Morcael's Light Crystals

by
Debra L. Frost © 1996




Chapter 1


           Kalin McMarsis stood at the hearth in a darkened, windowless corner of the common 
room in the Lantern Light Inn. Dressed in a light, leather tunic and ankle length, leather 
breeches. He wore knee high, soft, deerskin boots and carried his father’s old, long sword 
(lovingly cared for and treasured since his father’s untimely demise) in his sword belt. His 
shaggy head bowed, eyes tightly shut as if in the grip of a searing pain. One hand clenched 
in a fist at his side, the other clutching the mantel with such force his knuckles turned white. 
The dim light cast by the fire etched his face in shadows and made his black hair seem even 
darker than usual.
	Rylith, the barkeep, saw Kalin in this all too familiar stance and motioned for Ceila, 
the inn’s only barmaid and Rylith’s only child, to go to him and bring him out of the trance.
	"Hearing those voices again, Kalin?" she asked in a husky whisper.
	Startled from his trance, he stared at her through steel grey eyes, not com- 
prehending and said, "I’m sorry, Ceila, did you say something?"
	"I said, are you hearing those voices again?", she repeated.
	Kalin heaved a shuddering sigh, "Yes", he said, "But it was different this time. 
There’s usually several voices murmuring at once and no single voice is distinct. However, 
just now there was only one voice. Though the language was unfamiliar to me and seemed 
ancient, somehow I understood the words. But what it means or what it’s telling me still 
makes no sense."
	"Tell me what you heard and maybe I can help you figure it out." said Ceila.
	Kalin hugged her to him burying his face in the silken tresses of her shining blonde 
hair. He reflected that in the firelight her hair looked like spun gold. Her supple body molded 
to his and gave promise of passion and innocence, his for the taking if he would but ask. 
Holding Ceila brought memories of the past crashing down around him.
	Tonieka Windsong’s lovely face, her violet eyes shining, danced within Kalin's
mind. Beautiful even in the black garments of the rites of grieving and made more poignant by 
the sorrow etched in the very fiber of her being. She had been only seventeen and the loss 
of her mother had been devastating. She had turned to Kalin for comfort but found only more 
pain.
	When Dakshilar, the chieftain and Tonieka’s father, found them locked in a lovers 
embrace he was so enraged that he flew into a fit of temper never before witnessed by 
Tonieka. He sent Kalin into exile and swore he’d have him executed if he ever tried to return.
	He received a message that night, before he was escorted out of the Shada-Arach 
territory, that said only, "I will love you always", and was signed by Tonieka. He had never 
heard from her again, though through an old family friend he had kept in touch with, he 
would always know how she fared.
	Kalin gently pushed Ceila from him and, looking down at her with a smile, he said, 
"No Ceila, I’m afraid you can’t help me with this one. Unless you have information about 
someone called Zoroth. That name was repeated several times within the verbal assault 
upon my mind."
	At the mention of Zoroth, Ceila gave a cry and quickly turned as if to leave. Kalin 
caught her by the sleeve of her flimsy blouse and it tore slightly as he turned her to face him.
	"Tell me what you know, Ceila. It’s vastly important to me that I find this man. I’ve a 
feeling I must do it quickly for time is short and my destiny hangs in the balance." he said in 
a harsh tone he had never used with her before.
	Tears streaming down her cheeks she proceeded to tell him the story of Zoroth.
	The mage Zoroth, it is said, possesses great magical power though it is said he 
acquired this power from the Dark Stone of Lestinax which is rumored to exist in a parallel 
plane where time has no meaning. This place is located between the mountain of Narue and
that of Katon. Many have gone in search of the Dark Stone but very few have found it. Only 
by the dark of the moon may you enter Lestinax and then only if invited.
	The portal through which you must pass is protected by a spell of enchantment. 
When it is open the rock surrounding the passage seems to come alive and will crush its 
uninvited guest to death before he can escape.
	They say Zoroth spent more time there each year until at last he didn’t return. It is 
presumed he is there to this day, if he still lives.
	"But you mustn’t go, Kalin! I’m afraid you’ll not return either. Please, I beg you not 
to go!" Ceila cried at last.
	Ceila’s head dropped to her chest, tears still clinging to her lashes. Kalin cupped his 
hand under her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. He hated seeing the pain so 
vividly displayed in those beautiful emerald eyes but there was nothing he could do to remove 
it. He knew what he must do and so did she. Ceila tore from his grasp and ran out of the room.
	"Rylith, my friend", said Kalin, "I must leave in the morning in order to reach the 
Beltar Mountains where Narue and Katon are nestled before the next new moon. I must find 
this portal and hopefully Zoroth as well. Please help Ceila to understand it is my destiny I 
seek."
	Rylith answered, "She does understand, Kalin, all too well. Tell me, what else did 
the voice say?"
	Kalin’s gaze pierced Rylith as he said, "Over and again it repeated, ‘I am TaLeith. I 
am your destiny’, and then, ‘Zoroth will explain.’"
	Rylith plunged the tankard he was holding into the murky depths of the dish water in 
front of him. Drawing it out he began wiping it dry with the length of cloth draped across his 
shoulder.
	"I’ve been hearing rumors", he replied with a sigh, "that there is a crack forming in 
the desert of Twan. Evil creatures have been observed heading in that direction from all 
over Rial. I fear they are gathering there to await the return of Orinuk."
	"Do you honestly believe those old hags in the town square who are always 
babbling about the return of the Father of Evil?" asked Kalin aghast.
	His tankards now washed, dried and sitting in neat rows behind the bar, Rylith, his 
dark eyes shining with an almost inhuman light, turned from Kalin and withdrew a piece of old 
parchment from a concealed niche in the wall. The crackling of the paper made an eerie 
sound in the quiet of the deserted common room. The hairs on the back of Kalin’s neck 
prickled as Rylith began to read.
	"The desert shall crack and spew forth from the blackness of Haeti, a thick ooze. 
From this stinking slime a mountain shall rise and cast its black shadow of evil upon the 
land. This is the birthing place of Orinuk, Father of all that is evil. Once his rebirth has 
occurred evil will prevail. The worlds only hope is to bring together the four crystals of 
Morcael: TaLeith, Sordon, Baline and Phazon. Morcael, the god-dess of light, shall rid the 
world of this evil through the crystals and those to whom they call upon once again.
	"My father’s grandfather was one of those chosen by the crystals the first time 
Orinuk tried entering Rial." said Rylith. "He and three others were brought together and 
became as one to defeat the evil and send it back from whence it came. He left this 
message behind only to insure that the signs be heeded if Orinuk ever tried again. I believe 
the crack in Twan is the first of these. The mountain may already be forming as we speak. 
You have been chosen. You must go for the good of Rial."
	The large oaken door at the far end of the common room was thrown open with such 
force it slammed into the wall with a thunderous clap. A dwarf in full battle armor, his 
unkempt, red hair and scraggly beard protruding from every available opening in his 
somewhat battle worn helm, staggered through clutching his head and mumbling ceaselessly.
	"C’mon Boulderoller, ignore the voices. They aren’t real. You’ll be all right. Just 
have a few tankards of ale and they’ll go away. That’s right, drown the buggers. Baline! 
Zoroth! Bah!" he said as he wandered up to the bar. Climbing up onto the nearest stool with 
some difficulty he exclaimed, "Barkeep, give me some of your strongest ale before I lose my 
mind completely!"
	Rylith had been absentmindedly wiping down the counter as he watched the dwarf 
approach. Now he slapped the rag back into the water and proceeded to fill a tankard with 
ale. With a sly glance in Kalin’s direction he asked, "Where do you hale from, my friend?"
	"Beranthalon Boulderoller has no friends, but if it’s any of your business I’m from 
Buritha in the Daalir mountains," he replied in a grumbling tone after taking a long drink of ale.
	The cave dwelling dwarves in the Daalir mountains stayed to themselves and rarely 
came out in daylight much less wandered down into the valley of Ferngarten. They gave no 
one trouble and expected the same in return.
	"What brings you down from Daalir and in broad daylight, Beran-- Ber. What did you 
say your name was?" queried Kalin.
	"Beranthalon Boulderoller, but it would be much easier if you’d call me Bear. 
Everyone else does. Or to be more precise, did! My tribe has sent me into exile because they 
think I’m either crazy or possessed! Me! Can you believe it?" he asked. Then under his 
breath he muttered, "You hear a few strange voices in our head and people think you’re nuts!"
	"Did I hear you say you’re hearing voices?" Kalin asked as he grabbed the dwarf’s 
hand before he could lift the tankard to his lips again.
	With a stutter in his speech Bera replied, "You most certainly heard no such thing! 
What kind of dwarf do you take me for anyway?"
	Kalin looked to Rylith for support before answering, "I’m sorry, Bera, I thought you 
might be one of the chosen like myself. My mistake."
	"That’s right," added Rylith with a sly wink to Kalin. "You see, if you had heard the 
voice of one of the Four Crystals of Morcael, either TaLeith, Sordon, Phazon or Baline," and 
he emphasized that last name and let it hang in the air between them a moment before 
continuing, "or the name Zoroth, then it would mean your destiny is intertwined with that of 
my good friend here, Kalin’s."
	"Chosen? Chosen for what"-- asked Bera --"the gravel pits like squirls?"
	Szingsi dwarves, commonly known as squirls, had in ancient times been one of the 
wealthiest of the dwarven tribes on Rial. Squirls are a craftily intelligent race, far brighter 
than most. They live in squalor by choice not ignorance for they hoard everything they can 
as squirrels do nuts. Anything they find, whether of value to anyone else or not, is like a 
treasure to them. Though they will gladly accept anything given to them they rarely, if ever, 
give anything away.
	 In the earliest recorded dwarven history it is written that the Szingsi lost their 
wealth and position during the Battles for Possession. Being stripped of their properties (and 
only able to bring what they could carry of their worldly posses-sions) reduced them to the 
poorest race on Rial. Most feel that this is the cause for their packratting tendencies. A 
common Szingsi saying is, "You can’t take it with you if you don’t already own it." Implying 
that you can take worldly possessions into the afterlife if it belongs to you in this one.
	The squirls consider it an honor to be "chosen" by the Buri dwarven tribe to work 
the gravel pits as they almost always find something "special" to take home at the end of 
each day.
	"Of course we don’t mean for the pits!" said Rylith with a chuckle. "We’re 
concerned for the safety and well being of all of Rial. Hordes of evil beings are gathering 
toward the west in the Desert of Twan. We fear Orinuk’s return is imminent.
	Kalin interjected, "If you are hearing the voice of one of Morcael’s light crystals then 
it is your duty, not only to the dwarves of the Daalir mountains but to Rial itself, to help 
combat this descending darkness."
	Bera downed his ale and set the tankard back on the bar with a thud. Pushing it 
toward Rylith he muttered, "May as well have another, barkeep, it looks like it may be a long 
time before I get the chance again." He then pulled a silver piece from the small leather 
pouch strapped to his sword belt and flipped it to Rylith. Looking back at Kalin he said, "I 
assume we leave at first light." After receiving an affirmative nod he returned his gaze to the 
proprietor and asked, "Will that get me a room for the night and a hot meal?"
	"As you are one called by Morcael," replied Rylith, "I cannot, in all good 
con-science, accept payment for putting you up for the night. With your help we at least 
have hope." And he laid the coin  on the bar in front of the dwarf before turning and heading 
toward the kitchen.






CHAPTER 2





     Kalin and Bera shared a table at the inn as daylight faded into dusk. The sky toward the 
west vivid shades of yellow and red turning to purple and dark blue in the east. The 
remnants of the meal they had just consumed still littered the table. They each held a mug of 
warm, spiced rum between their battle scarred hands. The two had talked long about the 
adventure they would embark upon in the morning. Kalin had shown the dwarf the parchment 
from Rylith and told him what he knew about the goings-on in the desert. He had explained 
about Zoroth and where they had to go to find him and get more information about Morcael’s 
crystals.
     The common room had filled with patrons and one in particular, wearing the leather garb 
of a tracker and carrying no visible weapons, sat near the companions listening intently to 
their conversation. His silvery hair and staring, white eyes made him appear old but his ruddy 
complexion and angular features belied this. The emerald ring of obvious elven design 
flashed on his all too young looking left hand as if it were lit from within. Neither the fading 
sunlight that filtered in through the uncurtained window to his right nor the lanterns hung from 
the rafters above shed enough light to cause such brilliance.
     The man stood when he heard a lull in the conversation between Kalin and Bera and 
tapped his way toward them using his staff to guide him around the tables and chairs. When 
he was alongside of Kalin he stumbled, knocking Kalin’s arm and causing the warm brew in 
his mug to slosh into his lap.
     Kalin jumped to his feet and grabbed for his sword but as he turned to confront his 
assailant he released the sword hilt when he realized the man was blind.
     "Pardon me," the man exclaimed in a mysterious, rasping whisper, "How clumsy of me! 
Did I cause you to spill your drink? Here, let me buy you another." And he reached for a 
pouch hanging from his waist belt.
     "That’s quite all right, sir," replied Kalin as he mopped the liquid from the chair and wiped 
his trousers dry with the linen napkin he was holding. "No serious dam-age was done."
     The man started forward a step then turned back to Kalin. "I don’t mean to intrude"-- 
stated the man--"but I thought I overheard you mention the name Zoroth a moment ago. I 
might be of assistance to you in that I know the way to Lestinax."
     Kalin gave Bera a dubious look and started to protest but the man held up his hand to 
silence him before he could do so. "I know that seems strange for a blind man to claim but I 
assure you I can find the passage better than any sighted guide you will find. It is at Lestinax 
that I acquired the silver hair and blind eyes you see now and it is with these blasted eyes 
that I may see the portal forever etched upon my mind. And you could say I have an open 
invitation."
     "Why don’t you take a seat," said Kalin. "I’m sure we can use whatever help we can get."
     Bera pulled a chair from the nearest table and set it between them. As Kalin grasped the 
man’s arm to help guide him to the seat he felt an odd sensation course through his body 
and an image flashed before his eyes. He saw a long cavern passageway and at the end a 
brilliant light shown.
     Kalin gasped and released the man staring at him with a startled expression. The man 
was wearing a slight smile on his face as Kalin looked to him in mild shock.
     "What’s the matter with you, barbarian," exclaimed the dwarf, "you look as if you’ve 
seen a ghost!"
     The sound of Bera’s voice seemed to break the spell but before Kalin could respond the 
man answered, "That happens to people sometimes when they realize how physically strong I 
am. Everyone assumes because I’m blind I must be weak also. But that isn’t the case, is it
Kalin?" And the man faced Kalin, his blind eyes seeming to stare right through him.
     Kalin could only shake his head in amazement as the man continued. "My name is 
Evigam Windalhart and I used to be a tracker and guide. For obvious reasons I cannot get 
much work lately although my other senses have heightened considerably. I can still prove 
my skill but most fear to trust me. I just don’t look the part anymore you might say."
     Before Evigam settled into his chair he cocked his head to one side as if listening 
to some sound undetected by the others. He then shook his head slightly and sighed. Smiling 
broadly he turned his attention back to the two at the table.
     "Have I managed to convince you yet," he queried, "to at least let me come along? If you 
think at any time I’m not pulling my own weight I will gladly take my leave then and there. I 
for one know I’m capable of taking care of myself so no need to fear that I’ll be eaten up by 
some passing monsters if we part company. I’ve learned over the past few years how to fend 
for myself."
     The emerald ring on Evigam’s finger drew Kalin’s attention and as he stared into its 
brilliant green glow he felt the well-known grip of the trance slip over him. His mind became 
lost in the words of the now familiar voice. "Find the guide"-- it mur-mured --"he knows the 
way."
     The trance broke as suddenly as it had come on and as he looked across the table he 
realized Bera had been experiencing a similar happening. He could see it in the glazed look 
of his eyes as he came out of the trance. They both turned to Evigam only to find he was no
longer with them.
     Something fluttered, caught up by the night breeze blowing through the open window. 
Tucked under the candle in the center of the table was a scrap of parchment. Kalin picked 
it up and held it in the candle’s warm glow. It was a small but intricately detailed map 
showing all of Ansolia. As he studied it he saw that someone had drawn the figure of a man 
standing on The Bridge Mulkin. Kalin knew instinctively that the figure represented Evigam 
Windalhart and that they would meet up with him there on the morrow.
     Just then Ceila came over to the table and started clearing away the dishes, her golden 
brown, woolen skirt swishing gently around her ankles. She had exchanged her torn white 
blouse for a peach colored one that was nearly transparent. With a polite smile to Bera and a 
curt nod toward Kalin she announced, "Father says your rooms have been prepared and that
he has taken the liberty of lighting a fire in the hearths to keep out the spring chill. Sleep 
well and may the gods be with you." She hurried quickly away under her burden of dirty 
dishes and an aching heart. Tears again flooded her eyes and spilled over to fall on the half 
eaten carcass of a xorcian fowl still remaining on Kalin’s platter.
     Bera excused himself and went to find his room while Kalin sat brooding into the tankard 
of ale he had ordered after Evigam had spilled his rum. He had just brought it to his lips when 
someone began yelling from across the room.
     He turned his attention to the ruckus and saw a large brute of a corloc holding a squirl, 
kicking and screaming, in the air by his wide, leather belt. His packs and pouches dangled 
from his waist and his long length of golden brown hair, braided and interwoven with leather 
laces, flopped around his face as he struggled. The squirl being no more than four feet tall 
(which was average for a squirl) and the cor-loc standing a good seven feet (though actually
rather short for one as they usually topped at least eight if not nine feet in height, being a 
sub-species of giants) made this a simple enough task.
     Normally Kalin would not have gotten involved but the sight of the squirl hanging in mid-
air and struggling for all he was worth in what appeared to be a no-win situation made him 
think of the circumstances he now found himself in.
     His hand on his sword hilt, Kalin began to advance on the group who were now 
tormenting the squirl. As he neared them the squirl, now perched precariously on the edge of 
the table and still held by his belt, lunged to the right then twisted swiftly back toward the 
left. His deft movements were too quick for the slow witted corloc. The squirl was already up 
and running (and on a collision course with Kalin) before the corloc realized he’d lost him.
     The squirl slammed into the barbarian with such force it caused Kalin to take a step back 
and almost lose his balance while it sent the squirl sprawling at Kalin’s feet. Sitting on his 
backside on the floor in front of Kalin, his indigo blue, homespun shirt hanging open to the 
waist, his buckskin breeches and light leather boots now dirty from the fall, the squirl 
cautiously looked up to see what further trouble he’d gotten himself into this night.
     "Kalin!" exclaimed the squirl. "What are you doing here? When did you get into town? 
How long are you staying? Have you been on any great new adventures since I saw you last 
year near Kwailo?" The Szingsi were notorious for hurling questions at you when overly 
excited though they never seemed to take the time to listen to the answers.
     Kalin held out his hand to help the squirl to his feet just as the corloc walked up, his 
other hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. The corloc (weaponless due to Rylith’s policy 
based on the natural tendencies of aggression in certain races) sized up Kalin trying to 
decide if he could best him or not. Deciding the squirl wasn’t worth fighting the rather tall (six 
foot four inches to be exact), muscular, sword wielding barbarian for, he retreated back to his 
table grumbling about thieving squirls all the way.
      "Weidalor Thistlehorn, I should have known." replied Kalin with a shake of his head. 
"You have got to be the only Szingsi I know who is lunatic enough to try snatching the purse 
of a corloc. Not to mention the fact that he was surrounded by a pack of cut-throats."
     After the close call with the corloc, Kalin led the way back to the table he had so 
recently vacated. He motioned for Weidalor to sit at his right while he took the chair facing 
the table of ruffians just to keep an eye on them in case they wanted to try to start some 
trouble.
     "You know how the saying goes, ‘ you can’t take it with you---’" started Weidalor but was 
interrupted by Kalin.
     "I know the saying, Weid!" interjected Kalin with a growl. "But it doesn’t seem worth 
risking your life for."
     Weid hurled a barrage of questions at Kalin and the barbarian found he needed all the
patience he could muster trying to give back answers between questions. Finally he gave 
up, waiting for Weid to run down some. He seemed more curious (if you can use that word 
under the circumstances) than usual.
     The hour was growing late and Kalin needed to get some rest before starting out in the 
morning. "Look, Weid," Kalin piped up before the squirl caught his breath again, "I’ve got a 
long journey ahead of me so I’m going to have to turn in for the night. If you’re up early
enough I’ll see you in the morning."
     Kalin stood and headed toward the stairs before the squirl could stop him. All he wanted 
was a good nights rest and to wake up and find this was all a dream. He was thirty-eight and 
feeling too old for this kind of adventuring.
     Weid got up and walked to the bar to get his pack from Rylith. Due to his sticky fingers, 
he wasn’t allowed to keep his pack any more than ruffians were allowed their weapons. This 
went totally against his nature but it was a sacrifice he made only at the Lantern Light for the 
inn was like a second home to him. And it wasn’t like anyone could steal an enchanted 
Szingsi pack any way.
     Once he had retrieved all he needed from his pack he reached for his toritz (a metal rod 
three foot long sharpened to razor tips on  either end with a wooden grip at it’s mid point, a 
handy tool in the gravel pits as well as a very effective weapon ) purely out of habit, and 
realized it was missing. He looked over toward the table where the corloc still sat guzzling 
ale with his cronies, appearing even at this distance to be well into his cups and saw it 
pushed up against the wall on the far side of the group. There wasn’t anything meaner than 
a soused corloc so Weid decided it was safe enough where it was. He’d wait and collect it in 
the morning or get it from Ceila if she found it first while cleaning up.