Staff of Shigmar: Chapter 10, Part 3

21 May 2026

Welcome to all! We return to the serialization of the second book of our epic, Staff of Shigmar, and leave Klaybear and company to return to Kalbant, where Klare watches over her mother and sister, the only survivors of the village’s destruction, and Rokwolf watches over Klare. . . . (23 February 2015) 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 10, Part 3

Rokwolf was uneasy; it was too quiet. Although he had watched over Klare through the night, making frequent sweeps around the area to be sure no one was nearby, he still felt a threat approaching, but he could not decide what it might be, or where it was coming from. He looked down at Klare, whose eyes were red and face streaked with dried tears. Her sister and mother lay beside her, unmoving for most of the night, but there were moments when her sister stirred in her sleep, as if she were struggling against something; her mouth worked, but she spoke no words, as if something prevented her from speaking. Rokwolf wanted to move from here, but Klare’s mother had not stabilized, Klare had told him, enough to be moved. Rokwolf ground his teeth and occupied the time between sweeps dragging the bodies to one of the buildings that had fallen, where they could all be burned together.

“Any change?” Rokwolf asked Klare, kneeling beside her.

Klare looked up, but did not answer right away. “No, no change,” she said after a few moments. “She is still . . . ,” Klare faltered, unable to continue.

Rokwolf put one hand gently on her shoulder. “Klaybear told me that you were the best young healer at the school,” he spoke in a gentle voice, “and I can see that you have done all that could be done: it is in the hands of the One.”

Klare looked up at her brother-in-law and smiled weakly. “Thanks,” she said, “it’s just that . . . ,” she started to say, but bowed her head and sobbed, “I never had the chance to tell her that she’s going to be a grandmother,” she finished, burying her face in her hands, her body wracked with sobs she could not control.

Rokwolf wrapped his arms around her and held her until her sobs subsided.

Klare sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Sorry,” she noted. “Anything?” she asked.

Rokwolf shook his head. “No,” he said, eyes scanning the area around them, “but there is something, some threat approaching. We cannot remain here much longer.”

Klare nodded. “I know,” she agreed, “but we should wait a little longer before we try to move mother,” she added, looking down. “I wonder how long Klaybear will be gone,” she finished, turning to look to the north. “I was a little worried when that big wave crashed into the shore and the ground shook, but now I feel he is fine.”

Rokwolf followed her gaze, also looking north. “I’m glad you think so,” he said. “I am concerned about them; they are not experienced, and that worries me. I shared my concerns with your Headmaster, suggested that I should go with them, but he told me that if I did, they would fail.”

Klare touched his arm lightly, bringing his eyes back to look at her. “I’m sure he had very good reasons. I think he was the wisest person living, except for my master,” she said, and her face became bleak, eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Avril! I’d forgotten!” she sobbed, bowing her head again.

“What did you forget?” Rokwolf asked.

“My master,” Klare replied, “he died yesterday, but it seems like long ago, or that he’s not dead.” She sniffed and shook her head. “No! I must not, mother needs me,” she went on, looking down at her charges. “I have no time for grief,” she finished, dashing the tears from her eyes.

Both looked up and to the east.

“What . . . ?” Klare started to say, but Rokwolf silenced her.

He scanned the east, trying to find the source of the sound they both had heard. He stood silently and unslung his bow, nocking an arrow. Klare reached with her right hand and grabbed her staff, which had been lying beside her on the ground; as silently and smoothly as Rokwolf, she stood and faced the east, holding her staff ready. Seeing her standing ready, Rokwolf nodded to the east, indicating he was going to investigate, then he moved swiftly and silently, eyes taking in everything. He disappeared around the corner of a fallen building, making a sweep of the area but finding nothing; he returned shaking his head but did not speak until close to Klare.

“There was something,” Rokwolf whispered, “I am sure, but I cannot find who or what it was, or any traces.” He nodded to Klare’s mother and sister. “Is there any way we can move her?” he asked. “We are too exposed here,” he added, “we have to find some cover, before whatever is out there discovers us.”

Klare looked at her mother, then looked around. “Maybe if you found something flat,” she noted, “like a wide plank; we could slide her onto it and move her, but we dare not go very far.”

Rokwolf looked around. “I’ll find something,” he noted. “There is space in the cellar, if we could get them in there, you could stay there with them, out of sight, and I could draw whatever is out there away from you, erasing all traces of your presence.” He stood and slung his bow over his shoulder, sliding the arrow back into his quiver. He circled the rubble, then remembered the door he and Klaybear pulled off of the cellar entrance; it was bulky, but he was sure he could drag it with Klare’s mother on it. He carried it back to where Klare waited, laying it next to Klare’s mother. He knelt beside Klare, across the cellar door from Klare’s mother.

“If we pull by the clothes she is lying on,” Klare said, “we should be able to slide her carefully onto the door.”

Rokwolf nodded, and they both took hold of her clothes. When Klare nodded, they slowly slid her mother onto the door, which caused her to wince in pain.

“Careful!” Klare said needlessly, and she moved to the end of the door, at her mother’s feet.

“What are you doing?” Rokwolf asked. “I think it is too heavy for you.”

“How do you plan on moving her?” Klare asked.

Rokwolf shrugged. “I’ll pick up one end and drag it around back.”

“You must not,” Klare replied, shaking her head. “Her condition is too fragile; one bump would kill her.”

“I don’t think you can lift it,” Rokwolf noted.

“I’ll have to try,” Klare said.

Rokwolf squatted to lift his end; Klare did the same, lifting when he nodded. He lifted his side easily, but he could tell that Klare was struggling with her side.

“Are you okay, Klare?” Rokwolf whispered.

Klare nodded. “I can’t go far,” she replied through clenched teeth.

Rokwolf started to back in the direction of the cellar, looking behind him and looking back at Klare. He could tell after a few steps that it was too much for Klare at this point: the strain of several hard days, losing her master, and now her father and brothers, and no sleep through the past night had all taken a toll on her. On a normal day, he knew that she would have no trouble, but this was not a normal day. A few more steps and he could see her fingers slipping.

“Set it down before you drop it,” Rokwolf said, stopping and squatting slowly.
Klare gasped as it touched the ground, wiping the sweat from her eyes.

Rokwolf looked at her and thought for a moment as she caught her breath. “I have an idea,” he said when her breathing slowed. “I think we should save your strength to help me get her down into the cellar. I can carry her by myself.”

“How?” she asked, skeptical.

“On my back,” he replied. “Your mother is not that heavy, so if you can help me get the door onto my back, and then you can steady it as I move her.”

Klare looked down at her mother lying on the door. “How can you get this onto your back? I cannot lift it there.”

Rokwolf shook his head, slipping bow and quiver off his shoulders and setting them on the ground. “No, but you can hold up one end, allowing me to get under it.”

Klare again looked skeptical, but did not speak.

Rokwolf lifted his end, holding it at waist height. “Come and hold it up,” he said, and she came to his end and took one corner. He slipped under it on his knees, putting his back against the door. “Let it down,” he said, putting his arms and hands over his shoulders and behind his head, gripping the edge of the door. “If you would lift and steady the other end, I will get to my feet and start to move.”

“Ready,” she said and lifted her end slowly, and Rokwolf got slowly to his feet. They started to move toward the cellar.

“Are you okay?” Klare asked softly.

“Fine,” Rokwolf replied. “It is easy, once it is on my back and I am on my feet.”

They moved around the house to the back, stopping when they came to the cellar entrance.

“We’ll set it down the same way,” Rokwolf said, “steady it while I kneel, then set your end on the ground, then come to my end and lift it off my back while I get out from under it.”

As Rokwolf started to kneel, they heard a muffled scream from the front of the house.

“Jally!” Klare exclaimed, turning to look and losing her grip on the door.

Rokwolf had made it to one knee, and the door tilted to that side, and Klare’s mother started to slide. The scream came again, louder and more frantic. Rokwolf could tell by the shifting of the weight that something was wrong, so he tried to compensate dropping the arm opposite the leg kneeling. His sudden movement stopped the body from falling off that side, but then it slid the other way, too quickly for him to compensate. He flattened himself to the ground, shortening the distance to the ground.

“Klare!” Rokwolf exclaimed, hoping that she would see and stop her mother from falling off, further injuring her.

“No!” Klare exclaimed, rolling her mother onto her side; her hands glowed green, as she passed them over her mother’s body.

“What was the scream?” Rokwolf asked, heaving the door aside.

“My sister’s run off,” Klare said, a note of panic in her voice, “go after her!”

Rokwolf jumped to his feet and ran off, pausing to pick up his quiver and bow, slinging the quiver over his shoulder then nocking an arrow. A quick glance over the ground told him what he needed to know: the direction she had gone, running toward the central square of the village. He darted between the wrecked buildings, following her tracks while at the same time looking for enemies; something had awakened and frightened her into running. As he came around the last building before the square, he caught a glimpse of something lying face down about ten yards from the buildings. In an instant, he dove to the left and rolled, hearing something hiss past through the place he had been a moment before. Flattening himself against the wall out of sight of the village square, he heard the missile strike something hard, turned toward the sound, and saw a crossbow bolt quivering in a beam that had fallen from the building next to him. He turned the other way, back to the square, and could see that Klare’s sister lay motionless on the ground, bloody, steel-tipped bolt sticking out of her back. From its position and angle, he knew there was no hope. He cursed under his breath: this was all Klare needed, another death of a family member, and from what he had seen before he left Klare, he suspected that her mother would not survive much longer. He looked back at the now still bolt, imagined where Klare’s sister must have been hit, then looked back along what must have been the trajectory of both bolts. On the opposite side of the square, there was a two story building, still standing, the two windows on the second floor were broken, but he could not see anything in the dim light just before dawn. He scanned the area around the building, and as his eyes searched, he heard voices, the sounds of scraping wood and tinkling masonry, of things being shifted in the rubble.

“Looters,” Rokwolf whispered to himself, and he hoped he was right, that it was not another army of ghelem and purem, looking for them. For a moment, he listened to the sounds; it could not be more of Gar’s servants sent to capture them. For one thing was certain, they would not make so much noise, especially if they knew there were enemies about. He could not move; the space between these two buildings was in clear view of the windows, and he did not know which one concealed the archer, maybe both. He looked at the building next to him; there was the wall across from him, partially standing. If there were something there he could disturb, he might be able to distract the invisible archer long enough that he could get back to Klare before others found her, since he knew there had to be others nearby. He could see nothing in the next building, but just beyond it, he saw a chunk of ceiling plaster, maybe two feet square, dangling from a beam. He slipped the arrow he had nocked back into the quiver, slung his bow over his shoulder, and grabbed a shard of pottery from the ground. He took careful aim, then lobbed the piece of a broken pot toward the dangling plaster. He watched the shard fly toward its target, ready to spring as soon as something happened. The shard hit the dangling plaster, knocking it free; it struck the ground with a resounding crash, and Rokwolf leapt out of the shadows, zig-zagging his way across the open area. He almost stopped when he heard more crashing behind him, as more of the building had fallen. He darted out of sight of the central square, running back to where Klare was. He arrived out of breath, and pulled up short when he saw Klare’s face turn toward him, eyes red, face streaked with tears, and he knew that her mother had died. He knelt beside her, laying one hand upon her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Rokwolf croaked, then he went on before she could say or do anything. “There are looters in the village,” he said, “we have to take the horses and get out of here before they find us.”

“What about my sister?” Klare sobbed. “Where is she?”

“They killed her when she entered the square,” he replied, “and nearly killed me. We’ve got to go.”

“I can’t leave my mother here, unburied,” she sobbed, “unmourned.” Her face was hollow, filled with grief.

Rokwolf looked into her eyes, thinking hard. “We’ll put her body in the cellar, then set fire to the ruins, then no one can desecrate her body or your home.”

Klare’s eyes filled again with tears; she choked back her sobs, nodding.

Rokwolf gently lifted her mother’s lifeless body, descending the stairs into the cellar. Moments later, he emerged, carrying a golden chain and locket, and handing it to Klare. Klare took it, looked at it for a moment in her open hand, then her hand closed tightly over it. She looked around.

“I think I lost my staff,” she noted, her voice tight and unnatural.

Rokwolf jogged back to where Klare had spent the night, kneeling beside her mother, and returned holding her staff. She accepted it from him and turned to face the ruins of her home, holding up her staff.

“Stalna-kailigater,” she said in a firm voice, and pointed her staff at the ruins of her family home. From somewhere high overhead, a beam of green fire descended, striking the ruins, and setting all of the rubble on fire at once. Rokwolf covered his eyes until Klare released the orthek. She started to slump, but Rokwolf caught her in his arms, lifted her, and carried her toward the place where their horses were tethered, shedding tears of sympathy, knowing exactly how it felt to lose one’s parents.

On Saturday we will pick up the story with Delgart and Marilee, as the seklesi army heads north to meet the attack on Shigmar. For those who wish to read on, get a full ebook copy from Smashwords for free! If you prefer print, purchase your copy from the link provided. Good reading!