The Morgle Unmasked: Prologue, Part 3

4 September 2026

Today we share the final part of the Prologue, the final piece of background necessary to understand the story in this, the third volume of our Redemption series, The Morgle Unmasked. We meet a kortexi doing what this order does best, confronting evil, although for this character, one Sir Fregren, the meeting does not reach the typical epic conclusion! (21 December 2015) The full ebook version of this book is available for purchase from all ebook sellers. We remind all that the first book in this series, Chosen of the One, and the second book, Staff of Shigmar, are both free from Smashwords! Glossary links: Book 3, Book 2, Book 1

Prologue, Part 3

Atno 3523, Summer

The kortexi shone like a miniature, golden sun in the night sky, riding upon his white stallion, the golden chain mail he wore clinking musically as his stallion cantered across the stone bridge toward the granite dome known as Morokolu. The strange-looking, green-skinned monsters standing as sentries in ornamental sconces the entire length of the bridge shied away from the brilliance of the lone kortexi, whose glow chased away the shadows that hung heavy on the Mariskal although it was midday; the very presence of this figure of golden light pierced the hearts of these creatures with fear, a feeling that had become unknown to them. Many of the sentries threw down their weapons and hurled themselves over the parapet of the bridge and into the murky, slow-moving water of the swamp, risking encounters with the negumflum, whose name meant floating teeth of death, rather than facing the kortexi. The steel-shod hooves of the great white stallion echoed hollowly on the stone pavement of the bridge, further frightening the swamp wedaterem, who acted as sentries lining the bridge; the kortexi rode with his visor down, an ominous sign, short lance held in one hand, his long sword held in the other. The stallion’s reins were wrapped around the horn of his white leather saddle, and the shining figure guided his mount with his knees, but no one challenged him . . . yet; all were too surprised, or too frightened, by his sudden appearance to do more than stare at him as he rode past, marveling at his brashness.

As he came to the southern end of the bridge, he halted, facing what must have been an embassy from the fortress; one of them came forward, with his right hand held up, palm out.

“Kortexi,” a harsh voice began, “what do you here?”

“I have come,” he replied, after settling his lance in a socket next to his stirrup and raising his visor, “to speak with your master.”

“Why?”

“My business is for his ears alone, but I come on behalf of the Wesento.”

A momentary silence followed the kortexi’s declaration broken suddenly by harsh, guttural laughter that echoed all around. The kortexi looked around and saw that the swamp wedaterem had come up behind him, blocking his escape; he looked up and saw that the huge cypress trees were filled with more of the creatures. Many of them started to move toward him.

“And if your master,” the kortexi added hastily, “desires to hear my master’s message and you kill me, what will he do to you then?” He left the question hanging in the echoing silence that followed.

The monsters closing on him stopped as the import of his words dawned on them; the wethi who had spoken motioned and barked a command; the creatures withdrew, grumbling.

“Dismount and follow,” the wethi commanded, “but if you try anything foolish, the wedaterem will have kortexi for lunch!” He turned on his heel and stalked toward the entrance to Morokolu, sending a messenger ahead. They stopped at one of the guard houses next to the bridge while the wethi issued orders to his underlings, which took much longer than it should have, since many of his underlings were also in fear of the kortexi’s shining presence. By the time they reached the gate, the morgle was already there waiting for him.

“Welcome, Sir Fregren,” the morgle spoke in a voice that hissed and bubbled, “we have been expecting you.”

The visor clapped shut; the sound echoed dully in the ramp cut into the ground that lead to the gate of Morokolu. “How . . . expecting?” he stuttered.

“Yes,” Motodu replied, “we invited you, although you might not remember the invitation. We do, however, have an important service that you can perform for us, a service for your master,” he added, and into his sea-green, two-fingered hand slid a diamond-topped rod that he raised, the huge diamond glowing sickly green, “but first, we must bend you to our will.”

A ball of green light shot from the rod and smashed into the kortexi, snuffing out his golden glow even as it engulfed his figure and invaded his mind with a single thought: pain, pain beyond anything he had experienced or imagined. Every nerve screamed, and sound pierced his ears, or was that the sound of his own voice screaming in agony that he heard? And with that last thought, the pain wiped his mind clean, sending him into senseless oblivion. . . .

Come back next Monday when we will begin the story proper, and is our custom in these books, we will check in with one of the antagonists as he carries instructions from Gar to another servant of evil. Until then, we remind all that the first two books of this series, Chosen of the One and Staff of Shigmar, are free from Smashwords. Get this book, The Morgle Unmasked, from the links provided. Good reading!