30 October 2026
Today in the newest installment from the third book of The Redemption series, The Morgle Unmasked, Rokwolf dreams again and wakes Sutugno. . . . (6 June 2016) 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
Chapter 6, Part 5
Rokwolf jerked awake, hearing his own strangled shout cut short; he stood on his feet, sword in hand before realizing where he was and what he was doing. He glanced around quickly, then slid his sword silently back into its sheath. Letting the breath he held sigh softly from his lips, he sat back down, glad Sutugno had not been awakened by his sudden outburst and berating himself for such novice behavior. It was not like him to act this way; everything had gone wrong since he had gone on the assignment to guard the east approaches to the Mountain of Vision. No, he thought after a moment, that was not true: it went wrong after he visited that methaghi, and he knew better and was warned against it, but he went anyway, for all the good it did me, he thought bitterly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, silencing his thoughts, willing himself to go back to sleep, taking up again his silent vigil. His breathing slowed; the dream returned.
Tevvy swayed drunkenly atop a small round table, dodging mugs of ale flying at him from all directions; he sang at the top of his lungs a tune Rokwolf recognized at once as a bawdy song about a serving wench, but the words were his explanation of caravans attacked and the strange behavior and appearance of the wedaterem on the road between Kilnar and the Forsaken Outpost. As the awemi finished his “song,” his feet flew from under him and he fell off the small table, but as he fell, the inn’s common room melted into what must have been an inn’s cellar, packed with barrels and crates, lit only by a single, weak and flickering lantern. Tevvy somehow landed on his feet, and the noise of the common room faded to a dull, muffled sound from somewhere to his rear and overhead. The little thief was barely visible in the semi-darkness; Rokwolf could just see him moving toward an open barrel; he was there for several minutes, then he moved about the room, and as he did so, Rokwolf’s surroundings melted into the forested slopes along the road west, the same seklesi camp, where his comrades sharpened and repaired, fletched and ate, while the caravan burned and the merchants were dragged south into the swamp. Rokwolf did not shout at them but instead ran toward the nearest seklesa and tried to shake her, turn her around, force her to see. . . .
He awakened suddenly, arms in front of him grasping empty air; he let them fall, looking around the room; all was silent, empty, and Sutugno still slept peacefully. He stood and stretched. These actions were unusual for him: he had dreams, yes, but none had ever caused him to act while he slept: this was something new and strange. He strode silently across the length of the room, eyes examining every detail, mind mulling over recent events. Did it mean anything that he had now dreamed twice about Tevvy and the seklesem who patrolled the road north of the Mariskal between Kilnar and the Forsaken Outpost? His dreams had always been strange and silly before, or they had been. . . . He jerked his thoughts back from that path as he found himself standing next to the bed looking down at the sleeping Sutugno. No, it had not been the visit to the methaghi; it started before that: when Marilee rejected him; he shook his head and moved the lock of dirty blonde hair from Sutugno’s face. That was precisely what she thought; these words crashed into his thoughts, causing him to take a mental step backward. Sutugno blamed his twin for the death of her intended, and this way of thinking exactly mirrored his blaming Marilee for his own problems. However, this was not entirely true, since Klaybear activated breath-giver, causing the wave of death and destruction that leveled most of Shigmar; he was at least partially responsible for all who died that day, so Marilee could still be partially responsible for what had happened to him.
Rokwolf sank to his knees next to the bed, leaning against the bed and resting his head upon his folded arms. A hand gently brushed his cheek and rested on one of his hands, grabbing and squeezing it momentarily.
“What’s troubling you?” a voice, husky and hoarse, asked.
Rokwolf leaped to his feet, so surprised by both the touch and the voice that he stuttered. “I . . . I thought you still slept,” he finally managed to say, taking a step backward from the bed.
Sutugno smiled weakly and raised her head up from the pillow, leaning on her side on one elbow; this action, in the dimly lit room, showed off her shapely figure under the thin sheet. She was taller than Klare, taller than many wethem, and her hair more blonde than brown, with piercing blue eyes. “I’ve been watching you,” she went on, “leap out of your chair as if you were being attacked. Then you sit down, relax, and begin to mumble in your sleep, and after a time, you leap to your feet again, grabbing what is not there.”
Rokwolf shook his head and sank down into the chair in which he had been sitting before speaking. “I should not be dreaming while on guard duty,” he admitted.
“Guard duty?” Sutugno snorted. “Guarding me? From what?” she asked. “There is no one here, but us.”
On Monday we will continue with this conversation, revealing some of the bitterness Rokwolf feels that will drive him through the rest of his life. 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!
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