Erich’s Plea
Book One of The Witchcraft Wars
By
Tracey Alley
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PUBLISHED BY:
Erich’s Plea: Book One of The Witchcraft Wars
Copyright © 2013 by Tracey L. Ali
Dedication
This book is dedicated with much love to my dad, Graham Martin, who taught me the value of dreams.... and to my mum, Janet, who gave me the means to make my dreams come true.
I would also like to give thanks to the people who helped make this book a reality; Andrew Farrawell, Scott Jensson, Rachel and Andrew Lennox-Gordon, John Rittmeir, and Matthew Old... they helped to bring my characters alive.
I also have a very special word of thanks to the extremely talented Geoff Armstrong who did all the interior artwork for Erich’s Plea – through Geoff’s hard word, under pressure; I was finally able to meet my characters face to face.
The Dream
Slade could feel the warmth of the rising sun on his face. The subtle scent of the sacred oak trees filled the air. All around him was the slow chanting of the druids who made this forest their home.
Opening his eyes Slade saw his druidic mentor standing before him, a guide to this sunrise initiation ceremony. Karel’s wise, heavily lined face was hidden by the coarse linen cowl he wore but Slade could sense the gentle smile underneath the rhythmic chanting.
Karel had once been a mercenary soldier, selling his skill with a blade to the highest bidder. Then Karel had turned his back on his former profession and joined the ranks of those who served the gentle woodland goddess Suelta. After years of service he was now her high priest and Archdruid of the Sacred Grove.
The other male and female members of the Grove, who represented virtually every race in The Kingdoms, formed a chanting circle around Slade and Karel as they welcomed Slade into their circle. Once the ritual was completed Slade would be presented with the druidic ring with its wide, silver band engraved with oak leaves and begin his new life.
Slade felt as though his heart would burst with pride. Joining the druids of the Sacred Grove had been his dream for more than a year. Finally he had succeeded and it was a triumph he had earned solely on his own merits, owing nothing to his birth.
From this day on Slade would renounce his former life. He would give up the right to continue the training he had begun with the warrior-monks of the Black Lotus and dedicate his life instead to serving Suelta. Slade’s decision involved more than just giving up an old profession. He had also given up his name and his birthright. No longer would he be known as Einreich Gudmundson. No longer would he be the Crown Prince of the vast northern kingdom of Saxenburg. He would no longer be Erich’s designated heir, in spite of his position as a second son, to the centuries old High Throne.
Slade knew he had disappointed his father, High King Erich, in his decision to leave court. Nevertheless his father had allowed it, would even have attended this ceremony had protocol allowed. Knowing he had hurt his father pained Slade deeply but he knew it was the right decision for him. Slade wanted nothing more than a life free from the intrigues and pressures of his father’s court.
Suddenly a deep shadow filled the grove and a bluish tinted light dappled the ground. It was as though the Sapphire moon were beginning its ascent instead of the fiery sun.
Startled Slade looked up at the sky only to find it clear and cloudless; the deep shadow caused instead by a huge black dragon in flight. The giant creature had a wingspan easily twenty feet across, its’ body more than twice that amount including the long tail, serpentine neck and huge wedge-shaped head. Slade’s breath caught in his throat, the beast above was magnificent, indescribably beautiful.
Slade found himself falling to his knees as he gazed in wonder at the immense dragon, inexplicably hanging stationary in the air. Slade wondered what a dragon, and a black dragon at that, was doing so far south? Traditionally they were found only in the far north of The Northern Badlands.
Slade looked up towards his mentor, certain that Karel would have some explanation of this incredible sight. Instead Slade was horrified to see Karel had somehow grown or expanded, towering above Slade and his fellow druids. Karel threw off the cowl, the material splitting as Karel continued to grow, and revealed the grotesque creature that he had become.
As Slade watched in growing horror and confusion the thing that had been Karel still retained his humanoid shape but everything else was now grossly distorted. He or it, Slade was no longer sure, looked a little like the ogres of the north, a bald oversized head on an incredibly strong and muscular body. Yet it also closely resembled the woodland trolls, having their tough, green tinged skin and elongated arms and legs.
The creature turned his back on Slade and faced directly into the rising sun. Slade was terrified, he knew none of this was natural or normal, and he did not understand what was happening. Then he heard his father’s voice fill the air. “Follow the Trunk, my son. Follow the Trunk. Only you can save me. Follow the Trunk. Save me, my son, only you can save me.” The voice faded to a whisper on the wind and all was dark.
Slade opened his eyes, as much as possible given the amount of swelling that had not yet receded from his most recent beating. As expected he saw only the flat, stone ceiling of his prison cell. Once again, he had been dreaming, but this dream had been unlike any of the others. Slade’s druidic initiation had taken place nearly five years ago, the ritual going as expected, with no unforeseen dragons or ghosts of his father’s voice.
This dream had possessed an otherworldly quality to it that Slade had never before experienced. It felt as though his father were truly trying to communicate with him. Somehow Slade sensed the essence of the dream was true, but he had no idea how his father could have come to him in his dreams. Even though he felt convicted of the dream’s truth, Slade could not imagine why his father should be in need of rescue. Even more enigmatic was his father’s dream instruction to ‘Follow the Trunk’. What could that possibly mean?
Diablis Prison
Gingerly Slade eased himself into a sitting position on the small pallet with its infested straw that served as a bed for him in this tiny prison cell. His eyes were still swollen almost shut and pain
accompanied every breath he took. Pain caused, Slade was certain, by at least one, if not more broken ribs.
Despite his growing certainty that his beloved father was in some kind of trouble, Slade couldn’t help but wonder how any trouble his father might be in could possibly be worse than his own current predicament.
It had been a little over two months now since he had last seen the sun. Travelling through the wilderness that made up the bulk of the Kingdom of Brikenwald, he had been ambushed and arrested before a speedy trial saw him convicted as a spy. It was obvious that the charge was a ridiculous fabrication, but the Kingdom of Brikenwald had no allegiance to any of the other Kingdoms of Kaynos and so anyone within its’ boundaries was subject to their laws, even if they were patently obviously false accusations. Initially Slade had not been terribly concerned, convinced he would be able to escape sooner rather than later.
Unfortunately the opportunity had not presented itself before he had been placed in the bowels of a ship headed for this wicked island prison in Ixlan. Once on board any attempted escape was impossible. Not only was the distance required to reach the shore too far for him to swim, but he had also discovered to his dismay that when travelling the rough Eastern Sea, he suffered from debilitating seasickness.
Two months ago he had arrived at Ixlan’s Diablis prison complex and
been taken to this subterranean dungeon with its smooth stone walls, mazes of corridors, little or no lighting and the constant smell of death, blood, waste and decay in his nostrils. He had been alternatively beaten and tortured for hours on a daily basis. His own screams blending with the cries, screams and moans of the other, unseen, sufferers in Diablis's nightmarish torture chambers.
The horrors here were so great that even the rats eschewed Diablis, although the fleas showed no similar scruples and were an additional constant torment. His body was covered head to toe with tiny bites from the multitudes of the awful creatures. Slade would not have believed it was possible for a place like Diablis prison to exist if he had not seen it with his own eyes. It well deserved its evil reputation.
Diablis also had a reputation for being inescapable; no