Steel, Magick and Faith: Book 1 of The Remus Rothwyn Chronicles: The Remus Rothwyn Chronicles, #1

 Steel, Magick and Faith: Book 1 of the Remus Rothwyn Chronicles

By T.P. Grish

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Copyright 2013 T.P. Grish

Cover Art by Jana Pivkova.

 Thanks to my family and friends for their patience and advice during the writing of this novel.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

EPILOGUE.

AN EXCERPT OF THE SHARD OF PALRINAH, THE UPCOMING 2nd BOOK IN THE REMUS ROTHWYN CHRONICLES

BIBLIOGRAPHY

PROLOGUE

Glenryth is a world of ancient rules, and savage spirits slumbering in seclusion. From the jungles of the North, to the rocky plains of Corsen, there is a heavy stillness. A quiet violence. For hidden in nooks, watching within veritable evergreens; lie spirits, beasts, forces elemental, vicious, hideous, beautiful. There was balance, harsh and violent like the noxious air in a swamp. But balance, nonetheless. Then somewhere in the fickle mists of creation came humanity, clawing and afraid, grasping and ambitious. Enveloped in a dangerous world, these creatures lived as scavengers; afraid of the greater things of the world. They were beset by disease, lack of claws or fangs, and the lack of habitat to call their own. Lefeyhdie had not provided any particular prey or plant for them to eat. These fleshy, naked beings were doomed to die of attrition. Curiously, these beings never stopped Doing, or Thinking. Breeding to strengthen their numbers. Sharpening rocks, shaping wood, gathering leaves and sticks for clothing and shelter. Eventually they had settlements of great number, crude but effective tools of war. Ancient forces began to pay attention to the growing incursion, plaguing them, slaying stragglers at night. But still the humans held on to the edge of the precipice, knuckles white with effort. Before, they would wait and watch while beasts slew and supped on prey, then spring out, scavenging the scraps of meat. Now they hunted and harvested. Now they stood and fought. No longer was there fear in their eyes, but Knowledge. Knowledge that no matter if four hunters fell at the claws of a fey beast, the ends of their spears would eventually bring the beast down.

Cold and calculating these humans were, from the eyes of the Feykind. Plotting, scheming, invading. But this was not the case. The feelings of dwarves and beasts are slow-moving and heavy felt, but humans felt many different things at the same time, some lightly; some heavily. They mourned when their comrades fell, smiled when their children were born. They envied, and slew each other for no reason at all. They erected barriers between themselves, spawned by minor differences in beliefs or appearance. For, while the creatures of old all followed one tapestry of rules, the humans each had different ideas. If there was one thing they had in common, it was that they were greedy; empty. They must fill every moment of their days with a purpose, with a problem to be solved. And never would they accept limitations. Elves witnessed humans dragging wagons through forests; but when the humans tired of the sweat on their brow; they enslaved beasts of burden to carry their belongings. But the creatures of old could not understand these complexities; to them these hairless creatures were insane, alien, devoid of reason. They took over land and altered it with slabs of stone and travelled on crisscrossing wounds in the earth. Soon they enslaved animals and bent Lefeyhdie to their will, continually reaping and sowing. Now Glenryth is scattered with many small human settlements, with a few cities of culture. Towns and villages are surrounded by the wild. Villagers cower in fear and awe of the supernatural. Horrible stories are told about encounters with these devils and demons, but they are at the back of the common consciousness. For already roads, travelers, settlers and missionaries trek across the wild. Technological cults and Monotheistic religions are worshipped, any suspicion of pagan or Fey magickal taint is reviled. Materials from the outside world are to be altered to suit Man, removing the taint of the wild. Prophets spread far and wide, offering hope and comfort to the beleaguered masses. Mankind is not totally separate from the energies that suffuse Glenryth, as an unfortunate few are born as Touched. The more fortunate of the Touched will never discover that they are so.

CHAPTER 1

A figure skittered through the tall grass, muttering to itself. Small and sturdy, its skin looked hollow, its eyes sour and malign. Scraps of meat and dust clung to its fur garment, which was of dark maroon and leafy brown. As it approached the outskirts of the human village, it gently moved to make not a sound. Its feet could not be seen beneath its loose pants. It heard the chop, chop of wood. The creature muttered darkly, thinking about the inanity of humans chopping fragile wood with their axes… the wooden buildings would crumble, and then they would have to repair the flimsy structures. The dwarves were here before the race of Man was born. But their wisdom and pre-eminence were not respected, it seemed, and the humans had to be taught respect.

Curving around a tree, the dwarf peered at the maker of the noise. In front of a wooden cabin, an adult Man chopped a log of wood placed on a tree stump. The Man cut in almost complete silence, with a barely audible grunt now and then. In the distance the creature could see plumes of smoke, the village proper. Fixating its dark eyes on the man in front of it, the creature decided that this man would be the first victim. How to describe him to his Clan? He was a normal human male, with brown hair. His legs and arms were long, giving it the impression of taller height. The tall one on the outskirts of the village, yes, that would do…

It smiled mischievously. ‘Dra’k Tarluuth Ror’ it muttered. They deserve pain. It must have spoken louder than it intended, for the human seemed to look up and scan the area briefly. The dwarf turned and ran through the grass, towards his Clanhome. There was no fear of discovery on the dwarf’s face, just a malign smile. The plan could not be ruined, no it could not… The Lesson must be taught according to the Edicts.

* * *

Remus was not sure what the noise was. One could never tell what was the wind, and what was one of the Feykind. Putting down his hatchet, he wiped his brow with a piece of cloth. He walked towards his house, picking up the slain deer that had been left outside his door. Elaina had delivered it, as she knew he did not much like to venture into the town market, for purchasing goods or for any other reason. He would have an early night, and after a couple of mugs of Rum he would retire. As he walked to his bedroom, he glanced at his large and disorganized bookshelf and smirked. A woodcutter, a hermit, and a scholar…. was it even worth the scorn of the townspeople?

 * * *

The next morning, a crowd of people gathered outside Remus’ lawn. They were hunched around the outskirts of the land, whispering fearfully. ‘The strange one has attracted them! He has sought forbidden knowledge, this is why they are angered!’ one hushed conversation went. Remus awoke blearily inside his bedroom. Not knowing what to expect, he sauntered outside. What argument could they have with him now? He was not prepared for the vile, earthy stench that greeted him. By Horthrin! Cattle lay in his front yard, dead or dying. Vines rose up to grasp and stab the legs of the unfortunate cows and sheep, slowly bleeding them to death. His grass seemed to have overnight turned a violet hue, and this corrupted plant matter seemed irresistible to the town’s cattle.

Remus glanced around incredulously. A handful of cattle rushed headlong into his front yard, madness in their eyes and seemingly moving against their will. The poor beasts charged into the yard and began chewing the stained grass like they had not eaten in a season. Thorny vines rose unnaturally from the soil and drained the hapless beasts.  This was powerful dark magick. Peasants tried to stop their cattle from approaching the land, pushing them back with their bodies. This was to no avail, as the animals were too strong. Remus saw a deer rush into the yard, roaming nervously to find a free spot of grass. When vines pierced its legs, it struggled and kicked futilely; its lifeblood draining into the soil. A brief pang of sorrow brushed Remus’ heart, then he thought of more practical matters. He glanced at the townspeople, and saw familiar expressions.

Fear. Hate. Suspicion. No doubt they would blame this on Remus, claim he had attracted the ire of the Feykind upon them. What else could they be expected to do, try to understand the Feykind and their powers? Alas, that would be expecting too much! Remus’ acerbic inner sarcasm evaporated as he surveyed the scene. Almost two dozen cattle from the town farms were dead or in the process of dying. On his land. This was either the dwarves’ work, or that of the elves.

The recently erected bridge linking the two segments of the town had spurred even further growth and expansion in High Peaks. The people of High Peaks had laboured hard to finish the stone bridge under the supervision of the local branch of the Steelwielders- the Church of Technology-; previously townspeople were forced to wade across the river to travel from East to West. Traditionally, the townsfolk had crudely drawn areas that they were or were not allowed to travel in or occupy, ‘negotiated’ as per ancient agreement with the Feykind.

Although the Feykind made their presence felt frequently enough, current situation included, the fear and awe of them had subsided slightly, enough for the powers that be to focus on expansion, construction and the economic benefits such moves would bring. The frequent ‘offerings’ made to the Feykind, traditionally of quality local produce like honey and bread, had reduced. Although High Peaks, a modest town, was likely enjoying its highest level of prosperity at the moment, people had been starting to balk at the idea of throwing away the sweat off their brow in appeasement to Feykind. That is not to say that that people were unafraid of the Fey, not at all; it was just that people believed if they steeled themselves and soldiered on, humanity would inevitably dominate the region.

 The dwarves were rumored to inhabit deep caves in the wilds to the west of town, no one ventured there except for miners, who went gingerly and only harvested external outcroppings of ore. That is, besides the occasional traveler foolish or crazy enough to traverse the region. At the back of the mind of every single townsman was the primal fear that retaliation would be wrought upon them for their audacity, by an unseen foe.

Today, Remus mused, that fear had been verified. Two dozen cattle dead. The cost and loss to the town would be quite major, many farmers and land holders would have lost much of their cattle stock. Remus went inside to find his shovel. This could be fixed… let the peasants talk, he would do the practical thing and bury the poor critters before they rotted. Remus took a swig of water from his bucket, and leaned on his kitchen table… he mused with disgust about the attitudes of the townspeople towards the dwarves. They were frightened of them, hated them, yet were in awe of them. They could be understood, these dwarves, strange as they were. All of Feykind could be. They had mysterious powers, but even those could be understood and quantified if one tried. Remus gingerly walked towards the front yard, confident but reluctant to face the peasants. The hate towards the dwarves could be justified, but those that did hate them, did so because they hated everything that was different. Those same people held a distrust of Remus for the same reason. If these dwarves were of evil intent, that did not mean every external influence was harmful, every foreign practice demonic.

Remus balanced his shovel against the wall of his cabin, and began the arduous and grotesque task of lifting and carrying the animal corpses. He would carry them to the edge of his land, and then dig a large grave hole. As he hefted a sheep, his brow was creased in worry thinking about how long it would take him to complete this clean-up. There was still a gaggle of townspeople crying, shouting and pointing at him, only a few had brought shovels to help in his effort. Their assistance was not goodwill, he knew, but pragmatism. Nobody needed to experience the