The Vlakan King (Book 3)

Be welcomed to this place called Landermass! Breathe in the fresh cool air of Amloth, the warm most air of Breanen, the turbulent air of Anavar and the dry air of Ryammar. These lands comprise the major continents of Landermass and host the majority of the varied peoples of this world. The Altenguds created the first peoples and shepherded the land. Later came the Jungeguds and they kneaded the land to their purposes. The people of Landermass survived, thrived and held their own against the gods. But the Jungeguds never tire of meddling with mortals.

For most of recorded history of Landermass the dominant races have been the Zidar, Daerlan, Celaeri and Men, each one created by a different god and set apart from each other. The Zidar are the eldest race, wise and masters of magic; the Daerlan are the masters of nature, attuned to the nuances of Landermass; the Men are the most populous, without the magic of the other races but with the potential to be far more destructive; and the Celaeri, a jealous and vindictive people banished to the darkness eons ago. Yet the Celaeri ever strive to break free from the shadow world where they dwell and return eastern Amloth to their control again. There is a creature that is associated with the Celaeri called the Vlakan, a huge cat-wolf mix that legends claims are the souls of the Celaeri. When they return to the land blood will flow.

From Gerrand's Histories of Landermass

Late summer brought cooling night breezes to Peradon but also the silent tread of a Vlakan following a particular aroma of blood. The spicy scent gave speed to the feline beast's journey and blinded it to all else. It had traveled from its home, crossing the sea to Anavar to hunt down an individual with a unique blood scent; and it had found its quarry. The Vlakan could walk upright like a man or run on all fours like a beast. Most were comparable in size to a large man but stories told of larger creatures. They preferred shadows and darkness but were unafraid to endure sunlight. They lived in northern Cresida on the continent of Amloth but their origins were unknown. The ancient race called Celaeri used them as servants it was said, but the reputed refinement of the Celaeri would not have required domestic services from the Vlakan. The Vlakan were killers, pure and simple.

The town was small and closely surrounded by trees that allowed the Vlakan to come within reach of its prey. It was not an overly clever creature and focused only on the task at hand. A smarter assassin might have succeeded. For two days it watched the building with people coming and going and the man came out a few times but always went back in. The distance to the building wasn't great but it was all in the open; the Vlakan was cautious. One afternoon the man came out and walked a bit to stretch his legs. This was the moment the Vlakan waited for and moved from its concealment. The man walked around the near side of the building and the Vlakan moved forward in pursuit. It felt the boy's knife in its back before it knew it wasn't alone. It fell heavily onto the dry grass and lay still. Pale blue hands grabbed the wrists and began dragging the body.

Peradon lies on the north coast of the continent of Anavar just before the eastern land flows northward toward its sister continent Amloth. Long a town of fishermen and some craftsmen its chief export were the mercenaries of the Red Boars Company. The Red Boars had existed in Peradon for several hundred years and were part of the town. They provided protection at a cheap price; peace and quiet. No one bothered the Red Boars and usually the mercenaries were well behaved. Besides the inn on the east road had the mark of the Talos Company upon it and the Red Boars did not stir up trouble they could not handle. The proprietors were once members of the Red Boars but had relatives in the Talos Company and the protection of the elder company extended to kin. The inn served good food and better ale and had so for the last fifteen years.

Davan watched his uncle drag the dark figure between the buildings toward the hot forge of the town blacksmith. The heels dug a trail from the thicket beyond the inn to the forge, the left heel trail slighter deeper. Davan's father brushed the dirt with a branch to conceal the tracks. Davan's heart pounded. He looked around to see if anyone else on the street had noticed his uncle but sitting up in the tree his view blocked to the west where the main part of town stood. Still, the town of Peradon was quiet and even the mongrel dog at the stable was silent for a change. Perhaps even the dog felt the unfamiliar tremors in the air. The entire evening had felt different somehow; Davan didn't know how to describe it in words. There was a tension or anticipation or something. The sounds of the birds didn't seem normal and the hairs on the back on his neck vibrated and the shivers ran down his leg. Early in the evening, he tried to tell his father his thoughts but that conversation resulted in another errand to run. He tried to tell Loric but his uncle hurried away as if he had an appointment to keep. It was hard being sixteen; no longer a child but not an adult in his parent's eyes. He had no choices in his life yet and his words were feather weighted; twisting in the breezes of conversation but never settling on the minds of anyone else. He was barely more than the cook and maids, and at times, he helped them with their work. Everyone ordered him about and he resented it. He began to hate the inn his parents owned. If his father had not begun to allow Davan to tend the bar a few times each week his life would have been unbearable. Surely, no one else was treated this poorly. Why were his parents so cruel? Couldn't they see he was growing up? He knew he needed to leave Peradon to find his own way, his friend Docaw had left two years ago, but Davan hadn't thought about his own destination. His parents were in their prime and would keep running the inn for years; he wasn't needed to take over yet. Perhaps he could get an apprenticeship or even join the mercenary group that was based in Peradon. Both his parents had been members at one time; why couldn't Davan join? He was as tall as his father but fairer of hair and his skin was a shade darker without the hint of blue. When Loric was around one didn't notice the blue in his father's skin in comparison but it was there. It was a cool paleness instead of the warm paleness of his auburn haired mother's skin. Still Davan was paler than the other kids of Peradon. His shoulders were broad and he would be called 'rangy' but the work of the inn made his hands and forearms very strong. His eyes were pale green and the girls of Peradon noticed.

Davan's attention focused again; he heard his uncle talking to someone but the words did not drift up to him clearly. What had they done? Murder? There was something strange about the body. His father would have a good reason he knew, but what if Loric had killed the person? Often Loric was smiling and relaxed but there were times when his eyes went cold and Davan felt Loric was not human.

Davan knew his uncle was different from most men in town and not just from his height and unique skin color alone; his uncle told him the most unusual stories of faraway places and strange creatures. It seemed Loric had traveled the entire world; the continents of Anavar and Amloth, the Isle of Cothos and as far as the southern continent of Breanen whose land hadn't even been fully mapped yet. Davan's parents wouldn't shoo him away when Uncle Loric told his stories unlike the risqué tales told around the fireplace by the mercenaries when they came for ale. Loric held the respect of Davan's parents. Davan believed in the tales and hoped his uncle would take him on an adventure one day. But now he was worried about his uncle. He had a good view now of the forge but he couldn't see the features of the body. But he recognized something.

The furry corpse Loric rolled into the pit behind the blacksmith's shop had one of Davan's knives stuck in its back. He recognized the carved handle that he had proudly shown his uncle the day prior. It wasn't one of his favorite knives, but that wasn't the point. Why wouldn't his uncle at least retrieve the knife and clean it up? Knives cost money and a kid couldn't make a homemade one that kept an edge. Knives were essential to living; besides, his father had given it to him. Uncle Loric knew Davan would miss it. What would be the story for its disappearance? And what kind of creature was in the pit? Man-like certainly, but what was it? The blacksmith poured some white powder down in the pit and Davan's father and uncle shoveled the dirt over the body. His uncle looked all around the area searching for anyone watching but Davan was up in the oak tree shielded by the leaves. The strange feeling that nagged at Davan earlier had vanished.

If Uncle Loric had secrets that he would only tell Davan's father, well then Davan would spend all his considerable energy to uncover them. His mother called out from the doorway of the inn. Her sudden shout startled Davan and he nearly lost his grip. He held tight and hoped his heart would stop pounding. She hadn't seen him so he waited until she went back inside to climb down. He trotted inside brushing dirt from his clothes.

"There you are!" said Jaele Greyrawk, his mother, a tall woman still holding her fine features and curves that first attracted her husband to her. But there was steel in her voice and Davan did not know where she got that. "I need more tankards washed right quick."

Davan learned years ago not to argue with his mother about chores. He didn't even stop to ask innocently where his father and uncle were. He expected she'd box his ears for that. He hustled into the kitchen squeezing past the cook to the large buckets of soapy water and got to work. His younger sister Tara brought in more dirty dishes. She was gangly as a ten year old could be and her freckled face was framed by auburn hair, darker than her mother's hair. Tara stuck her tongue out at Davan and went back into the front room.

By the time his hands were red and tender he heard Uncle Loric's voice near the bar. He peaked out and saw his uncle drinking and his father working behind the bar. The regulars sat at the tables repeating stories they've told for years. There was the stale smell of tobacco creeping around the edges of the room. Davan glided out of the kitchen, looking to avoid his mother and more chores.