backward to the cage he had fashioned at the back of his cavern. Once he had her locked inside, he took the sword back to his altar and placed it in the center. Turning his attention to his books, he thumbed through the pages of one of his books and finding the right page, he began to read. Several hours passed without words and Breeya fell into a restless sleep on the cold ground.

The sound of scratching awoke Breeya and she sat up to see Serran not too far away with a piece of chalk. He was making some kind of protection circle on the floor. Fear gripped at her heart; only something evil and foul required a circle such as this.

Glad to see you awake, he cooed as he worked.

Breeya stood up and surveyed the circle on the floor. Horror gripped her as she realized the cage she was in was not included in the circle. Archaic writing wrapped around the circle scratched in chalk on the floor. Candles, now being lit, marked important words of power. When Serran finished, he stood up and surveyed his work. Pleased, he reached out and grabbed his staff that was sitting across a makeshift work bench that held his other tools and books he was using.

Serran held the staff of power at the ready. Convinced the circle of protection was complete, down to the right type of candles needed for this type of summoning, he began to chant in a low and rhythmic way. Not far off a blue sphere was forming in the cavern. It started out small and grew in size until it passed into the cage holding Breeya.

Breeya slunk back to the bars at the rear of her cell. She had no clue as to what spell the foul sorcerer was casting, but she knew she dare not touch the sphere.

Breeya screamed in terror when the daemon walked into her cell. He stood nearly twelve feet tall and was covered from head to toe in thick black fur. The smell of unkempt dog hair and horse manure permeated the room. The daemon resembled what Breeya knew to be a werewolf, except for his cloven feet. Large black horns sprouted from his back ending in pure white tips. There were eight of them altogether, six curving upward and one set sprouting from his shoulder blades upward at first and then out like a cow’s horns. His bushy tail sprouted spikes that appeared razor sharp. His head resembled a bull dog’s but for the boar-like tusks. Slop dripped from his maw to splatter and sizzle on the floor of the cage.

Breeya tried with all of her might to push through the spaces between the bars. Blood began to drip from rips in her skin as she struggled to get away.

Bazor watched with sheer amusement as the elf tried to escape the cage. I hope you didn’t think this feeble contraption was going to hold me, he growled.

I called you here to complete our agreement, my friend, Serran said evenly. It was clear he was unruffled by the sight of the daemon.

Serran, Bazor said as he recognized the elfin voice. Oh yes, we have a deal.

We sure do, my friend, Serran returned evenly.

Bazor turned to examine the circle protecting the elf then realized he had not been contained within one of his own. Foolish of you not to entrap me, elf, he spat. Slop dripped steadily from his maw as he salivated over the prospect of ravishing this complex before returning to his home.

The destruction of my people is nothing compared to the return of this, Serran said and then pulled out the Sword of Bhaal.

Bazor chuckled as he saw the thing. Serran, you remembered, he spat. Bhaal stole that from me the day he sent me to Hell. The daemon walked forward right up to the edge of the circle. Tell me; did you kill him retrieving that sword?

The sword was the only price you mentioned, Serran said evenly. I can send you back and then summon you again if the death of that one is required. He was quite sure the circle would stop the daemon from reaching him.

Bazor watched Serran for a while, looking for any sign of fear that the circle would fail, allowing him to rip the elf to pieces. No! he roared. Bazor turned back to the girl still trying to pry herself through the bars. And what of her?

It was to receive this gift that I summoned you, Serran chose his words carefully. He held the sword out in front of him. If I give you that gift, will you leave immediately and not return until I summon you once again?

Bazor looked at the sword. Saliva dripped from his mouth as he considered the deal. All seemed to be in order. I will leave at once upon receiving my gift, he agreed with a huge grin.

Then consider this girl to be my parting gift, Serran said as evenly as he could. He knew he was on shaky ground now. If Bazor saw through the ruse, he might elect to take the sword, which Serran was not offering, and leave Breeya alone. Or he might kill Breeya and thus ruin the plan he had laid out. It was his hope that the daemon would in fact rape the girl and then be tricked into leaving. Serran knew there were few things a daemon would pass up, and terrorizing a female by raping her was not one of them. Careful spells had been placed on Breeya to ensure she would become pregnant.

With a sigh from Serran, Bazor turned on the girl, which brought another round of screaming. Serran watched, not because he wanted to or because he drew pleasure from it, but because he simply had to. Bazor pulled the girl away from the bars of the cage and began tearing her clothes off. Serran watched and listened as Breeya screamed all through the act, bringing much pleasure to the beast. Once he was finished the daemon pulled back his arm to slap the girl into unconsciousness. Black sharp claws extended out, indicating that she would not survive the first swipe.

Bazor! Serran shouted. That will be enough.

Breeya pulled what was left of her clothes toward her in an attempt to hide her nakedness. Blood smeared her legs as she half crawled away. She could not believe that Serran had allowed such a thing to happen to her.

Bazor looked at Serran with anger, his claw still raised high. How dare you interrupt me!

This was offered as no sacrifice, Serran continued. Now that you have finished with your gift, you may now leave as you had agreed.

Bazor roared in anger. He knew he had been tricked. He glanced at the sword that was firmly in Serran’s hands and swiped at the air in front of him. Black smoke filled the chamber as the spell took effect. The foul smell of brimstone filled the room. Then, after a short time, the room cleared and Bazor was gone.

Breeya continued to sob, holding her torn clothes over her. She was still somehow confined within the cage Serran had built for her. Serran went about diligently cleaning up chalk marks and rearranging his cavern. When he had finished, Breeya had fallen asleep on the heap of her torn clothes.

THE NEXT SIX months were filled with Serran’s constant working on the magical blade. It went in and out of the forge as he pounded it with his magical hammer, all the while casting his foul magic into it.

Breeya would awake to his pounding and then vomit up the table scraps he had allowed her to eat the night before. Her clothes remained tattered and torn. A bucket filled with vomit and waste was her only furniture. The smell was constant as he refused to remove it.

A makeshift calendar was scratched on the wall with white chalk. It counted down the days to the time he promised to execute her. He spared no detail as he often explained how it would be done; with the white hot Sword of Bhaal he would gut her, plunging the sword deep into her unborn child’s heart. There she would be left to bleed out on the altar while he finished casting the final spells.

To add to his merriment, he would often tell her how lucky she was to be slaughtered in such a way, lucky to be part of one of his creations. How could she ever hope for something better? Then he would laugh. It was clear he enjoyed the torture.

As the final days approached, she spent what time she could explaining the pleasures he could take with her if he only allowed her to live. She was creative and foul as she named all the ways a girl could please him, but it all fell on deaf ears since he completely ignored her. What would I want with you? he would often say.

Then the final day arrived. He drugged her the night before and tied her completely naked to the altar. The cold marble greeted her as she regained consciousness to the sound of the bellows stoking up the fire. She started screaming almost immediately. Her arms were tied above her head, and her legs were tied firmly to the altar. She struggled against the bonds, but they would not yield. Her belly, full of child, twitched from side to side as the life within sensed the danger it now was facing.

She screamed out as she heard Serran approach. She gasped as she felt the heat of the blade in his hands. He was going to do it, just as he had said he would. He was going to murder her for the sake of some foul creation.

Oh god, I beg you not to do this, she cried out, terror rippling through her body. I could be a most willing slave.

He did not listen to her; he merely cast some spell to increase the blade’s temperature.

Serran, not being a man to pass up a chance at terrorizing someone, slowly brought the blade up and over her face, just so she could look the instrument over as it passed into position. She craned her neck to see the long sword as it paused above her stomach and then screamed her lungs out as he brought it sharply up and then plunged it down to penetrate her swollen belly.

The sword crackled as it seared and cooked her flesh. Breeya jerked and contracted as the sword burned her insides and stole nutrients from her body. She felt her child squirming inside her trying to get away from the burning blade. White liquid seeped out of her stomach as the white hot blade turned her fat into oil. It splattered and popped as her stomach was cooked from the inside out.

And then she passed out from the intense pain. Serran half regretted not healing her, so she could be tormented more by the burning blade. Fire erupted from her stomach as the heated blade dried and cooked her flesh.

Serran began casting, while holding the sword inside her. The stench of burning skin did not affect him at all. He cast spell after spell in rapid succession. Smoke and flickering light from the fire bathed him in an evil glow.

As the final spells were cast, the sword was now complete. The soul of the daemon’s child had passed into the sword, and the sword now fed on the soul of its mother.

The Sword of Bhaal realized it was alive and started to use its powers for the first time. It felt the touch of its creator. It searched the thoughts of the one known as Serran. It felt the power of the first soul flow readily into its metallic form, giving it strength. Reluctantly, the sword took the essence of its mother as nourishment. And all of this the sword understood, as it took the knowledge of its creation from the mind of the one who held it.

The sword hated Serran and wanted to destroy him above all else. Somehow it would be the sorcerer’s undoing. If it had to, it would spend its whole life trying to kill and consume him. For now, though, it would have to wait. It would have to wait for one strong enough to wield it and strike Serran down.

CHAPTER THREE

FEEDING THE SWORD

50722.png HE HARVEST MOON HAD risen at the beck and call of nearly every wolf that called the mountainside home. The forest below was alive with sounds of wild animals. A large bat-winged creature hunted off in the distance, taking advantage of the well anticipated lighting.

It wasn’t the only thing anticipating the extra moonlight, however. Several dark elves milled about their secret entrance as they tested how the light played tricks on the mind. They took turns sneaking up in their makeshift wood elf costumes. All present agreed that this could work. Once that had been decided, they ran off to inform their owners of their plan.

It seemed so foolproof that they could use this to their advantage. All they had to do was slip past the rangers in the woods, using the dim lighting to mask their true identities and strike at the heart of the city before their surface cousins knew what had happened. It was not common for them to do this, so it would be unexpected. They would prove once and for all that they were the masters of deception.

As the news spread throughout the compound that the harvest had started, the whole of the underground complex was abuzz with the prospect of raiding. Preparations were being made all around. Thieves and raiders were busy getting armor and weapons ready. Tailors worked at breakneck speed to fabricate the imitation ranger cloaks needed to pull off the ruse. More than a few were already counting on riches they would soon take from their surface cousins. Promises had been made and I-owe-you’s were written.

It had been some time since they had ventured out as a group. Being short on supplies, they could steal what they needed up there. Finely crafted wood and furs were things they could not get in the caverns around their stronghold. The surface elves kept that kind of stuff well-stocked, though, and it was time to pay up.

Even Serran was busy. Ever since he had finished the sword, he had been looking for a way to feed souls to it. This excursion handed him just the opportunity he was looking for. Because Serran did not stoop to do his own dirty work, he sat around and thought about whom he could dupe into doing it for him. Certainly, he could not trust just anyone with the secrets of the sword he had created. They would run off with the thing and he would never see it again. It would have to be someone with no use for the sword, and even then it was a gamble. The sword was immensely powerful.

One soul stood out as foolish enough to do his bidding, someone who already knew the high price of failure. Sven had been there the day he took control of Breeya. Sven understood not only what the sorcerer could do, but what he would do. Sven the champion of the slave pits was perfect.

Serran sent word for Sven to come and see him as soon as he decided to use the boy. The wizard sat in anxious anticipation. The dimwit was taking his time as usual. Serran spent his time thinking about all the things he could do when Sven returned with the sword freshly fed with elven souls. He would finally be respected as a force among his people and not just a sinister mage. Serran could increase his power tenfold with the Sword of Bhaal well fed.

Sven arrived shortly after breakfast. The cloak he was wearing was already dyed a natural green, and he was dressed in his shiny silver chain shirt. He made no sound as he walked, thanks to his boots. Niana had secured them for the assault on Bhaal’s compound. They would come in handy tonight. It had been made clear that even though his usual skills as a swordsman would be employed, he was going to be used