Deomans of Faerel_Contemporary Fantasy Read online

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  DEOMANS OF FAEREL

  Copyright © 2013 – Present, Ted Fauster

  EPUB Edition

  Published by Ted Fauster Books

  Portland, Oregon

  This book is a work of fiction. All the characters, beliefs and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The views or beliefs expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect those of the author.

  All Rights Reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or any portions, in any form including electronic, print, audio or otherwise.

  www.tedfauster.com

  World of Faerel Series

  Produced in the United States of America

  Electronic Version

  ISBN-10: 0-9984357-1-6

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9984357-1-8

  BOOKS BY TED FAUSTER

  Deomans of Faerel

  Hellion King of Faerel

  Conquest of Faerel

  Supernatural Survival Guide

  Dungeoneers for Hire

  SHORTS & OTHER WORKS

  Cullen McGregor’s Last Hunt

  Return to Batoff Mountain

  The Bloodfruit Tree

  Into the Forever House

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are far too many people to include. I will try anyway.

  To Sarah whose love is immeasurable. To Ethan who is still patiently waiting for his dad to get rich. To my brother John, my sister Mericia, and to my mother and father, who all live in the pages of this very special first book in the World of Faerel series.

  To Matt, Seb, Dom, Alicia, Jennifer, Chris, Manu, Ole and many more.

  To Dawn and Arno for allowing me to sit in front of their woodstove while I pored over the final revisions just before Thanksgiving dinner. To Sue Watson who read to us. To Don Luna who opened our minds. To all my hugely supportive cousins ‘back east.’ To Dan who gave me my first dollar. To Scottie and Scott, Courtney and Melissa. To Becky, Jenifer and Sydney, Madison and Gavin. To Emily. To Portland.

  To John and Morgana who are brave enough to forge their own path, and to Ami who struck out on her own the moment she could. Brave adventurers all.

  And to everyone who gave a nerdy indie writer a chance. May all your journeys end in big fat piles of treasure. And tacos. And good damn beer.

  This book is for Sarah, whose soul found mine.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Books by Ted Fauster

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  List of Common Cantrips

  Epigraph

  1. Midnight at the Last Chance Saloon

  2. Away from the Things of Man

  3. The Stick People of Raratong

  4. Friends in Low Places

  5. Halls of the Zenavestra

  6. A Voice in the Dark

  7. The Gardens of Cynthiana

  8. Kriegen Hold

  9. The Chancing Pit

  10. The Thelsa D’Lune

  11. A Gathering Storm

  12. Hunter’s Moon

  13. The Prinkipria

  14. An Overdue Reunion

  15. Best Laid Plans

  Epilogue

  DEOMANS OF FAEREL

  BOOK ONE: WORLD OF FAEREL

  LIST OF COMMON CANTRIPS

  BATHE

  CHILL

  DRY

  FLAMEFINGER

  GLOW

  HEAL

  MEND

  NIGHTSIGHT

  SHADE

  SNEAK

  SPICE

  WARM

  “The soul of a human being is a mysterious thing composed of matter familiar only to the Great Creator. Yet one does not need to comprehend the composition of the soul to locate it, extract it and store it indefinitely in a remote location.”

  ~ Maltheus of the Falfax Order

  1

  Midnight at the Last Chance Saloon

  Jack’s eyes slowly creaked open. A harsh and buzzing bank of fluorescents blazed above him. His head was swimming. The stiff bed pressed into his back. He had just woken up yet he was still so very tired.

  “H…hello?” he managed.

  The back of his throat was on fire. He felt a cough coming. When it did he nearly convulsed at the pain that ensued, a wracking spasm that echoed down his entire body. A hand touched down on his chest.

  “Hey, easy there, pal.” It was a man’s voice. The world was smeared, muffled. “Just take it easy, take it easy.”

  Jack blinked stubbornly to break the veil that clouded his vision. So woozy. He rolled his head over. A hazy figure sat in the chair beside his bed.

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in a hospital. Thunderbird Samaritan, to be exact.”

  That didn’t sound right.

  “Who… who are you?”

  The hand patted.

  “A friend. Hey, listen, I’ll call the nurse now, okay? They’re going to want to know that you’re awake.”

  The man reached above his head and pressed a button. The soft beeping of equipment became apparent. Jack had thought it just a dream. The man settled back into the chair and folded his hands on his lap.

  “Okay,” he said. “Someone will be here shortly.” He manufactured a smile. “Just relax.”

  But he couldn’t. Jack’s mind was coming to life, his vision returning. There were questions. Lots of questions.

  “Why am I in a—”

  The man’s voice remained low. “There’s been an accident, Jack. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

  Jack shook his head. It felt like someone had concreted his brain.

  “No.” A page echoed overhead.

  “You were in your car. Your cruiser. It was dark and you were driving down the interstate. Do you remember any of that?”

  “I got nothing.”

  A sigh. “Well, like I said, I’m sure it will all come back to you.”

  “Who… who are you again?”

  Jack put a cold palm to his aching skull. At least his vision was clearing. He could now see a man sitting next to him, a man in a suit. He hadn’t imagined it. There must have been a curtain along the other side of the bed. It screeched. More light. Soft hands at his wrist.

  “Good morning, Jack,” an older woman’s voice proclaimed. Her volume was too loud. He groaned. She put her hand to his forehead. Her hands were cold, too. “Had yourself a nice long nap, didn’t ya?”

  There was something sitting at the foot of the bed, a smiling man in a black suit with yellow skin and black lips. Jack blinked and it was gone. He felt a warmness enter his wrist. It blossomed up his arm.

  “It’s probably going to be awhile before he’s able to communicate,” the nurse was saying. She was saying something else, but Jack couldn’t make it out. His eyes were suddenly heavy. Still so tired. He let them close.

  When he opened his eyes again, Captain Ryan was sitting beside him. The man in the suit was gone. The captain leaned forward. He needed a shave. Jack could smell the cold on him. A big hand clasped on Jack’s arm.

  “Hey, buddy. How ya feeling?” Big smile.

  “Better.” It was the truth. “Hungry.”

  Captain Ryan laughed. “Well, let’s get you some food.”

  He was supposed to start with liquids, but Jack was ravenous. Instead, he ordered fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Extra gravy. Outside the window the traffic along the I-17 corridor buzzed, even though it was dreary with snow. The ache in his head was now nothing more
than a dull murmur. He was still woozy, but he was finally getting his faculties back.

  “So,” Captain Ryan asked as Jack woofed down his food, “what was that fucker in here for?”

  “What? The guy in the suit?”

  “Yes, the guy in the suit. Do you know who that was?” Jack shrugged. “That was that jackass from the prosecuting attorney’s office.” Captain Ryan paused as if that were supposed to mean something. “Jack, what was he asking you? What did you say?”

  Jack sighed. “I don’t remember anything. I just know everyone keeps telling me I was in some kind of an accident and—”

  Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. It was coming back to him now, but the specifics of the accident wasn’t what had him spooked. Something was wrong with his legs.

  He shoved the arm of the serving tray aside. A juice box tumbled to the floor. He put his hands on his thighs and glared down the length of the hospital bed. The raised spaces beneath the crocheted blanket looked irregular.

  Captain Ryan was on his feet. “Now Jack, there’s something we gotta talk about.”

  “What’s wrong with my legs, Captain? What’s wrong with—”

  He jerked forward and felt down. Both legs ended just below the knee.

  “It was a pretty bad accident. The airbag saved your life, but you hit hard. Head-on. The front of the cruiser was crushed… uh… all the way up into the front seat.”

  Jack fell back against the pillow. Suddenly he wasn’t very hungry.

  “Gone?” he asked.

  Captain Ryan put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Jack. You were losing a lot of blood. They had to take them both. There… wasn’t much left, anyway.”

  “Wow, Captain. You’re just a silver-tongue devil now, aren’t ya?”

  “Jack, there’s something else.”

  “I don’t have any fucking legs, Captain. What else could possibly be worse than that?” Then it hit him. “Jesus, I didn’t… hurt anybody, did I?”

  The captain shook his head. “No, Jack. You didn’t hurt anybody, anyone other than yourself.” He lowered his voice. “You were drinking, Jack. They found alcohol in your bloodstream. The lawyers traced it back to that shithole of a bar you hang out in.”

  Jack remembered everything now—the bar, those drinks he’d had, flopping himself down onto the seat of the cruiser, zooming out onto the interstate…

  What he hadn’t recalled, not up until that very moment, was the semi on the side of the road. The one that hadn’t quite pulled all the way off the icy asphalt.

  “Well shit, I do it all the time. I don’t even feel it anymore, Captain. I swear, it takes a whole lot more than a few drinks to—”

  “Do you really think any of that matters? The fact is you were under the influence. Legally. Hell, I know you weren’t drunk, Jack—not by any ordinary man’s standards, at least. But the department doesn’t see it that way.”

  Jack felt like his heart was going to explode. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  The captain sighed. “They’re gonna bury you, Jack. It’s already been all over the news.” He reached over and yanked back the blanket. Two bandaged stubs lay beneath. “And you’re gonna be a fucking invalid in a wheelchair the rest of your life because you can’t control your drinking.”

  Jack just stared at him. What could he say? What could he possibly say?

  Jack sat crookedly in the wheelchair, scowling out the cafeteria window at the people milling about the hospital’s central courtyard. They moved so casually. So easily.

  “Hey,” the guy at the table next to him said. He was in a wheelchair, too. “Hey, you ever watch that M.A.S.H show?” His lips smacked as he devoured a pudding cup.

  Jack kept staring. “Yeah. Sure.”

  The guy grunted. “Yeah, that theme song, you know the one. Do you know… do you know what it’s called?” He was giggling. “Huh? Do you know what that song is called?”

  Jack refused to bite. This dumb asshole was going to tell him anyway.

  “It’s called, ‘Suicide is Painless.’ Did you know that? Did you know that?” He was laughing now, and then the mucus in his lungs caught up and he started to cough. A nurse approached with a clipboard in her hand.

  “Jack Rowan? Jack Rowan?” She moved around so that she was facing them. She bent and smiled. “Are either one of you Jack Rowan?”

  “Yup,” Jack said without looking at her.

  “Oh, okay then.” She fiddled with the paperwork. “Well, they’re ready for you in room six, Mr. Rowan. Now that’s just down the hall past the elevators on your left.”

  He jerked the stick on the chair. It lurched back. He swiveled it around.

  “You sure you know where you’re going?” the nurse called after him.

  He didn’t answer. He was already out in the hall. He made a left and headed toward the physical rehab room, the same room he’d been visiting each morning for the last few weeks.

  “Down the hallway, Mr. Rowan,” he muttered to himself as the chair whirred along. “Room six, Mr. Rowan. Past the fucking elevators on the left, Mr. Rowan.” He was still a cop, for Christ’s sake. For the next few weeks, at least, he was still Officer Jack Laurence Rowan.

  He was in the mindless process of making the turn when he suddenly stopped. The elevator doors stared him in the face, the same ones he’d been passing by each and every morning.

  He stared back. Physical therapy sucked. Maybe these doors would take him somewhere nice.

  He jiggled the stick and rolled toward them. He paused and glared up at the sheets of polished metal. Funny, he never saw anyone using this elevator…

  “Hey,” a male nurse called as he quickly walked past. “That’s the freight elevator. You can’t use that one.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Other end of the hall.”

  Jack’s glared followed the nurse all the way down the hallway, until he finally disappeared around a corner. There was a bug up his ass now. He looked around. No one was looking in his direction. He reached out and poked the down button. To his surprise, the doors opened. He rolled inside.

  The doors closed. It was a big elevator. Quiet. He let out a sigh and sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. He examined the innards. The walls had those wooden rails, scarred from abuse. He studied the panel of buttons then rolled forward and pushed one. The elevator jerked and began to move.

  He wasn’t even sure what button he’d pushed. It didn’t matter. They’d eventually figure out what he’d done and come looking for him. For now, he was satisfied with just being able to do a little exploring. They could give him his enema and sponge bath later.

  With a low moan, the elevator slowed and then stopped. A dull ding sounded.

  The doors swished open.

  A long hallway led away from the doors. It was lined with gold carpet. The walls and ceiling here were rich paneled wood.

  “Administrative offices,” he murmured. “Wonderful.”

  He pushed another button, but the doors refused to close. With a grunt he leaned forward and jabbed at another. Then another. Still no movement. The damn buttons wouldn’t even light. After several attempts he simply rolled out.

  The doors swished shut behind him.

  “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath.

  This was altogether silly now. He jerked the stick and rolled back around. His stomach dropped when he saw there were no buttons on the wall.

  “Shit.”

  He looked over his shoulder. Far down the hall, a glass door in a black frame waited. He maneuvered the chair until he was facing it. “Well this is going to be embarrassing.” He pressed forward on the stick and rolled toward it.

  Jack was just about to pull the door open when it occurred he should probably try the elevator one more time, or at least wait for a while to see if it opened again on its own. It was quiet down here. No one in sight. What harm could come from sticking around? He turned and started back toward the elevator.

  The chair jerked
to a stop.

  The elevator doors had disappeared. Entirely gone.

  “What the…”

  Jack pressed urgently on the stick now. When he got to the point in the hall where the doors had been only moments before, he suddenly realized there was another hallway of paneled wood here, one that formed a T-intersection. He was certain it hadn’t been there before.

  He looked down both stretches. Each hallway seemed to go on forever, and each was lined with the same gaudy gold carpet. There were no doors in sight.

  It had to be the meds. He’d become disoriented, that’s all. He turned around and went back to the glass door. Luckily, it was still there. He rolled faster and faster, reaching out with his hand.

  The door opened.

  A dark-skinned woman in a shiny jumpsuit that appeared to be changing color popped out. Her head was clean-shaven and tattooed with an intricate pattern that glowed with a soft light of its own. Curving bands of gold shimmered along the crests of her ears and along the outlines of her lips. She looked down at him from clunky platform boots.

  “Well, hurry it up then, get inside,” she said, urgently waving him in.

  She sounded British. He looked past her. Beyond the opening was a small room with a plain white table. Two other people were seated there. They peered back at him with a mixture of curiosity and boredom.

  The British woman held the door all the way open and waved her hand again, this time more urgently. He noticed now that at the back of her skull was what looked like some kind of mechanical fixture or socket that had been fused with her skin.

  “Hurry now,” she repeated. “You don’t want to get lost out here. Trust me, these hallways go on forever.”

  A bit reluctant, Jack rolled in. She shut the door.

  “You’re Jack,” a male voice said.

  It sounded strangely young and old at the same time. The two others at the table were a very thin and pale blonde woman and a small Asian boy. It was the boy who had spoken. He only looked about ten.