The Scepter of Namiss
The Books of Braenyn 1
Copyright © 2012 by John Grover
Cover Art Copyright © 2012 Jonathan Banchick
https://banchickillustration.daportfolio.com/
All characters, events and descriptions in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead are the product of the author’s imagination and are purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any mean, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from John Grover.
Other Fantasy Titles by John Grover
The Books of Braenyn
The Scepter of Namiss
The Fallen Church of Ashburn
Family Bonds
Tarrow’s Tale
Duel on Mt Vapor-Coming Soon
Friend or Foe in a Broken Land-Coming Soon
The Urn of Orgo-Coming Soon
A Dish Served Cold –Coming Soon
Possessing the Grimstone
Knightshade: Perdition Bleeds-Coming Soon
Braenyn the elf stood in the inner sanctum of the crypt. Shafts of pale milk-white moonlight shimmered through grated windows in the corners of the musty room but it was not enough to illuminate the entire place. The dust of ages lying thick on the floor was undisturbed, even though the rotting wooden doors he passed through looked as if someone had tried to break their way out of here.
He surveyed the area with sword in hand, his grandfather’s sword, handed down to him through the generations, its hilt ornate with carvings of great serpents and runes of the Elven Gods. Sconces that lined the decayed walls remained unlit for centuries. Braenyn waved his hand, his eyes glowing white and, with the power that coursed through his blood, ignited them. The flames brought much needed light to the dank crypt.
Before him he noticed a couple of tombs. Encrusted in cobwebs and dust, their foundations were cracked with decay and moisture. There were carvings and inscriptions on them that he couldn’t decipher. He walked over and pulled one of the torches from the sconces, spider webs entangled it like tentacles and stretched across the room as Braenyn moved.
He bent to a tomb and saw lettering on the side, some of it faded over the years. It looked to be a hybrid of ancient human, Elven and Netherling language but he couldn’t quite read it.
A chill slithered up his spine and he shivered, even his studded leather armor was not enough to stifle the cold of this place. The smell of rot hung heavy in his nostrils. He walked around the perimeter of the tomb, examining every crevice well aware that traps might wait to spring upon an inexperienced rogue or thief. Braenyn was neither.
Satisfied, he placed his torch down and sheathed his sword. With both hands he pushed the tomb’s lid and attempted to open it but it would not budge. It felt as if it weighed a thousand tons. It would not open and he was much too weak to make the outcome any different. He thought about using magic but his people viewed it as a vile desecration to use magic on the dead or their places of rest, a curse upon those who did. Besides, he didn’t know any spells that would open tombs.
He eyed the second tomb…identical to the first and approached it to try his luck there. No. It too guarded its secrets well. Well, he thought, if the Scepter of Namiss was in one of those tombs he would have to find another way to get to it.
It was still a little soon however and he wasn’t even deep beneath the ground yet. It would hardly seem likely that the scepter would be this close to the outside world. These tombs were probably just guardians to the lower levels, used to ward off spirits and the living.
No…foolish tales for the children. He didn’t believe in such things. Dead guardians protecting crypts? Absurd. Now Black Hearts, Netherlings, Ogres, Coil worms, Shadow spiders-those were real things….real threats.
But he didn’t think he’d run into any here. Maybe a Netherling, but the crypt seemed to be deserted for a very long time. He was sure he was alone.
He picked up his torch and walked about the room, a set of stone steps waited at the back of it, he would have missed it if not for the torchlight he provided himself with. The light danced about the walls, casting shadows that moved and played tricks with his mind. He swore a shadow moved as if alive, whisking down the steps like a child at play. He shook the feeling off. He would not be spooked, nor frightened away from untold wealth and glory. The scepter waited.
He started down the stairs, dust ruffled in his wake while cobwebs clung to his face. His torchlight revealed fungus and mold growing like rashes all over the stone walls. Some fungus was known to have healing properties, but not this. Only glowing fungus had the power to heal.
The steps curled and twisted into the darkness…the pitch-black…the unknown. He stopped dead in his tracks as a sound caught his slender, pointed ears, a keen sense of hearing in all of his people. It came from behind him.
Footsteps behind…slow, dragging, shuffling. Something was on the steps. He looked back, and saw a form round the corner, chain armor jingled as steel scraped against stone.
He was no longer alone. Guardians? Rubbish…the dead could not harm him. Yet the only things back that way were the tombs.
The form grew closer. Braenyn drew his sword.
Six months earlier
He woke in the arms of his lover, Tarrow, the shape shifter from the hillside. It had been weeks since they were able to spend time together, Tarrow’s nomadic people having moved again.
Braenyn gave Tarrow one last kiss before rising from the animal skins and pine branches. He took a drink of water from the bowl in the corner of the tent and began dressing.
“You’re up early,” Tarrow whispered, lifting himself onto his elbows. “The light hasn’t even breached the mountains yet.”
Braenyn looked up, noticing the disappointment in Tarrow’s eyes. “I need to train if I’m going to start my quest when the moon grows full. That’s in just a few days. You can come watch me if you want.”
“Swordplay and magic don’t really thrill me. I like a more hands-on activity.”
“Oh, I know,” Braenyn said with a sly smile.
“Tell me again about this scepter.”
Braenyn sat on the drum he and Tarrow used many times to sing songs about their relationship, about their lives, and about their Gods, as different as those Gods were, and began his tale again. He knew how much Tarrow loved hearing him tell his stories.
“The fabled scepter is no fable, my love. It is made of pure gold and encrusted with priceless gemstones. It is more valuable then any treasure this side of the Coral mountains. With its value you could buy a kingdom. And legend tells that it grants wishes…whether it is true or not remains to be seen as no one has ever been able to liberate it. Forget the other quests I have braved. Emerald and sapphire baubles, rings of power, gauntlets of platinum, ruby crowns, gold nuggets, silver ore…they mean noting compared to the scepter. No adventurer has even come close to obtaining it.
“And how did you learn of its existence?”
“It was a night of chance and luck.” Braenyn lifted his right arm in grand gesture, reveling in his tales, captivating the admiration of Tarrow from the very beginning, having met him after his very first quest. “I was at a tavern in the human town of Dar. Ironically a bard was singing a boon I had never heard before--all about a fabled scepter. A drunk in the corner mumbled that he knew it existed, that his map told the way. He was ignored by everyone…except me.”
“As he stumbled out that night, I followed him, blending into the shadows and using my stealth skills to find his sleeping quarte
rs in a hollowed out tree and there, relieved him of his possessions. In a smelly, filth-ridden sack I found it--the map to the scepter, a description in some sort of mixture human and Elven writing, a warning and spell. It clearly showed the way, a perilous way indeed but where there’s a will…
Tarrow rose to his feet, covering his nakedness from the cold and walked to his lover. Their lips met. Tarrow sighed. “Perhaps too perilous?”
“Nonsense.”
“This is not just any quest Braenyn. The scepter rests among the dead. That is not to be taken lightly.”
“And what harm can the dead do to me?”
“My naïve love. You wouldn’t say that if you had done battle with a Wraith Lord as I had. I nearly escaped with my life.”
“I fear nothing dead….what is alive is what we must fear. Think of it, Tarrow. All of our dreams, anything we want. No longer living like paupers. No longer moving every time your people are attacked or persecuted as monsters. We can have a kingdom of our own. With an army and servants. Think of it.”
Tarrow paused a long moment, his gaze searching the tent, and then tracing every line in his elf’s adorable face. “Well then let me go with you. I can help keep you safe. My strength in battle is invaluable. As when I took the form of a Golem to chase off the brigands who jumped us last month.”
“No I must do this alone. It is a question of honor. Besides, I need someone to watch over our possessions and keep the home fires burning. I always look forward to returning to you when my quests are done. You are more rewarding then any gold or jewel I have won.”
They embraced.
“Now I’m off to train.” Braenyn took up his sword and left the tent.
The night of the full moon.
The stars twinkled strangely that night. A roaring campfire by Twilight Lake set them both aglow. The dark waters glistened with fairy light. Braenyn and Tarrow sat before one another. Twilight Lake could only be seen at night, by star or moonlight. In the day it was as if it didn’t even exist. They chose this spot to say their goodbyes because it was where they shared their first kiss.
“I love this place,” Tarrow remarked.
“I love you,” Braenyn said.
They embraced tightly. The stars appeared to dance in the night sky.
“Guard yourself,” Tarrow said as he ran his hand through the elf’s dark hair.
“I always do. Do not trouble yourself, I will return to you. I make this vow. Have I ever broken a vow before?”
Tarrow shook his head.
“Well then, I must be off if I want to get a good start before dawn.” Braenyn pressed his lips to his lover’s and lingered. The taste was sweet and intoxicating. It was tough pulling himself out of his Tarrow’s arms, but then again it always was. Stepping away from Tarrow, Braenyn whistled.
Heeding his master’s call a gorgeous tan horse with black spots galloped to the lakeshore. Windstar, Braenyn’s steed, came to a stop and waited.
“I will see you upon my return,” Braenyn said as he climbed upon Windstar’s back. “And then we will be rich beyond our dreams.”
There was a solemn moment between them until Braenyn clicked his heels and Windstar carried him across the horizon.