The Fiddle of FIRE

BOOK 1

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may
be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without the expressed written permission of the
author. Address all inquiries to:

Koltn Burbank
PO Box 375
Preston, ID 83263-0375

www.TheFiddleofFire.com

Library of Congress # 2008923843

ISBN: 978-1-890427-73-3

Editor: Jeannine Mallory
Cover Design: Shiloh Schroeder
Interior Illustrator: Sophie Boston
Interior Design: TheBookProducer.com
Map Illustrator: Brandon Wilhelmsen

Printed in United States of America

For additional copies visit:
www.TheFiddleofFire.com

Dedicated to

All the people who listened (and still listen) to
me ramble on aimlessly about my book, and encouraged
me to go for it. To everyone who helped
me publish “The Fiddle of Fire” (you know who
you are). To Patrick Snow (who helped make my
crazy, impossible dream a reality), Sophie Boston
(my illustrator), and to Kitten, who, without her
ferocious rat-like qualities, I wouldn’t have had
much of a story to tell.

Prologue

The sun broke over the snow-topped mountains, illuminating
the autumn sky with a brilliant array of red and orange. Far below the
mountains, the forest was bathed in the sun’s soft light as it peaked
over the horizon, and for a few moments, the leaves matched the color
of the sky. Despite this small amount of warmth from the rising sun, a
thin layer of frost remained on the ground.

Frozen leaves crunched under Vergo Huesellii’s feet. His breath
froze in the air, forming a silver cloud that lingered in the bitter cold,
rising higher until it was swallowed completely by the sunrise. Vergo
traveled swiftly and silently through the forest, dodging and weaving
through the trees. Vergo was a small, wiry man with jet-black hair
and a long, crooked nose. He appeared almost rat-like, and around
his wrist hung a glass sphere on a silver chain. Vergo’s greedy eyes
glistened in the faint morning light as he glanced down at his spherical
amulet. His companion, Grog, traveled next to him.

Grog was a full head taller than Vergo and was rippling with muscle.
He was an angry man with an overtly aggressive, even violent,
attitude. He and Vergo were an ideal duo for a mission of this sort:
Assassination. Grog’s bulging muscles and misplaced aggression,
combined with Vergo’s greedy personality and eye for detail, made
the pair a perfect team.

Vergo detected the faint rushing of a nearby river. He saw every
detail of the trees with their red and gold leaves, his eyes continuously
searching, his ears always listening. This type of vigilance was necessary
because their mission posed a problem: They didn’t know where
their target was. For all they knew, the target could be behind them

right now, an arrow pulled back in a bow, bowstring taut, or a sword

drawn; ready to kill both of them. The trick of this game was to find

and eliminate the target before the target knew you were there.

Suddenly, a surge of adrenaline and excitement shot through Vergo’s
veins as he spotted exactly what they had been waiting for – and
the glass object around his wrist began to glow dimly. This meant their
target was somewhere near.

“It’s just a game,” Vergo thought to himself. “A well-planned,
deadly game.”

…

An old man rose from his bed – a pile of straw covered with a
quilt. He lit a candle, and glanced around his cave. Putting on a cloak
to help fight off the early morning chill, he began his daily chores. He
was a healer, a man who had dedicated his life to doctoring and caring
for sick and injured animals. It was at times like this, during the quiet
early morning hours when all the animals were asleep in their cages,
when he most loved being a healer. He sat down for a moment, enjoying
the peaceful comfort of his home.

Suddenly, a movement caught his eye. The healer lifted the candle,
its soft light slicing through the shadows. The candle’s warm
glow reached to the corner of his underground quarters. A soft rustling
echoed from the remaining shadows. The man stood, his midnight-
blue healer’s cloak hanging comfortably at his sides. Suddenly, a dark
head emerged from the shadows, its yellow eyes shining intensely in
the candlelight.

A charcoal-colored dragon approached him, cooing lovingly at
the healer. The dragon’s name was Garner. She wasn’t a very large
dragon; just a few feet taller than the old man, and she weighed little
more than a large deer. The old man had rescued her as a baby. Garner’s
mother was dead and he had taken her in.

By habit, the healer scratched Garner behind the ears and she responded
by licking his hand with her smooth, moist tongue. Garner
looked into her old friend’s eyes as the candlelight flickered and danced
across the deep blue background, as if a ballet were being performed
there. Garner let out a deep sigh; she loved the old healer dearly. She
cocked her charcoal-colored wings behind her, her black tail swishing
back and forth contentedly in the early morning glow of the candlelight.

Ever since the healer had saved her, the two had been almost inseparable.
The old man had never told anyone about this (probably
because he had no one to talk to), but he believed that Garner had
special powers.

“Go back to bed ol’ girl,” the old man said in an ancient language.
“I’ll go and get the water.”

Upon hearing these words, the dragon turned around, her long tail
trailing behind her, swishing back and forth as she walked.

She went back to the old man’s straw bed and lay down beside it,
her dark eyelids slowly falling over her bright yellow eyes. The old
healer grabbed a wooden bucket from a large, flat rock and headed to
the river to fetch some water.

As he left the small comfortable room in which he slept, the cave
opened up to reveal a large, spacious room. In this room, wooden
crates and cages filled with wounded animals lined the walls and
were scattered in various places around the floor. He moved through
the room. As he walked, some of the animals stirred, opened their
eyes and glanced at him, only to close their eyes and fall back into
deep slumber.

As he neared the mouth of the cave, a bird called to him. He turned
to see the Harozinne bird he’d saved from near death after it had been
attacked by a flesh-eating squirrel. The poor bird had attempted to fly
away, but to no avail. Its attacker had been a flying
flesh-eating squirrel.
And to make matters worse, the squirrel had been infected with

rabies; the furry beast would have attacked and killed anything that
moved. If not for the unexpected help of the old man, the killer rodent
would surely have devoured the helpless Harozinne.

The bird sat on its perch, patiently waiting to be fed. The old man

loved the Harozinne. It was magnificent with its beautiful red and

golden body feathers. An emerald crescent of feathers sat just above
its brow. But the Harozinne’s most breathtaking feature was its tail. At
just half an arm’s length long, the Harozinne was not a large bird. Its
tail, on the other hand, was almost three arm’s lengths long – nearly
six times the length of the bird itself! With its golden and red body, and
the emerald crescent on its head, the Harozinne looked like a noble
queen, seated majestically, a log as her throne.

The old man left the regal bird on her perch, and opened the oak
door at the mouth of the cave. Quietly, he walked out onto the soft
grass, gazing in awe as he did every day at the beautiful sunrise. Little
did the healer know that this would be his last walk under the magical
sky of dawn, for just beyond the foliage of the trees lurked a being so
loathsome it would make even a snake’s skin creep. There was no way
the old man could have known that he would never feel the comfort
and safety of his cave again. Suddenly, a hideously disgusting being,
hiding just beyond the brush, spotted the old healer. The poor man had
nowhere to run.

…

Vergo reached the end of the forest. The river bubbled steadily
next to him. The only thing separating him from a small clearing were
the thin branches of the autumn trees. Vergo jumped suddenly as the
glass sphere around his wrist began glowing brightly. Acting quickly,
he looked straight ahead, and, then, Vergo spotted him, a man wearing
a blue cloak. He had a bucket in his hand and was walking lazily
towards the river. Vergo signaled for Grog to join him. Vergo and Grog

glanced at each other, evil sneers stretched across their greedy faces.
Vergo looked more rat-like than ever, his smile a curving slit.

“There ‘e is,” Vergo said in a screechy whisper. Then he plucked
an arrow from his quiver and placed it on the bow, glancing only for
a second at the violet feathers of the poison-tipped arrow. He pulled
back on the bowstring until it became taut, took a deep breath and
released the arrow.

The arrow flew straight and true, piercing the old man’s skin
just below the heart that had just moments ago beat with love and
compassion for his animal companions.

Vergo and Grog watched from the cover of the forest as the figure
dropped to the cold, damp ground. If the arrow hadn’t killed him,
the poison would have done the job in a matter of seconds. The old
man never opened his soft, blue eyes again.

Vergo was so excited with this conquest, he thought he might
come out of his skin. He dropped his bow, jumped up and down for a
moment, all the while beaming in his rat-like fashion, then took off to
examine his prize. Grog followed coolly behind him, his steely eyes
focused on the target they’d just hit.

But, upon reaching his victim, Vergo’s grin faded, as did his enthusiasm.
This was not their target, for as Vergo held the glass amulet
over the man’s motionless body, it stopped glowing. And besides, this
man was very old. By looking at the dead man’s dark blue cloak, Vergo
could see that he was a healer, most definitely not their target. Vergo’s
jaw dropped. It wasn’t the fact he’d killed an old man that bothered
him so much. What bothered him was the fact that he’d wasted a poisonous
arrow on an old healer.

Grog reached the murder scene and glanced down at the old healer.
“Quick,” he hissed. “Check the orb.”

Without hesitation, Vergo held the glass sphere high in the air, but
it was useless. Their target was gone.

After glancing back at the old man for a moment, Grog looked
around.

“Wha’?” Vergo asked quizzically.

“Nothin’ – I jus’ figured maybe he had a house ‘round here someplace.”

Then Vergo understood what Grog meant, and began looking
around as well. It wasn’t long before the two noticed an oak door in
the face of a cliff up the hill. They started towards it.

Upon reaching the door, Grog kicked it in and the two assassins
stepped inside. There, they entered a huge dome-shaped cavern, its
walls lined with cages and crates full of animals. Without a word, the
two began ransacking the cave, in search of valuables. They smashed
crates and killed animals like mindless beasts (and in Vergo’s case, he
was – at least the mindless part, anyway), all the while searching for
anything they could sell for a few measly coins.

The cave was filled with the cries of screaming, howling animals
and the smashing of objects. In the midst of this mindless rampage,
Vergo didn’t notice the creature lurking behind him, and just as he
raised his dagger to slay a baby wildcat, he was attacked.

The Harozinne bird, realizing what had happened to her master, at

tacked Vergo. She flew up behind him and knocked him to the ground.

Vergo screamed as the bird pecked him repeatedly between the eyes.
Vergo’s screams sounded like a howling baboon.

“Aah!” he screamed through his pain. “Ge’ it off! Ge’ the beast
off me!”

Instantly Grog was there to save his ugly little friend. He pulled
out his sling, placed a smooth stone in it, and threw the stone. The
stone sank into the Harozinne’s forehead and the magnificent bird’s
body went limp.

“It almos’ killed me!” Vergo exclaimed, his eyes wide and breath
very heavy.

“Oh, ‘twas just a pigeon!” Grog said, mockingly.

Looking and feeling a little embarrassed, Vergo took up the search
once more. They continued for what seemed like hours, and were
about to give up. But then, Vergo hit the jackpot. As he continued his
search, he found a smaller cavern in the back of the cave. There, he
saw a straw bed lying next to a large flat stone. At first he didn’t notice
it lying there in the dark, but finally it caught his eye…The prize.

Upon first glance, he thought it was a highly polished shield of
some kind, but as he approached it; his eyes gleamed as he realized it
was a violin. Next to the violin was a violin bow. This was not just any
violin. The stringed instrument was exquisite. Made from some sort
of red, burled wood, it had been buffed and polished to a bright sheen.
Its beauty was stunning.

Now, of course, Vergo didn’t have the talent or intelligence to play
a violin, but he knew he could sell it for a high price. Slowly, he approached
the instrument. He reached out for it, but before he could
touch it, he stopped. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt an odd sensa-
tion…as if he was being watched. That’s when he felt heavy warm,
steamy breath on the back of his neck. His blood ran cold as he turned
around, slowly – afraid of what he might see. As he turned, he found
himself staring into a pair of fiercely glowing yellow eyes.

Vergo was overcome with panic as he stared into the yellow eyes
of a dragon. He tried to scream, but his breath caught in his throat.
The best he could manage was a hoarse gasp. He froze with fear as the
dragon reared back her head and let out a powerful roar that echoed
through the cave. Garner, realizing what this rat-like creature had done
to her old friend, was furious and set on vengeance for the healer’s
murder. She opened her mouth and an explosion of silver flames
roared from her throat.

Vergo jumped to the right just moments before the flames from

Garner’s throat would have consumed him. His movement caused the

silver flames to collide with the handcrafted violin. Then, in the midst
of the silver fire, there was an orange spark. Then, the violin was consumed
by fire and burned, and light from the orange flame filled the

cave and bathed the walls with its warmth.

Vergo ran for the cave’s entrance, but Garner flew over him, cutting
him off at the door. Vergo screamed, and reached for his bow
and an arrow. Garner cocked her charcoal-colored head to the side
and roared again, a fearful and dreadful sound. Vergo shot his arrow,
but its poisonous tip broke off as it hit the dragon’s hard black scales.
There was a flash of silver light as Garner again attempted to incinerate
Vergo. Somehow, Vergo managed to dodge the flames yet another
time, but as he darted to the left, he was met by a powerful swing of
Garner’s snake-like tail. It slammed into his stomach and sent him flying
into the wall.

By now, Grog realized what was going on. Drawing his sling, he
landed a well-aimed stone between Garner’s glowing eyes. Garner
turned to face this new opponent. Seeing that Garner’s attention had
been distracted, Vergo took advantage of the situation to evacuate the
cave, leaving his long time partner to fend for himself.

Grog knew that he would never be able to defeat the vengeful
dragon with man-made weapons. He would need to turn to his last
resort: Majjek. And so, just as Garner charged towards Grog, he
stretched forth his right hand. As Garner moved closer to her attacker,
Grog felt it, a familiar tingling feeling from deep inside. He could feel
the Majjek building up within. Then, just as Garner was about to rip
off his arm, there was a flash of golden light. And as the light faded
back into Grog’s palm, Garner stood before him, petrified as though a
statue in stone.

Grog stared at the statue of the dragon for a moment, and then
left the cavern, never to return. Deep in the cavern, the violin Garner
had accidentally set aflame continued to burn. The orange light

of the flames filled the darkness, casting shadows against the stone

walls. The violin would never cease burning, containing all of the special
powers the old healer suspected his beloved Garner to possess. It

would forever be known as…The Fiddle of Fire!