CHAPTER ONE:

  ABOARD THE WET WANDERER

  Standing on the deck of the Wet Wanderer, mercenary Garrick Landow twisted his short, dark brown beard and listened to the serene sounds of The Living River that surrounded him. Looking out over one of the biggest stretches of the vast waterway that flowed throughout the whole world of Danaria, Garrick finally felt some relaxation.

  The quest continued, yes, but now he and his companions could rest. Physically, for sure, and at least a bit mentally. As the mercenary looked at the group on the large ship, he smiled with the realization.

  Standing off to his right a ways was Cerelene Lightshower. As Garrick looked at the beautiful, red-headed elf maiden stringing her bow, his smile remained, but for a different reason. In fact, it even broadened a bit as he stood up a little straighter and contemplated.

  How crazy was Cerelene’s story? Like most elves, an excellent archer, however, that was the only normal thing about her. Cerelene was sometimes unpredictable in her actions, unlike most elves. Even more amazing was that she had left her royal home as niece to Elf Queen Ilsa Lightshower, landed in The Holy City and had been taken in by the high priest himself!

  As Garrick watched Cerelene grab an arrow and nock it, no truer thought suddenly came to Garrick. The day I met you there in the temple courtyard was the beginning of a friendship that truly neither of us thought would happen.

  Of course, Anya would say differently. She would say it had been ordained by Elion, god of all creation. Garrick moved his gaze till he found the middle-aged woman sitting on a bench, looking out over the immense river. Her long hair, a mix of dark brown and gray, was practically hidden beneath the hood of her white cleric robes now that the air outside was getting colder.

  In some ways, Garrick now thought, the look might befit her more. It made for a more serious look. Unlike Cerelene, Anya was not only soft spoken, but fighting was still new to the thoughtful and devoted cleric.

  On the other end of the bench, looking at one of his spellbooks, sat Maldrin, with Tal on his shoulder. The old man was intent on learning some spell, Garrick assumed. The mercenary watched as the wizard grabbed his brown robe closer to him with one hand, and stroked the sleeping red squirrel with the other. All the while never taking his eyes off the book. Then the look on the mercenary’s face grew pensive.

  He and Maldrin had been friends for many years now. Garrick knew he could rely on him. He could trust the old wizard, but after the battle with the dragon Firebaugh, Maldrin now seemed consumed with learning stronger spells, and with doing so faster than before, at least since Garrick had known him. Then the mercenary’s right hand moved to the Holy Amulet that hung around his neck.

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  “I pray your quest for power and knowledge does not consume you, my old friend,” whispered Garrick, after placing his hand over the Holy Stone of Elion.

  As he turned to go below deck, Garrick caught a figure moving out of the corner of his eye. It was Deelah. That’s good, thought the mercenary. She’s finally come up. She needs some fresh air after all this time.

  Garrick watched as the short, blonde-haired woman stopped in front of one of the crew. After placing one hand on the man’s bare chest, Deelah slowly moved her other hand inside his half buttoned shirt. Garrick yelled at the thief and she flashed that cute, seductive smile that she had once given him, when he had caught her trying the very same thing, when she approached him back in Valtross.

  Deelah laughed, slipped the few coins that were in her hand back, patted the helmsman’s hand and gave Garrick a dirty look, followed by a smile as she walked over to sit by Anya.

  She may be a thief, but there is no doubt that Deelah belongs on this quest, thought Garrick, as he watched her sit down next to her much older sister.

  After taking one last look at The Living River, Garrick finally walked below deck. Once the mercenary reached the bottom of the stairs he could hear a loud, horrible noise coming from up ahead. As he walked down the hall toward his destination, the mercenary grimaced as the sound got louder and louder. Turning the corner with his hand on his sword hilt, he came upon Ondibar and gave a short laugh.

  The dwarf slept hard, but he fought even harder. He stirred for a moment in his sleep and knocked over his pint of ale. Not only was Ondibar surely exhausted from the journey, the drink only added to the snoring.

  My mother was right, thought Garrick. Elion works in mysterious ways. Then he patted the dwarf on his shoulder and grabbed the handle of the door in front of him.

  “You were looking for Cerelene, but we found you instead,” spoke Garrick quietly. “Like her, the quest for the Scepter Sword of the King Priest would not have gotten this far without you, you gruff dwarf.”

  Upon opening the door, Onyx looked up. The beautiful, black mystic wolf that Garrick had raised since a pup then lowered his head back down to the floor where he laid.

  “Thanks for watching over him, my friend,” replied Garrick, as he patted his companion on the head.

  Suddenly, there was a quiet flap of wings above him. Looking up, the mercenary saw Azure, perched above the bed.

  “And you, too,” continued Garrick, as he stroked the left wing of the falcon that Cerelene had raised.

  Then the mercenary sat down in the chair that Deelah had occupied for most of their voyage and looked down at Elias.

  Garrick looked hopefully at the unconscious Holy Knight of Providence. Elias’ armor was no longer burned black and his skin was as good as new. The mercenary grabbed the knight’s almost lifeless hand and held it for a moment, then let it go.

  Of all the men he had served with, fought with, family or friend, he had known no one more stoic in both belief and self sacrifice. And he’d almost lost Elias just a few days ago. The dragon Firebaugh would’ve killed them all if it hadn't been for Elias. Taking the full blast of a sovereign dragon’s fire would have sent anyone to Elion’s Embrace, but not this man. A few seconds later Garrick's hand returned to the Holy Amulet.

  “How Anya revived you after your sacrifice, we still do not know,” spoke the mercenary softly, as he watched the big blonde knight’s shallow breathing.

  Not having slept since they had faced Firebaugh, Garrick slumped back into his chair, patted Onyx, and then closed his eyes. Not even the dwarf snoring outside would stop him from sleeping.

  The job, the quest, it was far from over, but they now had two of the three holy stones for the Scepter Sword. Garrick’s thoughts then went to the battle raging in The Dwarven Mountains, between King Ironhearth and the invading Lord Grimdall.

  “Come back to us soon, my friend,” spoke Garrick, as he looked one last time at Elias. “Danaria hangs in the balance. If what the high priest said was true, the Scepter Sword may be our only hope.”