Staff of Shigmar: Chapter 18, Part 4

10 August 2026

Welcome back for another installment from the second book of our epic, Staff of Shigmar! In this part, we return to Klaybear, Thal, and Blakstar, captured as they tried to return to Shigmar and save the city with Shigmar’s staff. . . . (26 October 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 18, Part 4

A sound penetrated the darkness, lazily floating to the surface of his mind: creak-creak, followed by silence, then, creak-creak bump shake shake. Someone was sneaking into my room, Klaybear’s sluggish mind thought, it must be Rokwolf. Creak-bump-creak-shake bump-bump-shake-shake-shake. He’s trying to wake me, Klaybear thought, but I’m tired and want to sleep, and my head hurts. Creak-creak. Why did that sound persist? Why couldn’t he leave me alone?

“Klaybear?” a voice asked, but it wasn’t Rokwolf. Maybe it was Delgart, but no, Delgart had been taken away in the raid. Creak-creak, bump-shake-shake.

“Klaybear?” the voice asked again. It was familiar, but the pain in his head–creak-creak–was too much. “Leave me alone!” he tried to shout, but heard no words–the creaking, the bumping, and the shaking were the only sounds audible, besides the intrusive voice.

“Are you all right?” the voice asked. He thought he knew that voice, but how? Where? He rolled to his other side, hoping the voice would leave him alone to sleep, but now the creaking was punctuated by a clinking nearby, almost in his ears, he thought.

“You must wake up,” the voice insisted. Bump-bump, shake-shake-shake. “Blakstar is injured: I cannot help him,” the voice went on imploring. Blakstar? he thought, who was–creak-creak–Blakstar? Then images flooded his sluggish mind; he sat up, blinded for a moment by the bright light around him, but the creaking, bumping, and shaking persisted. As his eyes struggled against the light, then struggled to focus; the back of his head throbbed painfully, every bump increasing the pain. He needed to do something about the pain–creak-creak. He raised one hand to the back of his head, seeing a flash of green light move through his blurred vision; he felt the lump on the back of his head, felt it warm, then cool, then the pain diminished to a dull ache and his eyes focused; a face swam into focus, framed by wild, red hair covered with twigs and dirty leaves: Thal, the name surfaced as his eyes cleared. He looked around, saw crude but thick wooden bars, light moving over them as they passed under the shade of trees, the regular creaking of the axle and the bumping and shaking of the wagon as it rolled slowly over bumps and holes in the road. His eyes fell on the unmoving form of the kortexi, and he reached out with his still green-glowing hand, laying it on Blakstar’s sweaty forehead, feeling the healing energy passing through his hand as he hummed the words of a healing orthek, drawing power from the air around him. The kortexi groaned and sat up.

“What happened?” Blakstar asked.

“We were trapped,” Thal said dully, “they were waiting for us to appear, with nets ready.”

“My head still hurts,” Blakstar noted, one hand going automatically to his belt, but his belt, sword, and the vessel of the Waters of Life were gone. “My sword!” he hissed.

Thal nodded and pointed. “There, at the front of this wagon,” Thal said softly, “along with the staff, my rod, our packs and belts, in short, all that we possessed that might be useful to us now.”

Harsh laughter punctuated the creak-creak of the wagon. Their troop of horses was tied to the back of the wagon and following along in a single line; the wagon and horses were surrounded by a group of purem.

“Behold the mighty kortexi,” a harsh puri voice exclaimed, “caged!” Seeking the source of the voice, Klaybear saw that the one who had spoken was not a puri as he first thought, but a stocky ponkolu, with a broad chest and long arms bulging with muscles, huge hands, looking strong enough to crush any wethi, no matter how strong.

“Caught like a rat in our trap,” added another voice; more harsh laughter followed.

“You let me out of this cage,” Blakstar retorted, “and we will see who laughs.”

The purem surrounding the cage roared with laughter.

“We are not fools,” the ponkolu said, grinning widely and showing his broken fangs and missing teeth.

“We know what you did to the others,” the second said.

“So you will remain safely caged,” the ponkolu said. The others laughed again. “Then you will pay for what you have done.” He pointed at Blakstar with one of his long arms, revealing its unnatural length and girth; the other hung at his side, reaching to his knee.

“Yes,” the second voice said, licking his lips, “we will slice away your flesh, one small strip at a time,” the puri went on, holding up his finger and thumb, “broiling it and eating it while your blood leaks slowly away.” The others laughed at this.

“Or better yet,” a third voice croaked, “we’ll call the breeders and their mistresses, and let them have their fill of you before we eat you!”

“Blakstar, no!” Thal shouted, trying to stop the kortexi from hurling himself at the wooden bars. Red light flashed and Blakstar was thrown back, hands burned and smoking. Klaybear reached out his hand and healed the burns.

“That’s right, kailu,” the ponkolu said, “you keep him whole and healthy until we are ready to break him, and you. Perhaps by then we’ll find where your mate is hiding,” he added, the others laughing harshly, “and we’ll have some more fun with her. I’m sure her screams were,” he paused, licking his lips with relish, then whispering, “stimulating.”

Rage burned within Klaybear, and he started to throw himself at the bars, but his anger burned out as quickly as it had come; he slumped, thinking of Klare and the damage done to her.

Blakstar moved as close as he could to the bars, so that they started to glow red, nearest to where the ponkolu stood. “Mark my words, spawn of Gar the accursed,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “you will make a mistake, you always do, and when you do, I will not stop to pick up my sword or any other weapon, but I will tear you limb from limb with my bare hands!”

So great was the power and majesty of the kortexi, that the purem drew back for a moment, but the ponkolu laughed loudly at the three caged in the creaking wagon, the others quickly joining him although their laughter sounded forced.

“You keep thinking that way, kortexi,” the ponkolu spat, “because it will make breaking you all the more pleasurable.”

On Wednesday we will continue with these three chosen as they are taken toward Shigmar and their destiny. Until then, get a full ebook copy from Smashwords for free! If you prefer print, purchase your copy from the link provided. Good reading!