The Rogue Elf of Urlas- Songs of Wrath Read online

  Contents

  The Rogue Elf of Urlas

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  Forward to The Rogue Elf of Urlas: Songs of Wrath

  Necromancer's Moon- Half-Elf Chronicles Book Four

  Chapter 1 Acolyte

  Chapter 2 The Five

  Chapter 3 Necromancer and the Half-Elf

  Chapter 4 Fadabrin

  Chapter 5 One Rule

  Chapter 6 Drik Land

  Chapter 7 Sea Rats

  Chapter 8 Water Temple

  Chapter 9 Leviathan

  Chapter 10 Tower of Old

  Chapter11 The Priestess

  Chapter 12 Mortua

  Bonus content #1

  Wrath of the Half-Elves Half-Elf Chronicles Book Five

  Map of the Desert of Lost Sands including Fadabrin and the Drean Cities

  Chapter 1 Dimming Jewel

  Chapter 2 The Rocks of Fadabrin

  Chapter 3 Fleeting Moments

  Chapter 4 Blood of Thousands

  Chapter 5 Ravens Screeching

  Chapter 6 Wastelands

  Chapter 7 Blood Magic

  Chapter 8 Crystal City

  Chapter 9 Darkness of Minoa

  Chapter 10 Shattering Death

  Chapter 11 Dwemhar Darkening

  Chapter 12 Eh-Rin

  Bonus content #2

  The Last Dwemhar

  Chapter 1 Ice

  Chapter 2 Not As Before

  Chapter 3 Ensnared

  Chapter 4 All That No Longer Remains

  Chapter 5 Sanctum of Meredaas

  Chapter 6 Lessons of Old

  Chapter 7 Dragon Scream

  Chapter 8 Glowing Orb

  Chapter 9 Return to a Memory

  Chapter 10 Ascension

  Chapter 11 Awakening

  Chapter 12 Bane

  Chapter 13 The Lost

  Chapter 14 Icy Sanctuary

  Bonus content #3

  Author's Note for the Songs of Wrath Boxset

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  Copyright

  The Rogue Elf of Urlas

  (Songs of Wrath Trilogy)

  Half-Elf Chronicles Books Four, Five, and Six

  ©2019 J.T. Williams

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  Forward to The Rogue Elf of Urlas: Songs of Wrath

  First off, you’ve taken a step out of the muck and blood of the Riverlands to continue on with the story. I know the ending of Shadow of the Orc Star was not a happy one but the vile betrayal by the Grand Protectorate is something that doomed many and plays into this next trilogy. Going south you’ll come across many strange and odd circumstances… wizards, werewolves, sea-monsters, the undead… and a crazy twist to it all…

  May the gods of the North watch over you,

  -J.T. Williams

  Necromancer’s Curse

  Half-Elf Chronicles Book Four

  ©2019 J.T. Williams

  Chapter 1 Acolyte

  The voice had spoken. The voice still spoke. The voice tormented him.

  Kealin trudged down a rocky path sparsely surrounded by trees, into hills that rolled into rockier land. Ruak and Brethor were on either side of him, and Jesia was on point.

  He felt dizzy. But he was not merely tired. Since the battle at Demonhead, they had slept and foraged from within the endless woods but Kealin’s sleep had been uneasy, and in his mind, he heard a voice. It was faint. It was old. It was evil.

  “Kealin!” Brethor said.

  His voice startled him, and he looked up. “What?”

  “You were staring out again.”

  The others had stopped as well. Ruak gave him a concerned glare, and Jesia brought him one of her few remaining potions.

  “Drink,” she said, pushing the bottled blue substance to him.

  “I am fine; I don’t need any more magic drinks.”

  Brethor pushed a water sack to him. “Then drink this. You haven’t eaten in three days, and I haven’t seen you drink in more than that.”

  He took the water and pushed it to his lips. In truth, he was famished and could use a meal, but he was tormented by the images in his mind. He kept seeing his elder brother die over and over. Once at the temple of Dimn, and then again by the blades of the legionnaires. He then could see Vakron-Tur shaking his head in disbelief. But it was done. Vakron-Tur and his orc army were defeated, and the world was as it should be. That was what he kept saying to himself. Death haunted him, and with every thought of death, he felt he could feel Vankou, the god of death, staring at him.

  It was a cold feeling, an empty sadness that made him dread closing his eyes. How could he ever find comfort with the omnipresence of death upon him?

  A shrill call split the air, and Ruak jumped up. “My friend!”

  Kealin spotted an owl coming from the north. It was large and gray but did not fly with grace. As it neared, it flapped its wings to slow and then collapsed as it approached Ruak.

  The elf knelt down to the bird and pulled a branch from its talons.

  Kealin barely remembered the owl from the night he had met the Scions. The last he had seen this bird, it was sitting on a perch near the Scion camp.

  “Is the owl well?” Brethor asked.

  Ruak gave a slow nod. “He is tired but not injured. I believe he has toiled long to bring this news to us.”

  “Is there a message? Has someone survived and is seeking aid?” Jesia asked.

  He held the branch up. It was dark green but partially burned. There was blood on one end.

  “The Grand Protectorate has reached my lands. I take it my people will fight until the end. But I cannot say when that end will be. We lost so many in the valley; I cannot imagine too many are left to defend.”

  Jesia poured one of her potions into the owl’s mouth, and it seemed to invigorate and flap its wings.

  “Good, Sitra!”

  “Sitra?” Brethor asked.

  “Sitra, my owl and my friend, and one of the last of that tied to my people in the North.”

  The owl took to the sky as Jesia corked her potion back. Kealin looked up at her, and they locked eyes.

  He stared at her for some time. He could see something beyond her, something that gave him hope. He smiled, and she returned it.

  As Sitra flew above them, they continued in the direction they had been beckoned before.
Kealin had seen the image three times now, and each time, it directed them in their direction of travel. The ground was turning green in more places, and they soon crossed over a wooden bridge where a swift-moving stream flowed into a valley spreading out before them. There was a village ahead.

  “Finally, something besides wood and rock. Perhaps they have an inn?” Jesia questioned.

  It was a small village and more of a farming community than anything. But there was something ahead, and the smoke rising up was much more than mere cooking fires.

  The distinct sound of screaming flowed toward them in the wind.

  Ruak drew his sword, but Brethor put his hand on his chest.

  “We are strangers here, elf. We must tread carefully.”

  “No time for that,” Ruak said. ”

  Kealin drew his blades as well.

  The one sword felt strange to him. His brother’s blade, which had been his hands for many years, was lighter than the Dwemhar blade. He saw his brother’s face, and he shook it from thought.

  He had to focus.

  Brethor drew his sword, now approaching the village at a quick walk.

  There was a body ahead, and Ruak ran forward, kneeling down at the victim.

  “What has attacked him?” Jesia asked.

  Kealin noticed the man had multiple scratches and a bite mark of some kind that glowed with a greenish hue.

  “Vampire?” Brethor asked.

  “No, vampires do not leave marks this . . . sloppy.”

  There was another scream, and this one was closer and younger.

  A child came running around the edge of one of the wooden houses. His face was white, and tears flowed down his cheeks. Just behind him, a blackened form running on all fours was in pursuit. From its eyes, a greenish glow whipped off its face like flames.

  Jesia pointed her staff and shot a blast of fire toward it. The fire did nothing, and it ran faster. The child ran to Brethor, who swung the boy behind him. Ruak ran forward, with Kealin just behind him. With a thrust of his blade, the Scion stopped the creature in its run. The creature stood up, looking at him. It was a man, but its face was of decay and bone. Its body had a stench beyond death, and it hissed loudly as the elven blade seared its already blackened flesh.

  Kealin stabbed his Urlas blade into its body, and it collapsed. “What is this?” Kealin asked.

  “The dead summoned to our realm again,” Ruak said. “But where there is one, there will be others. Spread out, and Jesia, fire magic is no good. Freeze them and then use your blade.”

  Brethor knelt down to the boy. “Stay here, lad. Do not move from this spot.”

  They advanced into the village. The dead were everywhere. Aside from bodies there were overturned pots, partially burning houses, but the victims’ belongings were left just as they were.

  “What has happened here? Were they raided for supplies?” Jesia asked.

  “No, it doesn’t look like it. It was something else,” Brethor guessed.

  The village itself was simple enough. In total, there were no more than fifteen buildings, and a river stream was diverted into a raised bed growing vegetables in the harsh rocky climate.

  “I do not understand this,” Ruak began. “One of the undead but no others. To have a single one and no others must mean that—”

  “The one responsible is here,” a voice said from behind them.

  Kealin and Brethor jerked to look behind them to find a woman with dark black hair. She wore tight fitting leather and grasped a silver staff with a black orb at its tip. She laughed as she pointed her staff at a corpse away from them. A rush of green energy surged forward, enveloping the corpse. In a few moments, the body began to rise. It was a woman. The reincarnated form began arching her back and then stood up with a hiss. Her eye sockets became as green flames, and she wailed. She then ran to the side of the woman with the staff. The woman stroked the undead creation’s hair.

  “My name is Veora, acolyte of the most high priestess of the Curved Moon.”

  “If you serve death, then you serve Vankou,” Kealin stated to her. His hand began to slightly shake. He saw the image of the tower in the Glacial Seas and could hear the music playing in his mind.

  “No, dear elf. Though the one you speak of is lord of the passing rites and a god, all the same, I practice the art of returning life to that otherwise taken.” She smiled and tapped her staff on her summoned creature. There was a flash, and it turned to dust.

  “I also can complete their passing. To remain within your bones until time grinds you to dust is a purgatory unlike any other. Just as with all magic, there must be a balance. I practice but one side of the balance.”

  Kealin worked to stop his shaking, and she smiled at him, making his nervousness about her worse. He closed his eyes and attempted to calm himself when he heard the voice again.

  You must come to the five. He wondered how Veora fit into this.

  “So what happened to this village?” asked Brethor.

  Veora stared at Brethor and then smiled. “To perfect an art, one must practice. To practice my art, some must die.”

  There was a flash of light behind them, and they turned to see multiple corpses turned to green grass. The young boy who had run to Brethor now walked with another. This was a man. He was garbed in a green tunic and had a glowing wooden staff in his right hand.

  “How wonderful an occurrence, that cleric from two days ago,” Veora said.

  “Necromancer! You must surrender to the clerics. You are guilty of greater that mere summonings.” The man looked at Kealin and the others.

  “You four look rough. I offer you rest with me. Just come from that vile summoner’s presence.”

  Ruak raised his hand, and his owl landed on his arm. He brushed its plumage and looked at both the man and Veora.

  “We seek something particular and care little of your quarrel. The five. We seek the five.”

  The man gulped. “The five are no more. The archwizard is missing. You cannot find them, and to do so would put you against the will of those who uphold the law. I am a cleric of the Life Temple in Fadabrin. We have taken over all responsibilities within the city. If you sought the five, you seek me. I will—”

  “You will what?” shouted Veora. “Take them to the city? You are a disgrace to the archwizard!”

  “You are not one to speak of it! Necromancy is evil and will never be accepted again.”

  “Necromancy is the true path of all magic, cleric.”

  The man pointed his staff toward Brethor and Jesia. He then moved toward Ruak and Kealin. “I can protect you from her and all she brings. I will not allow her to continue this.”

  In a flash of gold light, the cleric released a blast of magic from his staff that sizzled as it flew toward Veora. The necromancer placed her hands on her staff, pushing forward a black shield that blocked the blast. She stomped the ground, and the earth erupted with several hands that rushed underneath the cleric, lifting him up into the air. The cleric’s attack failed, and in a blast of green fire, large flaming crystals pierced the man, sending a wave of cold air outward. The man’s staff fell to the ground in several pieces, and when the dust settled, the man was dead.

  Brethor ran to where the man was and found the lifeless arm of the boy.

  “Look what you’ve done!” he shouted.

  Veora walked toward the corpse of the boy and placed her staff on him. He became as dust.

  “He will be happier this way. I killed his mother earlier. If you are who seeks the five, then I will take you to them. I had hoped that Vakron-Tur himself would be coming. I have been away from the circle for some time. I have sought a way to my priestess; perhaps that is why they call you each to us. They would not reveal themselves to just anyone. Come, this way.”

  As Veora began walking to the east, Ruak went to Kealin. Jesia and Brethor were just close enough to hear.

  “We must be mindful and remember that our understanding of happenings has been skewed. I do not
trust her, but we have few friends now.”

  Kealin sheathed his blades and walked behind the others. Mountains rolled on as far as he could see, and he could feel his sister. She wasn’t too far away. Or so he felt. He prayed the five, whoever they were, would have answers.

  Chapter 2 The Five

  Veora led them away from the now-abandoned village and down into a wooded valley that reached as far as Kealin could see. It was a tough path, and there were no roads. Gnarled roots and large stones riddled the path the necromancer led them down.

  “I have sensed great death,” Veora began. “There seems to be word of orcs, but I have not heard news of further events for some time.”

  “We were called by the five, as they are called,” Ruak said. “I would assume they would know of the events that spawned our coming?”

  She looked at him with a smile. “The four, you mean, for my priestess is missing. But yes, they know. I have not been welcome near them for some time. Necromancy is, I guess it could be said, a slightly unwelcome art.”

  “Killing random villages of people would make it less than preferred in the realm of magic,” Brethor said.

  “True,” Veora replied.

  Her answer surprised them.

  “Then why do it?” Jesia asked.

  “Why must you wear the robes of a dead archwizard?”

  “They were given to me.”

  “You bear no staff and wear a sword like a simpleton. What need do you have of such garments?”

  “I’m a Rusis.”

  Veora raised her eyebrows. “Well, that would explain some things. To answer your question, Rusis, it is because magic has been weakened in most of the land. An abomination has been set up in mountains to the east that severely limits the power of arcane arts. I am still a student attempting to reach the level of power of my master, so I must train.”

  “You are no student,” Ruak said.

  Veora stopped. “No?”

  “You brought a corpse from the earth into an undead form. Students of necromancy cannot do that. Elven archons who have toyed with necromancy say that shadowlings are the first creation. A student-level creation.”