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  Altered Creatures Epic Fantasy Adventures

  Book 3 of the Thorik Dain Series

  Essence of Gluic

  Historical Date 4.0650.0622

  (4th Age, 650th Year, 6th Month, 22nd Day)

  After reading this novel, you’ll want to read the 4th story of the series!

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  Copyright © 2010 by Anthony G. Wedgeworth

  Published by Anthony G. Wedgeworth

  Artwork by Frederick L. Wedgeworth

  ISBN: 978-0-9859159-4-0

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010910873

  Altered Creatures Epic Fantasy Adventures

  Historical Date 4.0650.0622

  Thorik Dain Series, Book 3, Revision 1.2, Essence of Gluic

  www.AlteredCreatures.com

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No Thrashers or Chuttlebeast were harmed in the making of this book.

  Dedication:

  I dedicate this book to all the fans of this series who keep pushing me to tell them more by finishing the next book

  Acknowledgments:

  Everyone who took the time to read my manuscript and help me work out the details and issues. These include JoAnn Cegon, Alexander Wedgeworth, Tami Wedgeworth, Jonathan O’Brien, Pat Mulhern, Jacob Vrieze, Darci Knapp, Josh Crawford, Author Fred Waiss, freelance journalist & Author Lyle Ernst, and my dear friend and business mentor Dennis Shurson. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Prologue

  Thorik’s Log: June 22nd of the 650th year.

  Our attempt to stop Darkmere from sacrificing Ambrosius’ son, Ericc, at the Temple of Surod has ended in tragedy. It was far worse than I could have expected and more distressing than just the temple crumbling down upon the feuding parties. The soul of my grandmother, Gluic, has been captured inside an enchanted dagger. In addition, my arm was broken during our battle, but our new companion, Bryus Grum, used one of his spells to repair it. The only positive outcome of this venture is that the relationship between Avanda and me is finally on the mend. However, I’m concerned about Bryus teaching her magic and what she will do with such powers. Nevertheless, we require his talents to find the spell, which will free Gluic.

  Chapter 1

  End of the line

  “She’s dead, Thorik!” Brimmelle’s fists shook uncontrollably. “My mother is dead because she followed your lead. This is all your fault,” he accused his nephew.

  Thorik lifted the dagger, Varacon, out toward his uncle. The small dagger had multiple blades that twisted to a sharp point. Two red gems in the hilt swirled from beneath their surface and gave off a slight glow. “No, she’s not. Gluic has been captured inside this spellbound dagger.”

  “I saw her lying on the floor, dead. Her lifeblood was pouring from her body. Her eyes had rolled back into her head,” Brimmelle shouted. “You told me Grewen would save her!” He firmly pointed at the giant who accompanied them.

  Grewen lowered his eyes at the verbal jab, even though the giant Mognin stood nearly three times the height of Brimmelle, he came across as much less threatening than his size would indicate.

  “There wasn’t time. The ceiling collapsed and crushed her body.” Thorik stepped between Brimmelle and his giant friend, Grewen. “Uncle, you must understand that her body has gone, but we’ve saved her essence.”

  “Says who? Who knows this to be true?”

  “Bryus Grum,” Thorik replied. “Haven’t you been listening to him? He’s been explaining this ever since we left the temple.”

  “You trust this buffoon?” Brimmelle jerked his head toward a lanky man in old torn clothes. “We don’t even know him. For all we know, he could be working for Darkmere.”

  “I seriously doubt that, seeing that he was Darkmere’s prisoner when we arrived. We even heard the Dark Lord give the order to kill Bryus.”

  “Sounds like one of Darkmere’s tricks to fool us.”

  “Trick us?” Thorik was perplexed at the thought. “Darkmere doesn’t care about us. He seeks revenge on Ambrosius and his family for preventing his conquest of Terra Australis. He cares not of Nums from Farbank and a few traveling companions.”

  Brimmelle scoffed. “He’s been using us to get to Ambrosius, his son, and whoever else he wishes to destroy.”

  Thorik shook his head. “Darkmere didn’t even know we were going to be showing up at the temple. In fact, we wouldn’t have gone there at all if it hadn’t been for our attempt to prevent Avanda from reaching the temple to save Ericc. How could he have prepared for such unpredictable actions?”

  Brimmelle scowled at Avanda, who was a few years younger than Thorik. “That’s very true. She’s constantly out of control.”

  Thorik watched Avanda recoil from Brimmelle’s threatening posture. “Hold on, Uncle. This is not about Avanda, nor is it about Grewen or Bryus. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”

  Brimmelle stepped up close to his nephew and placed his face inches from the young man. “I do.” The cold harsh words made it clear to Thorik that his uncle, Fir Brimmelle Riddlewood the Seventh, the spiritual leader of their community of Farbank, had reached his limit.

  Thorik knew that ever since they had left their small village of Farbank, Brimmelle had begrudgingly followed him in an effort to protect his mother, Gluic, from harm. But now that she was gone, his uncle had no incentive to follow him one step further.

  Thorik’s initial reaction was to back down. Years of training to yield to Fir Brimmelle influenced his judgment. However, this time he composed himself and stood straight and firm against his uncle’s stance.

  The two stood on the rocky mountain, halfway between the demolished Temple of Surod high above them and the base of the Go’ta Gorge. The bridge had been destroyed, so they were forced to travel down to the bottom of the gorge. Subterranean vent holes slowly released clouds of steam, which lifted just over their heads before dispersing out into a ceiling of fog-like clouds.

  Grewen, Bryus, and the young girl, Avanda, stood nearby and watched the altercation. Bryus’ intense curiosity was focused on Thorik’s dagger instead of the two arguing Nums. His facial tic pulled his cheek back and his eye closed. It had been doing so ever since being attacked by Darkmere’s minion. Bryus’ own magic could not prevent it from pulling uncontrollably on his face.

  Grewen shook his massive head in disappointment at Thorik and Brimmelle’s struggle to get along. Clasping his hands together, each one half the size of Thorik, the giant sighed at the sight before him.

  Avanda stepped forward and spoke with concern and respect in her voice. “Please Fir Brimmelle, don’t blame Thorik. It was my fault as much as it was his.” The swirling dark lines on her skin, also known as soul-markings, faded in color as she held her breath waiting for Brimmelle’s response.

  Brimmelle’s deep stare never left T
horik’s eyes.

  Standing his ground, Thorik waited for his uncle to speak.

  Fir Brimmelle took in a deep breath before responding. “We left Farbank with six Nums. Emilen betrayed us, Wess died trying to save Avanda, and now my mother, your grandmother, is dead.” His tone was dry and intense. “I’m heading back to Farbank with Avanda. You are no longer welcome there. Do not return.”

  Thorik’s eyes gave away his heartache. Brimmelle had previously taken away his responsibilities as one of the village’s hunters. He had also threatened to strip his spiritual title ‘Sec’ from his name, which would bring shame to him upon returning. However, to forbid the younger Num from returning to the only home he had ever known was beyond Thorik’s belief.

  “No!” Tears instantly filled Avanda’s eyes. She lunged forward and grabbed onto Thorik’s arm as though he was being torn away. “I won’t return without him.”

  Thorik continued to stand strong with his face just inches from his uncle’s. “Gluic is still with us.” He held up the dagger near their faces to visualize his point. “We can still save her.”

  “Stop it!” Brimmelle grabbed the dagger from Thorik and backed away several steps. “This is a dagger, not a living being!”

  “Brimmelle.” Thorik’s voice vibrated with great fear. “Please…hand me the dagger, Varacon.”

  “No. You need to stop believing these illicit tales of the supernatural.” Brimmelle waved the dagger about as he talked. “The Mountain King gave us the words to follow and nowhere did he sanction such nonsense.”

  Thorik’s right hand moved out into a begging position. “Please, Brimmelle. Don’t wave that about. It was a virgin dagger before striking Granna Gluic. If it strikes again, we may lose her!”

  “Hogwash!” Brimmelle claimed, still waving it about. “These are the kind of fables which have caused you to forget your roots and your faith.”

  Watching the dagger nearly slap the side of a boulder, Thorik panicked. “In the name of the Mountain King and everything he stands for, give me that dagger before you kill my grandmother!”

  Brimmelle was shocked. “How dare you use the King’s name to serve your personal needs.” With that, he purposely slapped the side of the boulder with the dagger, causing sparks to fly from its blades.

  “NO!” shouted everyone as they all rushed toward Brimmelle. But a second slap of the weapon hit before Thorik was able to leap across and knock his uncle to the ground.

  Avanda was the next to jump on as she grappled Fir Brimmelle for the dagger. The three Nums stumbled in their reaching for the item and they began to tumble down the mountainside. Cooking tools and travel gear flew from Thorik’s pack, as well as his spear and his wooden coffer. Avanda’s entire pack was ripped from her body as the Nums barreled in a tangled mess down the steep incline.

  Bryus yelled at the sight. “Be careful!” The thin old man ran quickly after them before stopping at Thorik’s spear. Picking it up, he quickly inspected it for damage with his brown eye and then his blue one. “Are you damaged?” he asked the weapon as he brushed the dirt from it.

  Grewen lumbered past Bryus and attempted to follow the trio, but couldn’t keep up with the out of control Nums, who whirled and bounced off boulders and loose rocks until they rolled into one of the vent holes and out of view.

  Grewen trudged his large bulky mass toward the small entrance as quickly as his body would allow him. He wasn’t a fast runner on a flat surface, let alone down a mountainside.

  Once he arrived, he quickly peered over the brim of the hole to find Brimmelle partially blocking the entrance. He had hit his head and been knocked out from a short fall to a small ledge as his legs spanned the hole, resting on the far wall. The enchanted dagger was still firmly in his hand, but the other two Nums were nowhere to be seen.

  Straddling the steaming vent hole, Grewen leaned over and used his oversized dual-thumbed hand to pluck Brimmelle off the ledge and set him on safe ground before returning to the hole.

  “Hello?” Grewen yelled into the vent, hoping the other two Nums had only fallen to a lower ledge.

  There was no answer.

  Grewen cupped his hands on both sides of his mouth and called a second time down into the vent hole. “Can you hear me?” Again and again he tried but the giant’s tiny ears couldn’t hear any response.

  “Good gracious.” Bryus eventually approached Grewen who was now lying on the ground reaching deep into the hole. “Did you see what jeopardy they put the Spear of Rummon into?” He spied the dagger still clutched by Brimmelle, “as well as Varacon.”

  “Right now we have more important matters to deal with,” Grewen replied.

  “Surely you jest,” Bryus laughed as he held up the spear. “Do you realize the sacrifices that were made to create such a finely crafted piece of art?”

  “They pale in comparison to one of these Nums’ lives.” Grewen strained to reach his hand deeper into the dark vent in order to feel around.

  “Nonsense.” Bryus walked over and pulled the dagger from Brimmelle’s hand. “The Varacon dagger was forged out of love. A tragic story of two people who were destined to be one but only in death did they achieve this.” Holding the dagger in front of his own face, he admired it. His cheek twitched a few times as he gazed at the sight. “We have two of the most amazing enchanted items ever created, and you’re worried about Nums.”

  “Your lack of humanity toward the living is amazing.” Grewen continued to stretch his arm as far as he could. “Your precious weapons are safe. Now, how about helping me save Thorik and Avanda?”

  Bryus nodded in agreement and waved a hand, shooing Grewen out of the way so he could look down. While the giant Mognin wedged himself out of the hole, the Alchemist stored his newly acquired items.

  Kneeling next to Brimmelle, Bryus began searching through all of the Nums pouches until he found some fishing line and a hard nut. He quickly removed the items and walked over to Grewen who had finished rolling the final way out of the hole. “Slap me up.” He said to the Mognin.

  Grewen was confused. “What’s that?”

  “You know, back side of the head. Give her a tap.” Bryus then turned his back to Grewen and began tying a knot into the fishing line.

  Grewen blinked a few times, unsure the reason for the request. “I don’t believe in hurting others.”

  “Just a nice solid tap. Nothing bone-crushing. Perhaps a nice thump on the back side.”

  “But I-”

  “Come on you big lug, do you want my help or not?” Bryus placed the nut in his teeth, cupped his hands below his chin to catch the nut pieces and then waited.

  Hesitant, Grewen finally reached over with his massive hand and thumped Bryus on the back of his head.

  Bryus’ head violently snapped forward. His teeth slammed shut, crushing the nut into hundreds of small pieces. At the same time, the jolt from the powerful thump caused his left eye to pop out of its socket, break from the skin that held it, and flop into his hand.

  Bryus screamed in pain as he turned to show the Mognin what damage he had done. “Why so hard?” he yelled. “I said a tap!”

  A chilling wave rode up Grewen’s back as he realized what he had done. The idea of purposely hitting someone and then knocking their eyeball out was horrifying. “Bryus, stand still, we’ll figure a way to fix this.”

  Bryus held his brown eye out in front of him with straight arms. “How? How can you fix this? What have you done to me?”

  “I’m sorry, Bryus. I didn’t realize I hit you that hard.”

  “Oh, come now, I’ve had little puffins hit harder than that.” Bryus didn’t attempt to hide his sarcastic tone.

  Perplexed at the comment, Grewen stopped suddenly as he tried to understand what was going on.

  Bryus started laughing at Grewen’s bewildered facial expressions. “What a ruse.” The man chuckled again before chewing up the nut pieces in his mouth and swallowing with a sigh of enjoyment.

  Then, ignoring the
giant, Bryus tied his detached eye onto the end of the fishing line. “Shall we have a look see?” His voice was back to his normal carefree tone.

  Dangling the line over the vent hole, the eyeball twisted and turned as it prepared to see what was below. A patch of muscles still clung to the backside of the eye and hung limply below. Bryus proceeded to slowly lower his own eye into the hole. “I can see a second shelf below.”

  “Are they on it?” Grewen asked.

  “No.” The Alchemist continued to feed more length to the line.

  It was a long and slow process as Bryus had difficulty seeing out of his detached eye in the thick mist of the vent. But eventually he was able to find something. “Ah, there it is. Right there.” He then gave a sigh of closure.

  “What do you see?”

  Twirling up the line quickly, Bryus was very quiet about what he saw. Once fully removed from the vent, he untied the knot on the line to free his eye, and then carefully placed it back into his eye socket.

  “Well? Did you find them?” Grewen asked.

  A twitch pulled Bryus’ cheek to the side. “No.”

  “Then what did you see?”

  “The mark.” He struggled to get his eye in straight.

  “What kind of mark?”

  Resolving his eye corrections, he chuckled at the Mognin. “Do you not know where we are? We are standing above the underworld, Della Estovia. You know, where the dead roam. The demon Bakalor’s realm.” His laugh had turned slightly insane in tone. “Bakalor’s mark. Who else would mark his territory with the skulls of the ancient Notarians?”

  Grewen sat quiet at first as he began to plan. “I doubt that Bakalor would even know they have entered his domain. There is still time.”

  “Time? Did you get thumped on the head as well? Bakalor doesn’t take kindly to visitors from the surface. No one has ever entered his lair and returned to be with the living. They’re gone. There is no escape for them.”

  Chapter 2

  Della Estovia