Hollow Man: Book I (Where Dragons Lie 1) Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction to Calasia

  Hollow Man - Book I

  Calasia

  Book II Synopsis

  Where Dragons Lie

  Book I

  Hollow Man

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions of it in any form whatsoever. For information or permissions requests please contact Richard R. Morrison from the website http://www.calasia.net/blog

  Cover and Calasia Logo Copyright protected.

  Cover and Calasia Logo designed and created by

  Petra Rudolf

  of

  http://www.dracoliche.de/

  Copyright © 2016 Richard R. Morrison

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9952229-0-8

  Where Dragons Lie

  Book I

  Hollow Man

  by

  Richard R. Morrison

  Dedicated to those who dare to

  Live the Dream.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank my daughter, Celina, for setting me on this journey, and my friends, starting with Kathryn Powers for her substantive and stylistic editing mastery, and mostly for being such a joy to work with, Doris Brown-Harrison for technical prowess and spirit, Sami Cokar for always finding a way to inject humor into our conversations, Petra Rudolf for her wonderful covers and contributions from her extensive experience in the genre, Pandi Ricciotti for her keen eye, her knowledge of weapons, and for being there when it mattered most, and all for succumbing to my pleas for beta-readers, and for providing me with well thought out critiques and helpful suggestions, and most of all, for the unconditional support.

  Thank you!

  Introduction

  to

  Calasia

  The Age of Kingdoms draws to a close as the southern races of Calasia extend their reach into the regions of Free Callibri, announcing the dawn of the Age of Fire. Follow the Chronicles of Calasia, beginning with, "Where Dragons Lie", a tale of tragedy and triumph, and the birth of a life long journey of personal definition for the Hollow Man.

  "Where Dragons Lie", is the first series in the continuing saga of stories chronicling events in the history of the world of Calasia. "Hollow Man", is not Calasia's first story, however it will serve as a starting point in depicting a series of events that move a world and its inhabitants to the brink of total destruction.

  Ride with the Knights of Almaria, follow the elves of Rothgar and the dwarves of the Gunnerdon Mountains. Fly with dragons. Soar through the skies of Calasia, experience a world rich in history and diversity. Witness the rise of wizards and their dark counter parts jostling for control over the looming threat of an unstoppable calamity. And try to understand the malevolence of an alien entity that steers two worlds into darkness.

  Calasia is the mother of elves and dwarves, of men and women, of might and magic, trolls and ogres, and all manner of creatures that walk, crawl, swim and fly. Calasia is alive, her soul the lifeblood of all things, good and evil alike.

  Calasia is the mother of dragons.

  Dragons have existed for so long that there is no memory of when they came to be. Dragons ruled this world for millions of years, taking from the land only what they needed to survive. They made their homes in the highest crags, and were one with the land, the sea, and the skies, natural creatures of magic. The dragons of old believed in the One, Father of the Gods, the Creator, who forged the world for them, supported on the branches of the Tree of Life, Yggdrasil. The dragons roamed free, and took what the world had to offer. They called their world, Calasia.

  They were masters of day and night, the greatest hunters over all. Steeped in tradition and honor, they took one mate for life. Dragons developed laws and social order. They separated into clans, and when the walking races sprung from the earth, dragons swore an oath never to interfere with their ways.

  Of the walkers, man was the most industrious, though shorter lived than most. Men lacked wisdom and foresight, and spread like ivy across the world. They killed and fought amongst themselves, always seeking more than they needed. Some grew in might and magic, dark orders, evil temptresses stealing the lifeblood from the earth, twisting it into something corrupt, tempting the fate of the gods, and mythical figures come to life.

  For the longest time, dragons remained loyal to the oath...

  There are many stories that weave through the tapestry of time on Calasia, however not all hold such significance as the ones you will experience here, as we come to see how Calasia is inexorably linked to Earth.

  Explore the Chronicles of Calasia, depicted in Kindle Short Reads and Box Sets.

  Where Dragons Lie

  Book I

  Hollow Man

  by

  Richard R. Morrison

  The screaming of dragons filled the void of his foggy memory. Wretched cries of anguish and pain beyond imagination echoed in his mind. Fleeting images of blood, and piercing pain from long thick needles pressed into his body, tortured his senses, until a radiant heat spread over his chest, and a blue glow lit the shadows of his nightmares.

  "What are we going to do with him, Zarrock?" a gruff voice asked through the fog.

  "Help him," answered a softer-toned one.

  "He's already been more trouble than he's worth. And there's something not right about him. That hole in his chest has healed faster than anything I've ever seen. I don't think even yer elf magic can heal a man that fast."

  "All the more reason to help him," the other voice said.

  Through a blurry mosaic of watery colors, he saw an elf leaning over him. Kind green eyes on a narrow, pale-skinned face greeted him. Thin red lips parted in a smile. Pointed ears poked through golden hair tied behind his head. Blinding bright rays of sunlight streaked through the kaleidoscope of green, orange, and red leaves of the trees overhead. He felt tears run down the sides of his face. The sounds of singing birds and running water became more apparent as his senses awakened.

  "Do not try to move. You have been grievously injured," the elf said, removing his hands from over his chest. The glow dimmed, and the heat receded.

  "Not that ye can tell," added a gruff, black-bearded, broad-shouldered dwarf, a head and a half shorter than the elf. The dwarf leaned in over him, then jumped back just as fast when their eyes met. He moved farther behind the elf and stammered, "Did ye ye see those eyes? I'm tellin' ye, we should throw this one back in the river. It ain't natural, him healin' like that, and them eyes don't belong to any young man I ever seen."

  "Yes," the elf said, softly. "He does appear to have carried much more of life than he should have. He has seen much pain." The elf reached for a pot sitting over the fire. He poured a steaming cup of broth and offered it to him. "This will help revive you. It is from the plant elmisder, from the hills of Rothgar. Drink."

  The injured man shivered, reached forth a trembling hand, and immediately became aware of the pain in his chest, just below his heart. He looked down to realize that he was lying on a blanket, propped up against a log. He was cold, wet, and barefoot. His jerkin was blood-soaked and had been torn open in front. There was a large purple scar on the left side of his chest. It was covered in a white balm. He drew in a shuddering breath but stopped short, unable to fill his lungs with air.

  He looked to the elf, and the nervous fidgeting dwarf standing behind him. They seemed quite concerned about something. The elf, Zarrock, glided across the pebbles soundlessly in his high, soft leather boots. He appeared young as elves do, his green eyes sharp an
d clear.

  The dwarf stomped across the glen in his steel-shod boots, wiped his hands on grease-stained, patched black denim trousers. Sun glinted off the heavy silver belt buckle he wore. The thick corded muscles of his arms bulged, as he squeezed the grip of a two-headed axe in his right hand.

  They were camped at the edge of a forest. Saddlepacks, bedrolls, and a metal shield with two crossed axes in the center rested beside a spotted brown pony and a handsome black stallion, both staring at him from the shade of the trees. Tall elms reached into the sky overhead. Broken rays of sunlight cut through the canopy of multicolored leaves and warmed the chill from his skin.

  "What happened?" he asked, startled by the sound of his own deep voice.

  "That is what we're wantin' to know, young fella," the dwarf said from behind the elf's shoulder. "We dragged yer scrawny butt out of the river this mornin'. So, what er ye fer? Why was ye shot? Out with it afore we throw ye back in." The dwarf raised his axe and slammed the shaft back into his other palm.

  "Mind yourself, Nailin Thunderfoot," Zarrock admonished. "Do you really think he means us harm?" He offered the cup once more. "Here, drink this."

  The fresh berry-like aroma tingled his senses. A slight taste was enough for him to eagerly slurp it all down. It was invigorating and immediately brought him strength, clearing his mind.

  He looked up as though seeing them for the first time. "You are Ljosalfar," he said to Zarrock, and then looked to Nailin. "And you, Dokkalfar."

  Nailin looked to Zarrock nervously. He gripped his axe in two hands. "What madness is this? He's an elf, and I'm a dwarf. The dwarf that's goin' to bash yer head in if you don't tell me what yer about."

  "Calm down, Nailin." Zarrock said, stepping back.

  "Calm down? Ye're tellin' me to calm down when this one comes bobbing his way down-river nearly dead just this mornin', and now he's quoting the names fer elves and dwarves that haven't been spoken out loud in a thousand years? Aye, ye want me to calm down." He stomped to the other side of the camp and picked something up, turned, and launched what appeared to be a spear. It whistled through the air and thumped into the ground beside him.

  He scurried back, sudden memories of piercing pain shooting through his body. He instinctively rubbed the scar on his chest. The spear was the source of his pain. He could almost still feel it sticking through his body, but he could not remember much else of what had happened to him. His memories were like smoke drifting on the wind: always so close, but flitting out of reach when he tried to close his hand around them.

  He searched his mind. Images of angry dark faces came at him from out of a fog, the spear erupting from his chest, the sudden shock of feeling pain throughout his body, and the strange sensation of weightlessness as he was hoisted up and tossed into the wild waters of a swift-moving river. The cold water had stunned him as it spilled into his mouth, cutting off the flow of air into his one good lung. As he had slipped under the surface, clouds of murky red floated out from his body and blurred his vision. Light slipped into darkness and back to light as he resurfaced, coughing and spitting. Time came and went, and finally, the feeling of no longer being alone when gentle hands pulled him from the water.

  "I'll calm down when he tells me how it is that we pulled this thing from his chest not two hours ago, and now he sits ere', drinking your broth like nothin' happened."

  He looked up at the two men standing over him.

  "Who are you?" Nailin pressed. "Where are you from? Why would somebody shoot ye?"

  "Nailin!" Zarrock blocked Nailin from advancing on him. "By all the gods, give him some time to understand what has happened." Nailin looked out from behind Zarrock, hefting his axe, but came no farther.

  "I don't know," he answered. Mixed images and the sounds of dragons screaming in pain flashed through his mind. A sense of urgency drove him to his feet. A wave of dizziness caused him to misstep. A cool breeze washed over him, sending shivers through his body.

  Nailin stood ready, holding his axe with both hands. "You don't know nothin'. Aye, that's very convenient," he said, nodding his head at Zarrock. "I don't know how you can even be standin'."

  "Perhaps it would be wise if you rest a while longer," Zarrock said. He helped him ease back down to sit on the log.

  "What kind of spear is this, then, hollow in the middle the way it is? I ain't never seen the like," Nailin said. He grabbed Zarrock by the arm and led him to the other side of the camp. "There's something ain't right with this one. Mark me words. No normal man heals that fast and survives a tumble in the Raging Red to boot."

  "He is in need of our help, Nailin, regardless of who he is. He could have come from any of the four rivers that pour into the Red." Zarrock looked at Nailin while he paced about the camp. "I believe you are still upset about what happened the other night."

  Nailin stopped pacing. He eyed Zarrock incredulously. "Yer darned right I'm upset. Any sane person would be, seeing the gods fall from the heavens."

  "We do not know what we saw fall in the night sky. It may have been rocks or pieces of ice."

  "Don't be daft, man; rocks don't fall from the sky. They certainly don't go off in so many different directions at once, neither, and slam into Calasia the way they did. Those were some pretty mighty earthshakes, not like the tremors from the red moon."

  "I assure you that rocks and other things do fall from the sky. It has been duly recorded."

  "Bah!" Nailin said, resuming his pacing. "Elves and their blasted theories. I've never seen anything light up the sky like that in me life!"

  "Nor have I, my friend," Zarrock said. He looked back at the man resting on the log.

  "It was the gods falling to the four corners of Calasia, I tell ye. Just like the prophecies say," Nailin said, his eyes wild. "And the gods shall fall from the sky at the beginning of the end!"

  Zarrock neither agreed nor disagreed. "Let us get him ready for travel. We can leave him in Zelea before the meeting. If we are to secure the new trade agreements with the southern kingdoms, we best hurry along,"

  "Aye, the sooner we're rid of him, the better. I'll fashion a litter to haul him on." Nailin moved off into the trees.

  The man was trying to understand his situation. He rubbed the scar on his chest, which seemed to be disappearing moment by moment. He stood up once more and stretched his arms out before him, looked at his hands as though for the first time. He clenched them into fists and felt new strength surge through his arms. Several tentative steps forward took him to the riverbank.

  They were in a calm section of the river. He could see where he had been dragged from the water through the sand. He bent low to look at his reflection and fell to his knees. He did not recognize the grizzled face that looked back at him. He looked fairly young, maybe thirty years, his hair was shoulder-length and brown, his nose and mouth both small, his rounded jaw firm, but his eyes startled him as much as they had startled the dwarf. Steel blue in color, they were lined with wrinkles of concern, and dark circles, as though he carried the weight of the world. Indeed, he felt as though he carried a great burden, and that he had to do something soon. What it was, he did not know.

  His mirror image looked back up at him, worn and confused. He passed his hand over the rough whiskers on his face until his reflection swirled away in small ripples that raced across the water. Several fish swam into view in the small section of water near the beach, and then even more until the area was teeming with them.

  Zarrock walked up to stand beside him, his concern evident in his kindly green eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

  He stood and faced Zarrock. "You have already helped me, kind elf."

  "Please, call me Zarrock."

  "Zarrock. Thank you. Perhaps there is one thing," he said, rubbing the stubble on his face. "May I have a knife? These whiskers do not feel right on my face."

  "Of course."

  He squatted by the water, looking at his reflection as he gently took the knife to his
face and slowly removed the unwanted growth.

  "Keep it," Zarrock said, handing him the sheath when he offered to give the knife back to him. "I have others. Can you remember anything?"

  He looked upriver at the fast-moving water that had carried him to this place, and shuddered. "I remember angry faces of men in the dark, and the screaming of dragons, and...pain," he said, rubbing the scar on his chest once more. "That is all."

  "Perhaps in time, it will all come back to you. Right now, you need to get into some dry clothes and have some hot food before we set out. There is a journey of three days before us. We make for Zelea, to join a trading conference before winter sets in," Zarrock said.

  With Zarrock lending support, they walked back to the center of camp. Zarrock offered him some leggings and a pair of light leather-soled boots. He removed his clothes and set them to dry by the fire while he took in his surroundings. The air was cool, but he took comfort in the feeling of the sun warming his body, and of sand between his toes. Birds sang and trees swayed in the slight breeze that moved through the forest. He was alive, even though he shouldn't be.

  He felt good enough to ride with Zarrock, but his companions insisted that he lie on the litter Nailin had constructed to further recover his strength. It was surprisingly comfortable, given the unevenness of the land they traveled.

  He watched the landscape roll by. They moved along a well-used road that ran parallel to the river. It wound its way through the broken countryside of gently rolling hills, partially covered in shrubs, small aspens, and pine. The smell of pinecones and wild flowers was invigorating. Bird song increased as several flocks of multicolored jays swooped in and around the travelers, some going as far as landing on his litter, chirping excitably and lifting off again.

  He felt a kinship to the animals of the hillsides that came out to watch them pass. He thought that he could sometimes see an aura surrounding the different species of creatures that dotted the landscape, or had it just been the sun wreaking havoc with his mind? A family of red-tailed foxes, a raccoon, and some gophers followed them for a while. A great eagle circled overhead, its forlorn cries piercing the morning sky.