Staff of Shigmar: Chapter 2, Part 1

10 March 2026

In this week’s installment of Staff of Shigmar: Book 2 of The Redemption, we visit the seklesi fortress in Holvar, where Marilee and Delgart have gone. (18 August 2014) We remind all readers that this book, Staff of Shigmar, as also the first book, is free for download from Smashwords! Glossary links: Book 2, Book 1

Chapter 2, Part 1

In our collaborative research on the creation of artifacts of power, Headmaster Shigmar and I have discovered how these special artifacts can be brought into a sympathetic relation with each other, enabling subliminal communication between; it is our belief that this communication might, by prior design, become conscious, opening many possibilities. . . .

from Annals of Melbarth, Seventh Series, Early Lectures of the Hierarchs
Lecture by Sedra Melbarth

“Put these on,” Delgart said. “And you must always wear them; they are artifacts created by the founders of the elder orders to protect each of the chosen from the mental manipulation of Gar. They are called verghrenum, which means ‘hider of thoughts.’”

Rokwolf looked puzzled. “The chosen?”

Marilee stood off to one side, her face overshadowed by her hood. “Have you forgotten the prophecy of Shigmar?”

Rokwolf looked toward her, while slipping one bracer on. “Do you refer to the prophecy by Shigmar concerning those who will end Gar’s realm and rule?” When he slipped on the second, a flash of white light surrounded Rokwolf, focusing on his head; the seklesi’s eyes went blank, then rolled up into his head, and he started to fall. Delgart grabbed and held him up, then dragged him over to his bed.

“What happened?” Marilee asked, “I was looking away.”

“When he put on the second bracer,” Delgart replied, “there was a flash of light, and he started to fall.”

“That did not happened when we put on ours,” Marilee noted. “Do you suppose it means something?”

“I’m sure it does, but what, I do not know.” Delgart shook his younger brother gently, seeing if he would wake. “It’s like Tevvy and Klare.” He looked at Marilee, who now stood next to him, looking down at Rokwolf. “You don’t suppose he also could be under some sort of mental compulsion?” Delgart stooped to tighten and tie the laces on Rokwolf’s verghrenum.

Marilee shrugged. “Those who might tell us are sixty miles away.”

“There are no kailum here in Holvar?” Delgart asked, finishing the first and moving to the second.

“There are,” Marilee replied, “but I’m not sure we could trust them; we are, after all, outlaws.”

“But the One said that we would be alright,” Delgart began, then stopped when someone knocked on the door; he looked at Marilee. “Isn’t it a bit late for visitors?” he whispered.

“Holvar never sleeps,” she replied, as if it were a maxim.

The door opened, and a messenger in royal livery stood in the doorway, a small wethi with stringy brown hair, narrow face, and long nose. “The Fereghen, Wothgart, requests the presence of Rokwolf and his guests.” There was a simpering quality to the messenger’s nasal voice, owing to the perpetual smirk the small wethi wore.

“Rokwolf just fainted,” Marilee pointed.

“Ah,” Nuwenty, the messenger, said. “He has been waiting to hear his sentence and was overwhelmed by guilt and fear when I knocked. . . .”

Marilee interrupted him. “He fell before you knocked; what sentence?” she ended, changing directions.

“He was suspended for the fiasco in the forest,” Nuwenty continued, “in which much of his command was lost, including the fatal wounding of his second.”

Marilee threw back her hood, although she kept the wounded and bandaged half of her face away from the messenger. “I appear to be alive and in good health,” she noted wryly.

“Yes, well,” Nuwenty stammered, “your condition was unknown, and your miraculous recovery will do little to change his loss of command.”

“We’ll see about that,” Marilee replied, pulling her hood back over her head. She nodded to Delgart, who pulled his brother into a sitting position. Each took an arm, stooped, and placed it over their shoulders, then lifted the fallen seklesi to his feet.

“Very good,” Nuwenty said, his smirk widening. “Follow me.”

In a room next to the audience hall, Skerapi, the Fereghen’s kailu, examined Rokwolf. The Chief Kailu was shorter than the Fereghen, thin, with a wrinkle across his forehead that made him appear to frown constantly; his dirty gray hair fell in sheets across his face as he bent to examine Rokwolf. Wothgart, Marilee, and Delgart stood by; the Fereghen had silver, curly hair, a tall and well-muscled body, and a deep, rich voice when he spoke, contrasting Skerapi’s higher voice. Skerapi’s hands glowed green as he moved them over Rokwolf’s body. As his hands passed closer to the fallen seklesi’s head, white light glowed brightly, preventing the kailu from actually touching Rokwolf’s head. Skerapi’s hands fell to his sides.

“You say he fainted after he put on these bracers?” Skerapi asked.

Delgart nodded.

“Something prevents me from examining him more closely,” Skerapi said, “and I must conclude it is the bracers, but I cannot touch them.”

Marilee stepped forward and tried to unlace and remove Rokwolf’s verghrenum. “I can touch them,” she said, “but I cannot remove them.”

Skerapi frowned. “That is odd. Can you remove your own?”

Marilee reached for one of her verghrenum, untied it, slid it off, then replaced it. “Easily.”

Skerapi turned to Wothgart. “My Fereghen,” he said, “there is little I can do for him, although it does look as if something positive is happening.”

“I think we should send him to Shigmar,” Wothgart noted. “Let Headmaster Myron deal with him, since my instructions were very clear: release Rokwolf from punishment and send him to Myron at once.”

Delgart and Marilee exchanged a glance. Marilee turned to Wothgart. “My Fereghen,” she began, “that was one message we were instructed to give to Rokwolf.”

Wothgart nodded once, then spoke. “Show me your faces.”

Surprised by the abrupt request, both hesitated before lowering their hoods and unwrapping the bandages covering the marked half of their faces. Skerapi looked sidelong at Wothgart, then moved forward, hands glowing green again. Wothgart put a hand on Skerapi’s arm and stopped him. A look of irritation flashed in Skerapi’s eyes.

“My Fereghen,” Skerapi began, “let me heal them.” He stopped speaking, seeing steel in the Fereghen’s eyes.

“They both just came from the best healers in our kingdom,” Wothgart said, “do you think to do something they have not?”

Skerapi flushed. “My Fereghen!” he protested. “I saw their wounds . . . I acted out of habit, since healing is my job.”

Wothgart smiled. “That is why I stopped you,” the Fereghen said, “part of my instructions,” he added.

Skerapi relaxed and let his hands fall; he gave the Fereghen a half-smile.

Wothgart looked at Marilee and Delgart. “You two wisely hide the marks on your faces, particularly noticeable when you are together.”

Marilee nodded; Delgart inclined his head.

“Marilee,” Wothgart continued, “you will return to your former company for assignment; you will temporarily be reduced in rank and take charge of a squad. Rokwolf has other work to perform.”

“Thank you, my Fereghen,” Marilee stammered, her face coloring, surprised by her reduction and his words. She bowed to the Fereghen.

Wothgart turned to Delgart. “I understand that you have been a slave to pirates?”

“Yes, sir,” Delgart replied, “for more than twelve years.”

“What sort of work or training did they give you?” Wothgart asked.

“I first worked in the galley, then I was a cabin boy for a time,” Delgart said, “and my first owner,” the word came out filled with bitterness, “gave me some careful training in the use of pirate weaponry.”

Wothgart raised an eyebrow. “That is an odd move, for a pirate.”

“He did not trust his men,” Delgart explained, “so when I grew tall enough, he trained me as a sparring partner, that way he did not have to spar with his men.”

“How did you end up on the benches?” the Fereghen asked.

Delgart laughed. “I was first a galley slave to a lazy cook, and because I was a great organizer, I came to the notice of the captain, who took me for his own and trained me, as I said. I was a great sparring partner to him, until the crew mutinied, killing the captain. They locked me in the hold for several days, and I think they would have let me starve there, until the new captain ordered me to the benches; I was there until the storm, and the wreck. . . .” Delgart’s voice trailed off.

Wothgart nodded. “We will test you to see where we should place you for further training. Since you have some weapons skills already, we soon should be able to bring you up to speed and into the field.”

“Thank you, sir,” Delgart replied, bowing. “It was my childhood dream to become a seklesi.”

“We will send Rokwolf, with a messenger to see he gets to the right place, to Shigmar for healing and his new assignment,” Wothgart said cryptically, causing his Chief Kailu to stare at him in surprise.

Come back Thursday for another installment of our tale; we will return to the others and see Blakstar and Thal awakened by his sword. . . . Get a full ebook copy from Smashwords for free! If you prefer print, purchase your copy using the link provided. Good reading!