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  Ruby: Lost & Found

  Copyright © 2012 by M.D. Grimm

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may

  be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680

  ISBN: 978-1-61040-354-2

  Printed in the United States of America. Torquere Press: electronic edition August

  2012

  Torquere Press eBooks are published by

  Torquere Press, PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX

  78680

  Chapter One

  Muggy air clung to me as I stood in my forest, which I had named Vorgoroth. Whistling through the trees, a light wind harmonized with the soft footfalls of deer and the erratic scurrying of smaller creatures running along the branches above. I looked up at the thick canopy above me that hindered most of the sunlight from reaching the forest floor.

  The ground was mossy and moist, causing most creatures to sink down with every step. I didn't have that problem when I walked along the faded dirt trails that zigzagged between the thick trees. Roots sometimes obstructed the paths, and fallen branches blocked any smooth, forward motion.

  The trees swayed restlessly sometimes, and the branches quivered, shaking large leaves from them. Most would find this place claustrophobic, ominous, unwelcoming, but I loved it. Predator and prey played hide-and-seek in the dark, avoiding the luminous bark of the trees. The glow was the only light offered in this dark realm of nature, besides the sheen of the eyes of the Witchln, the guardians of Vorgoroth. Truls and morag might make this place home, but it was the Witchln, those efficient and precise predators, who ruled.

  At least, when I was gone from home. Now, their eyes were on me, observing, speculating. I heard them sniff, and their thick pelts rustled just out of eyesight. Their sounds could easily fade into the music of the forest, but I had spent enough time here. I knew what to listen for.

  Damn, it was good to be home.

  I had just emerged from the gateway that connected my home planet of Karishian to the home planet of the humans, Earth. It always left crud on my clothes. Irritated, I looked down at my usually black wardrobe that was now dusted with gray and brown. The gateway stood open behind me, swirling and pulsing like a live thing. It was oval in shape, and only I could open it because only I knew it existed. It was a naturally occurring portal that I had stumbled across when I claimed this forest as my territory years ago. Mages older than I could create their own portals, but it took a lot more power than I had at this point in my life.

  I thought a word, and the flecks fell to the ground, making a flaky circle around me. The word I used was meaningless in any language. I had made it up, and by doing so the word was only connected to the magickal act. That was an essential element to spell work as it activated the magick inside me. When I was younger, I used to have to say the words for invoking aloud. No more. If I said the word firmly inside my head, with no other thoughts or words distracting me, the magick would still work. I had a great mentor.

  I looked at my pants and boots, making sure I was completely clean. I detested the robes that the other mages wore and decided early on to throw off tradition and forge my own path. My pants were made of a loose and breathable material, and I tucked them into sturdy boots, which laced up to mid-calf. My jacket reached my ankles and was buttoned from my neck to my waist where it divided to sweep around my legs. My sleeves hung down past my wrists, and while the majority of my wardrobe was completely black, I did allow some color to accent the darkness. I had silver thread on the cuffs of my jacket and along the lining. Spells were woven into the fabric, making it able to withstand the most ferocious fire blast and making ordinary armor unnecessary. I also had a silver belt that held vials and pouches full of magickal bric-a-brac. I may be damn good at invocation, but sometimes magick needed a more subtle and gentler approach.

  I turned around and flicked my wrist, saying a word firmly inside my head. The gateway shrank, still swirling and pulsing an opaque silver, looking like a strange viscous liquid. The smell of home filled my lungs, and I smiled in genuine contentment. I was in the exact middle of Vorgoroth, and it must have been day because I couldn't hear any owls hoot.

  The gateway continued to shrink until it was the size of the head of a pin, and then that too disappeared. All of it was done in complete silence, the forest itself seeming to know the importance and danger of disturbing the gateway while it was open. If anything had broken my concentration, which didn't happen easily, the gateway would have either snapped too quickly, jerking both dimensions, causing the very cosmic fabric holding them together to shift and fluctuate, or it would have quickly grown, in danger of merging the two dimensions together.

  Neither was a happy situation.

  I stretched my neck and shoulders, rolling my wrists and taking careful breaths. Journeying through dimensions wasn't something done lightly or by the amateur. It was hard on the body and mind and took a great deal of skill, concentration, and desire. I didn't travel very often; I only did it when I became so bored with my life I felt like ripping my hair out.

  I looked around me again, relishing the familiar. The wichtln still watched me, now reassured that I was their master. I also heard the heavy breathing and shuffling of the truls and morag, who had come to investigate the rippling of the air that the gateway had caused in the forest. I enjoyed feeling their presence after being so long away. I had been away for a couple of years and had left instructions for my minions to keep my absence from the locals and other mages. I didn't want some cocky young mage coming in and taking my territory, which was always a risk when I left.

  My forest surrounded my mountain home. It wasn't terribly large, maybe six kirons, which is roughly the equivalent of five Earth miles, from one side to the other. But what was great about Vorgoroth was the fact that the quickest way to the next town was through my forest. It took less than a day to go through Vorgoroth and come out the other side, but if you went around it, it took about a week, in good weather, because there was a mountain range that blocked access on both sides and a large, swift river as well. Some Happy Valley citizens took fate into their own hands and plunged into my domain.

  That was when the fun really began.

  The guardians in my forest were allowed to take care of (or eat, as the case might be) any intruders in my forest. Sometimes I allowed them to pass, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes only half of their party made it out. It really depended on my mood that day. Everything in Vorgoroth was here because I allowed it to be.

  The trees may have looked harmless, but they were actually quite vicious and liked to be left alone. The truls and a few other monsters lurked in the dark and often played weepy music late in the night. The wichtln were my lieutenants. They were four-legged furry beasts about seven to nine feet long from tail to snout and about five feet tall from paw to shoulder. They had long snouts, sharp teeth which gleamed black, and their thick fur did nothing to hide the fact that their bodies were pure muscle. Broad, large pawed, silent predators, they were a creature you did not want as your enemy.

  Everything felt the same as how I left it when I went on my Earth vacation. I walked down the dirt trail, and the bidadari sped past me, their tiny bodies obscured by the colorful orbs that formed around them when they flew. The trees were still ominous and cranky, their branches occasionally swinging near my head, teasing me with violence. I just chuckled and dodged out of the way, my thin body easily skimming past the thick arms. They were quite the jokers, really. They would often lift their roots and try to trip me, but I was always ready for it.

  There had been a time or two over the
decades when another mage had entered these woods, looking like me, trying to trick my minions. Only the wichtln had spotted the difference. They knew my smell as well as they knew any other pack member's. The other creatures of the forest would have felt the ripple in the forest when I opened the gateway, and their natural curiosity would have led them to the source of the disturbance. But after seeing me, their short attention spans would have guided them elsewhere, usually to something to eat. They were always hungry.

  I continued strolling down the path when I suddenly heard a shrill squawk above me. I smiled and glanced up. A large black bird circled above me.

  "Lord Morgorth!" it squawked again.

  "Lansa," I said. Lansa was a fasion, a bird about fifteen inches long who was very talkative with limited intelligence. Many creatures in Karishian can speak and hold rather long, though not always intelligent, conversations.

  Lansa swooped down, and I held out my forearm. He flapped his wings and hovered for a heartbeat before gripping my arm with his sharp talons. He folded his wings and looked at me with a beady black eye. His weight was comforting, and I suddenly realized how much I'd missed him.

  "Tell me," I said, keeping those thoughts to myself. "How have things progressed since I've been gone?"

  "The usual, the usual," Lansa said, his voice high-pitched. Fasions had a tendency to repeat themselves, and they always seemed high on something.

  "Men on white horses come, then they go, go." Meaning more "heroes" had come to deal with this dark mage but hadn't found him.

  "More corpses line the path to the mountain, mountain." Which meant I had more invaders come and try to get into Geheimnis, my castle home. It was unlikely the bodies were still there; the wichtln and truls would have made fast work of the free meal.

  "Any other mages come by?" I asked. That was my real concern.

  Lansa suddenly squawked and shot into the air. I saw the panic in his eyes, and I swung around, cursing myself for not being more aware of my surroundings. It always happened when I was in my forest; I would forget to take notice of what was around me. I would become too complacent and secure and safe.

  But my muscles loosened, and the fear that had been bubbling in my stomach diminished. It was just Grekel. It wasn't another mage come to claim my territory, and it wasn't some boogeyman from another nightmare to come eat me. Lansa did not like the wichtln at all.

  The leader of the wichtln pack padded towards me, his tail down and submissive, but we both knew that he was no beta. He was alpha in my absence, and I had nothing but respect for him. Grekel was large and silver. Thick-bodied and swift, he could take on a full-grown trul who reached about eight feet tall, and he would win in a heartbeat. Intelligence burned in his yellow eyes, and I gave him a good scratch behind the ears. His eyes rolled in response.

  Grekel was one of the few friends I allowed myself. But we both knew that if it was in his best interest to betray me, he would without hesitation. I accepted that, admired that. Survival of the fittest

  -- it was the only philosophy that made sense.

  "Welcome home, my lord." He growled. His voice was like gravel and crunched against my ears. It didn't sound as unpleasant as you might think.

  "It's good to be home." I said, meeting those fierce yellow eyes. "Any mages come here?"

  Grekel growled. "Yes, one came."

  My eyes narrowed, and a cold fury brewed and bubbled in my stomach. I removed my hands from his head and flexed my fingers and felt my muscles twitch. Who would dare come into my home?

  "When? How long did the mage stay?"

  "He came some months ago. Only stayed for a week. He tried to get into your castle. He did not make it."

  I smiled, but it wasn't happy. "You didn't try to help him, did you?"

  Far from insulted, Grekel let out a short bark of laughter. "No, indeed. He did not smell right. He was weak, puny. Joining him would have gained us no advantage."

  I scratched Grekel's head one more time before stepping back. "Good boy. Keep that attitude, and I won't have to destroy you."

  Grekel growled low in his throat before turning and trotting quickly into the darkness. The eyes of the other wichtln faded, and I was soon left alone with my thoughts. I rubbed my chin and continued down the dirt path, quickening my strides, the desire to see my castle suddenly overwhelming.

  I felt violated by the presumption of this faceless, weak mage. What did the idiot think he would accomplish? I had a reputation, a fierce one; everyone, not just mages, knew about my fortress, my enchantments, and the fact that any intruder would likely not make it out with his or her life. So why risk it?

  Unfortunately, I knew one good reason why a weak mage would risk everything to try and break into my home.

  Pferun Dulleriin. Or "The Stones of Power" in the common tongue.

  These gemstones were created many eons ago, before anyone alive today was born (which is a long time, considering most creatures could live until they were seven hundred or so). These stones were, according to legend, created by seven very powerful mages, the first seven mages to ever exist

  -- the first ones to ever gain mastery over the elements of the multi-verse. No one knew exactly how many stones were created. Some said thirty, some said one hundred...but the point was, these stones gave the possessor incredible power with none of the discipline, or years of training, which was required of true mages.

  I had learned discipline. I had learned my limits and how to conserve energy, how to manipulate the elements, how to merge my desire and will into one. I had learned to use the energy from inside my body and outside my body to create or destroy. Being a mage wasn't fun and games. It took years of work, and concentration, and the knowledge that you were never done learning, or practicing. Magick was just like any other muscle in the body

  -- if you didn't exercise it, it became loose and flabby. Weak.

  The Stones of Power gave power to anyone, and all the possessor needed was desire. The stones were limitless. No discipline, no balance. They were the single most deadly creation in Karishian, and I owned five of them.

  Yes, five.

  They were safer in my hands than in anyone else's. I liked power, and I liked the control I had over my small part of the world, but I didn't want to rule Karishian. I would have destroyed the stones if I could have, but after several attempts and failures I gave up on that course of action.

  But what disturbed me was the fact that only a handful of other mages, powerful mages, knew for a fact that I had the stones. There were certainly rumors that I did, but I didn't advertise it, for this very reason. I didn't need cocky and desperate mages coming to my home, disrupting my peace and tranquility.

  Grekel had said the mage who had tried to gain entry had been weak, and I trusted his judgment. But that meant someone had to have told the mage about the stones. Who would have? What was the point? A weak mage was no match for me, merely an annoyance. I had a lot of questions, but no answers.

  ***

  I was nearing my castle when I suddenly heard the sound of galloping hooves and the clank of armor. I rolled my eyes skyward and sighed before turning around to greet the very annoying visitor. It would figure that one of them would come and visit sooner or later.

  It was a "hero" who had come to put this villain in his place. A striking white horse with a golden mane galloped down the dirt path, flinging up debris and rocks and disturbing the stygian peace of the forest. The horse had golden reins and a silver saddle. The hero that sat atop the stallion was, well, what you picture when you think of the word hero. He had thick hair that flowed like liquid gold behind him and a royal blue tunic under silver armor. Emblazoned on the armor was a long black snake.

  Hmmm. This guy was from the kingdom to the south of my territory, according to the emblem. The kingdom was ruled over by a cunning king who wanted to rule the world. For years he had been trying to conquer my territory and the citizens of Happy Valley. You could just imagine what I thought of that bit of pres
umption.

  Pompous jackasses like that king exasperated me. I doubted he would want to rule the world once he had it under his control. I mean, why would anyone want to become king of the entire world? Becoming king of Karishian would leave you no time to yourself, and you would be responsible for everyone under your control, which would be every single living creature on the planet. You would constantly have to deal with rebellions and betrayals, and you would become a nervous wreck... I would think. You'd die young and with what sort of legacy left behind? You would be known as the idiot who thought controlling the world was a grand idea.

  And don't get me started on those deluded fools who thought annihilating the world was a hot idea. Because if they succeeded... what then? I mean, seriously? What then? They would be alone in desolation with nothing but their own broken mind to keep them company.

  Talk about moronic.

  I was quite happy with where and what I was. I had power, I used it. I had isolation, I relished it. And, on the rare occasion I wanted some company, I had the citizens of Happy Valley to remind me of why I was alone. I was very territorial, and I defended what was mine from thieves like King Raskalin. The kingdom was named after him as well -- such a modest guy.

  The knight hero, who was a seela, pulled on the stallion's reins and brandished his very large broadsword at me, his eyes robin's egg blue and his face set in a fierce scowl. I stood on the trail, my arms crossed over my chest and my foot tapping. I must have looked...well, less than what he expected. I was barely six feet tall, and I was skinny. I didn't need muscles when all my power came from my magick. My hair was a merciless black and slicked back from my narrow face. My eyes were muddy brown, and I was quite pasty. I didn't like being out in the sun much. I was quick on my feet and slithery in battle, but I was sure the hero expected more from my physical stature.

  He would underestimate me from the start. Just how I liked it.

  "Prepare thyself, villain, for the wrath of Goodness is upon you!" I kid you not. That's exactly what he said. The way he spoke and the power behind it only confirmed his pedigree. He was nobility, born and bred. Common folk did not speak like him.