The Homecoming (Stonecrusher Legacy Book 3), page 1
THE HOMECOMING
STONECRUSHER LEGACY™ BOOK THREE
DAVID K. MACDOWELL
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This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2023 David K. MacDowell
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LMBPN® Publishing
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Version 1.00, October 2023
eBook ISBN: 979-8-88878-073-2
Print ISBN: 979-8-88878-675-8
THE HOMECOMING TEAM
JIT Readers
Dorothy Lloyd
Zacc Pelter
Angel LaVey
Paul Westman
Jan Hunnicutt
Editor
SkyFyre Editing Team
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Endnote
Author Notes
Connect with the author
Books by David K. MacDowell
Other LMBPN Publishing Books
CHAPTER ONE
Waldorf
Like every morning, my best friend Mallick stands outside my door, patiently waiting for us to start our day together.
The ritual began in Brackenbuell. During our enslavement, we walked everywhere together to keep each other safe. He continued it during our escape across the plains if he wasn’t preoccupied with his girlfriend Henna. Today, we stand in the palace of the elves in the center of Ahn’Ziu enclave, the elven kingdom we helped liberate two days ago.
Many things have changed, and thank the All-Father, others remain constant.
Mal’s natural cheeriness usually brightens my day. “Morning, brother.”
“Morning,” I grumble, exhausted.
Leading my clan exhausts my brain.
“You’ve got your ‘grumpy chief’ face on, I notice. It’s a little early to hate life, don’t you think?”
Our morning ritual begins as it always does—Mal stops leaning and joins me while I walk.
As indentured servants of the Brackenbuell clan, we walked to our chores. As honored guests of Queen Sylmara, we walk to the palace’s dining hall.
The majestic stone arches—dwarven carved, of course—line every expansive corridor we walk through. The rap of our boot heels echoes loudly on the polished floor as the dim light of the sconces dances and shimmers.
Even at this early hour, we pass several elves who respectfully nod.
“We should be on the move to Stonecrusher,” I grumble. “Our enslaved clansmen need our help, and our enhanced abilities make it our duty to ensure that happens. But what are we doing? We’re having breakfast in a palace.” I pound my fist on a doorframe as we pass.
“Whoa, simmer down, tough guy. Don’t be throwing that god-given power around willy-nilly. We only found out about our clansmen two days ago.”
Mico moves his furry butt from my left shoulder to my right to join the conversation. “It’s no use, Mallick,” he chirps with a hint of attitude. “His mood becomes fouler by the minute.”
Mico, my Ahshula marmoset companion from the fey realm, has become a close friend in our short time together. He’s with me all day, every day, and provides sage guidance on topics ranging from leadership to dating.
We became allies after we rescued his people from being living power sources for the gnome machines. We committed to saving the remainder of his brood, enslaved by the gnomes, as soon as we liberated the elf kingdom and reclaimed Stonecrusher stronghold.
The bonus is our marmoset allies have a natural ability to boost a caster’s power substantially. The only elf they trust is Temp, so the rest of them partner with my clanspeople, the most robust casters around.
The day the marmosets walk back through the fey gate will be sad for me. While I’ll be happy to see my friend rejoin his brood, I’ve grown accustomed to Mico. His absence will leave an emptiness in my day, except when he teams up against me with Mal or Temp.
“He’s less sour when we’re with the princess, but even she can’t snap him out of his doldrums recently.”
Mal scrubs his beard in mock dismay. “That is concerning. He’s normally like soft butter around her, all mushy and gooey. Is there trouble in the land of love? Or maybe you’ve got a bad case of beard lice. That scratching would make anyone pissed off at the world.”
My eyes are rolling before I realize. “I told you. We should be marching right now to rescue our clan members. I’m a horrible clan chief and letting everyone down. I’ll talk to Tasserion and tell him we’re on the move soon, with or without the elves’ support.”
“Ahh. Now I get it.” Mal grins. “The old Waldorf would walk up to Glint and smash him in the nose if he got out of hand. Chief Waldorf has to wait, discuss with many people, and plan. Am I getting close?”
“Kinda close, but we haven’t even reached the ‘discuss with many people’ yet. Politics is frustrating.”
We descend another flight of curved granite stairs to ground level. Each sconce is a work of metallic art, providing ample light on this dreary day.
“Stones and bloody bones, the morning sun can’t even pierce the ice sheet on these windows. Floor-to-ceiling, and we still need sconces. Talk about dark days.”
“The weather matches your mood, Wal.”
We meet Cutrara, Gherta, Henna, and Temp at the bottom of the stairs. Mal takes Henna’s hand, and I take Temp’s as we walk together.
In the short time I’ve known Temp, she has always preferred to wear pants and a long-sleeved shirt, usually with a vest over it. It gives her places to put things, she says. Today, she wears a similar perfectly tailored outfit that takes my breath away.
She looks stunning. “Morning, Temp. You look amazing.”
Temp smiles and snuggles against me as we walk. “Thanks, Chief. You look pretty dashing yourself.”
It’s cute when she calls me Chief.
Mallick clears his throat. “As I said, you should show a little compassion, buddy. It will take time for Queen Sylmara and her team to regain full control over the enclave. We only overthrew King Elraith two days ago, and many elves still believe in his racist dogma.”
Tempress nods in agreement. “Mother told me Commander Tasserion’s forces are finding many pockets of elves resisting the change of ruler. There were several fights between Father’s faithful and Commander Tasserion’s soldiers last night.”
“See, Wal? As good partners, we must give the elves time to settle in. We’ll be marching before you know it. As your advisor against acting crazy, I advise relaxing one more day, enjoying the food, and maybe taking a nap. Naps are underrated, in my opinion.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “One more day, then I start planning.”
Mal bumps shoulders with me as we walk, forcing Mico to grab my hair for stability. “Call a bloody clan meeting, doofus. You’re chief. No one can stop you from meeting with your clan family.”
“Stones and bones, you’re right. In my mind, I’m blaming Tasserion, but that’s not fair. There’s no reason why we can’t have a meeting after breakfast. We’ll tell the clan once we sit, and don’t forget to invite Nicodaemus if he’s up for it.”
We walk through the double doors into the dining hall, which is already buzzing with activity. In the far corner, away from the groups of elves, I see my clan members sequestering themselves.
Temp and I enter first, holding hands. Although many elves casually look at us and turn away without a second thought, we also draw irate glares from many others, which is concerning.
She suggests, “We should walk around the perimeter of the dining hall to avoid anyone who might not see us as liberators just yet.”
“A valid concern, Princess,” Mico chirps.
Temp’s petite hand stops me before I can turn toward the buffet line to collect my breakfast. “Why don’t you and Mal plan your meeting while Henna and I get us breakfast?”
Without waiting for an answer, she kisses me and leaves, with Henna following suit.
“She’s too good for you. You know that, right?” Mal remarks in jest.
“Yep. Don’t tell her, though. It’ll be our secret.” We chuckle, and I address the clan. “Folks, we’re having a meeting after breakfast and want everyone to attend, including the grand mage if he feels up to it.”
The ladies around the table nod as they enjoy their breakfast.
“Nick will be up for it,” Mal says. “I spent most of yesterday with him. Nice guy, by the way. His three decades of incarceration hasn’t slowed him down.”
“Did he teach you a lot about necromancy?”
“We didn’t talk about it once, which I found odd. We had intense conversations about duty to clan and family. He challenged me every time to prove my stance with examples. ‘Tell me about a time you gave up something you loved for another person.’ Stuff like that.”
Temp and Henna return with trays of food, juices, and coffee. Mal barely waits for the trays to hit the table before he shovels bacon into his mouth.
“His lessons sound intense,” I comment.
“They were, but at least he kept his clothes on. I don’t think I could have that conversation if he reverted to Naked Nick.”
“Geez, Mal. You don’t call him Naked Nick, do you?”
“Not to his face.” Mal grins as he raises his eyebrow.
“Good. Address him as Nicodaemus or Grand Mage. He’s earned that respect.”
“Hey now—I give him respect.” Mal extends his arms in mock offense.
“I’m sure you do, but you also enjoy antagonizing people for your amusement. I’m worried I’ll come looking for you and find a pair of boots with wisps of smoke curling off them where my best friend once stood.”
“We get along just fine, thank you very much. I’m very charming, you know.” Mal slurps his coffee to annoy me.
“You are very charming, my friend. I’m sure he adores you, as we all do.”
“I am adorable, but I can’t shake the feeling he was testing me. I thought we would discuss casting spells, but he fixated on my feelings.”
“Maybe the rumors are right, and he is crazy.”
Mal scratches his beard. “He can come across as insane, but if you truly listen and ponder his ramblings, they make sense.”
“Okay, advisor, here’s my big question—in your opinion, is he sane enough to be our grand mage?”
A hand grips my shoulder firmly. I jump and look over my shoulder into the neat visage of Nicodaemus, the grand mage of Stonecrusher. He’s no longer the naked, hairy mess of a dwarf we freed two days ago. His piercing green eyes reflect a sharpness of mind that wasn’t there when we saved him.
His salt-and-pepper mane radiates off his head, his curls of washed hair popping in every direction with the debris removed. His clean, curly beard cascades down his chest with platinum bars fastened near the bottom, adding weight to hold it down.
Best of all, he doesn’t smell anymore.
“Sanity is a relative state, Chief, but sane or crazy, I’ve got your back.”
I avert my gaze. As chief, I should know better than to speak ill of my clan. “I apologize, Grand Mage. Mal and I occasionally forget we’re not young boys anymore. Leaders should watch what they say.”
Nicodaemus ruffles the hair of Mal and me, then waves dismissively. “Think nothing of it. I admit I wasn’t my true self when we first met, but remember what Alghar teaches—'to find true strength of spirit, a dwarf must endure great suffering, struggle, and loss, then emerge on the other side as himself.’”
“Wise words, Nick. Thank you,” I reply.
While he speaks, Nick runs his hands down the front of his robes and stares at them admiringly.
“I see you’ve acquired a new set of robes since yesterday. Where did you find those?” Mal asks.
Nicodaemus’ robes look old and worn, but his expression is happy and proud as he steps back. Once away from our tables, he extends his arms wide and twirls. “These are my original robes, taken from me three decades ago by one of King Elraith’s flunkies.”
“Did one of Mother’s people help you locate them?” Temp asks.
“No. Last night, I saw that same flunky wearing them as we passed in the corridor. It was the king’s former grand mage, Ranya. I aggressively expressed my desire to have my robes returned. As you can imagine, she posed several baseless counterarguments. Luckily, she saw the wisdom of returning them to their rightful owner and hand-delivered them to my door this morning.”
“Please tell me you didn’t hurt her,” I comment. “The elves are our hosts.”
Nick’s baritone laugh rumbles in his chest. “I didn’t, although I’d be within my rights to hurt her. She enjoyed torturing me far too much while I was in King Elraith’s prison. She visited weekly and showed no hesitation in doing unspeakable things to learn the secrets of my magic.”
“That’s despicable. I’ll talk to Queen Sylmara. She shouldn’t be allowed to roam the hallways.”
“No need, Chief, but I appreciate your concern. She’s even worse at interrogating than casting, and she’s an abysmal caster, let me tell you.”
“Temp, how can a person that despicable walk freely through the palace halls after what she did for your father?” I ask.
Temp hesitates. Then, she leans into the middle of the table. “Mother said she’s having difficulty bridging the gap between the people who believe in her point of view and those who feel my father was right. Ranya is one of the latter and holds sway with like-minded people. Mother hoped keeping her on might lessen the divisiveness.”
Temp’s words have an ominous undertone, leaving those around the table speechless.
I take a long sip of my coffee. “I’m glad you survived, Grand Mage, and may I say you look much better than the last time we met.”
Nicodaemus steals a piece of bacon from my plate. “Never underestimate the ministrations of young Tempress. She is truly a wonder. There has never been a healer of any race with half her healing talent.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Nicodaemus gestures at the buffet and our table. “The food here—by Alghar’s Beard! I haven’t tasted such delicious victuals in, well, thirty years. I’m sure you get my meaning better than most.”
“I do, Nick. I remember the first meal I—”
Nick continues to talk, oblivious to my speaking. He twirls again as he admires his reclaimed vestments. “I’m so glad to have my robes back. Pants are far too restrictive. Robes allow me to eat what I want and give my ‘forge hammer’ the room to hang free, which is far more comfortable.” Nick waggles his hips back and forth.
Time to redirect their attention.
“Anyway, folks, the meeting will be a discussion about when we’ll be leaving for Stonecrusher,” I advise.
Mal stands at the windows, trying to peer through the ice on the outside. “This storm is a real hindrance.”
Atha leans across the table. “Storms are a natural part of life on the surface world, my boy. You should get used to it.”
