Posted by admin on October 31, 2008
Grappling is not an art or science,
Mostly its just pain. You start at white
And no matter how hard you fight
Nothing works. You lose and lose
And then you hurt. And then you lose
Some more.
Then one day you get a belt that’s blue.
And you think you understand.
Till your butt is kicked and you hurt
Even worse, and still nothing works
And you continue to lose. But at least you
Can beat the hell outta white belts if they get
Pissy anymore.
A long road follows, and mostly you wish
You were dead, or at least quadriplegic.
Now everything hurts, and it doesn’t stop.
Still nothing works, except on those blues,
And they don’t know anything anyway.
Purple isn’t all its cracked up to be, but someday
At least you’ll be brown.
What’s the point of this belt? Brown, sure
I can beat up half the planet,
But that isn’t the half I care about.
By now there should be a better way than pain,
Don’t tell me we have to do all this again?
I thought I knew that move, and that one too,
Now I’m getting a little frustrated.
At last I’ve got a black belt. Woot, woot.
I can beat all but a few of the best
Unless they bring a two by four.
All that hard work, that agony, and
Near despair. Just to learned what I knew
When I began. I still have a lot to learn.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
Welcome back to Darnuth Keep.
Feel free to make a Paypal Donation to support Darnuth Keep!
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 29, 2008
Writing poetry, especially for beginners can be a daunting task. Finding the right word may seem overwhelming, particularly when applying the constraints of common forms such as sonnet and haiku.
Free verse may seem like an easy way to begin, but more often than not free verse will result in a jumble of nonsense that conveys little or no meaning to those who read it. This is certainly not true of a more accomplished poet who understands the subtle nuances of both lexicon and meter. Often a masterful free verse poem will incorporate elements of various meters and forms which can only be achieved through a complete understanding of the more structured forms.
The beginning poet should choose a basic form, such as iambic pentameter and begin making couplets or quatrains that strive to maintain these basic forms. Haiku is an excellent way to begin. Focusing less on content will allow the poet to begin to master the art of finding the most appropriate word for the context. Much like learning to play a sport or to play an instrument, this basic skill will then allow the poet to bring full force to the content that the poet wants to truly portray.
It is fairly easy to get caught up focusing on a specific topic which results in attempts to force content over context. A great poem will balance contextual elements such as form and meter with the content. A poem about an upbeat, driven topic would do well to choose a poem that incorporates a quick meter and avoid laborious lexicon which can stop a line dead. A more dramatic, methodical poem may turn to a slower meter and incorporate longer words or a more advanced vocabulary. Either method could easily be incorporated into a free verse poem, and the mixture of methods is often what makes a free verse enjoyable.
Writing poetry is one of the most enjoyable past times I have ever known, but like any other hobby it requires a degree of effort and consistent application. Fighting in a ring or cage provides a degree of adrenaline which cannot be duplicated, but a very similar though distinct feeling can be acquired by putting together a string of words that brings a smile or tear to the face of a loved one.
Writing poetry and other works is truly a distinct experience that I recommend to anyone.
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 27, 2008
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
My mother found me there sitting on the stone, knees curled up to my chest, but no longer crying. She looked beautiful to me then, more like the woman my father must have married. The gray seemed to have gone from her hair, and there was lightness to her step such as I had not seen in a long time. I also saw deep sadness. “Now you know why I kept so much from you,” she said. “We all hoped that the curse would not pass to you.”
I nodded. She hugged me, and I hugged her back, and together we walked back to the inn.
Deltra, the village seeress was just leaving the inn as we entered. She looked older than the trees in the forest, but her grip felt firm when she grabbed me. She peered into my eyes in that way that mad old women do to young boys when they’ve something important to say. But she didn’t say anything. Instead she released the grip and pulled me into a soft compassionate hug. Amid the smell of dried herbs and old clothes I felt great tenderness.
“You’ve raised a good son, Lelda, he has his father’s strength,” said Deltra.
“I’ve done what any mother would,” answered mamma.
“I’ve seen others do less. Watch the wolves in the council. Trakkin hasn’t forgotten that you chose Kyven,” said Deltra.
“I don’t imagine that he’s happy I’ve chosen Harrim this time, either.” Mamma smiled and Deltra chuckled.
“He doesn’t know yet. He’s a brute, but his daughter has a kind heart and his son is a good worker. There is hope for them,” said Deltra. “Go on inside, lad.” She pushed me through the door to the back dining room.
Farmer Trakkin sat next to Harrim, idly toying with a goblet of wine. Across the table Lyekal’s father, Master Handor frowned and contemplated the ceiling. His wrinkled brow and graying hairs reflected the general ill humor of the room. Master Tintelbar looked kindly as I approached. He always seemed patient with his children, and I knew he had given my mother food and supplies during the past winter without asking payment. I did not often speak to Rilpost, the miller. His children had grown and moved to Kerby, though I heard he was a fair man to trade with.
“Sit down, lad,” invited Harrim. “You know why you’re here.”
I sank into a solid chair that suddenly felt larger than the room. The thick table was bare except for their goblets and a mostly empty bottle of wine. The fire felt suddenly very warm. I placed my hands on the table to keep them from moving.
“You know of your father’s curse, then?” asked Trakkin.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“Then you’ll be off in the morning,” he said.
“Gently,” warned the smith. “You’d not be sending your own lad off so easily.”
“Nor without accounting for his property,” said Harrim.
“What property?” asked Trakkin. “He owns nothing that I know of, not that the farm is worth anything.”
“You’ve offered a tidy sum more than once for such a worthless piece of land,” said Rilpost with a laugh. “Kyven always got the best of every deal.” The miller winked at Trakkin, and the farmer’s face flamed red.
“Be that as it may, the land is his mother’s,” said Trakkin.
“No,” said Harrim. “Lelda became engaged to marry today, so the property either passes to her new husband, or to her son, if we agree that he’s of an age to own it.”
“He’s not of age,” said the smith. Even I could see that he thought of his own son as he spoke.
“Who’s the man?” asked Trakkin. “How do we know he’s fit?”
“Any man she chooses over you would be fit,” said Rilpost. “Lelda always made up her own mind. You seem to forget you once admired that in her.”
“I’m fit,” said Harrim. “As Rilpost said, Lelda makes up her own mind. You’re not the only one that asked her before Kyven came back.” Harrim appeared at the edge of anger, but he relaxed and took a breath. “I say he’s of age now. He’s been managing the place since Kyven died.”
“He’s a whelp,” said Trakkin.
“My vote’s against yours, because tonight I don’t like you,” replied the miller. “Let Tintelbar decide.”
“He’s younger than normal,” said the storekeeper. “If he’s old enough to go into the world then he’s old enough to inherit, and man enough to deserve it. He’s of age.”
“I’ll help you settle the business side of it,” said Harrim.
“And line your own pockets in the process,” said Trakkin.
“Any other day and I’d call on my right as a free man to make you defend those words with a blade,” said Harrim. “Tintelbar will witness the contracts just as he always does. I see no profit in this. Kyven Halfspear deserves better than to have his only son sent packing by a lot of cowards. I’ve never been ashamed of anything I did before.”
“Nor I,” said Handor. “Were it not for Deltra I would say we are in the wrong.”
“Halfspear brought his own curse with him, and he can keep it. This is the justice of the gods, not our choosing,” said Trakkin. “You leave in the morning, boy.”
“Where?” I asked. My voice felt small.
“Anyplace you like so long as its elsewhere,” replied Trakkin.
Harrim scowled and his fist doubled on the table. “That captain is looking for men,” suggested Handor. “My own Lyekal wanted to join up. I’m sure he’ll take him.”
“The cloth merchants need a driver,” said Tintelbar. “They mentioned it earlier. Though I don’t know how far they are going or how long they would keep him.”
“It’s your choice, Colter,” said Harrim. “We’ll see you properly on your way.”
“I’ll see the captain in the morning,” I answered.
“I think we can round up Kyven’s old gear,” said Handor. “I believe his old sword is hanging in your shop. His armor is in a trunk at home.”
“Be here at dawn,” said Harrim. “You’d best donate something as well, Trakkin, or I’ll see to it all water to your place is cut off before the end of summer.”
My mother showed me to a bed where I fell quickly to sleep. I tossed and turned until the first workers began moving in the streets before sunrise. I pulled on my father’s boots and joined my mother in the kitchen.
“You best eat a good breakfast.” She passed me a bowl of eggs and a chunk of bread. “You’ll have a busy morning after you talk to the captain. I’ll put a few things together for you. I found your father’s old pack that he found in the north. Now go and find Harrim.”
Alongside Harrim I must have seemed no more than a bit of a twig. Harrim was polite as usual, but came quickly to his point.
“We’ve found a recruit for you, Captain,” Harrim said.
The captain raised a brow and cracked a half smile. “I’ve seen a dozen able bodied men since I came here,” he replied. “I’m glad to see at least one volunteer. I would hate to come back and press for conscripts.” The captain was a tall, lean man with thick black hair. His tall riding boots were polished. His belt was well oiled, his scabbard spotless. At his side hung a longsword, and a dagger was thrust in his belt. A thick scar ran across one cheek, and the top of his left ear was missing.
“We have all served our emperor,” replied Harrim curtly. “I myself have born a spear in battle.”
“Pray you don’t have to again.” The captain menaced. “Now, who is this recruit?”
“None other than the son of the great Kyven Halfspear.” Harrim beamed proudly. “Here he is. Stand up straight boy.”
I stood straight, but I knew I was somehow failing inspection. There wasn’t much I could do. So I resolved to wait.
Harrim was an excellent haggler. “Show him your scars, lad, go on.” I obeyed. “See, he’s a good lad, and already blooded. Just the other day he took down a filthy Kaarum in the night by himself. You know where you are don’t you, Captain?”
The captain looked unconvinced and unimpressed. “Of course. I’m in a dung hole somewhere in the provinces.”
“My friend, you mistake badly.” Harrim’s voice reached a peak of excitement. “This is where it all started. This was Kyven Halfspear’s home, where he grew and played as a child. And his boy may be young still, but time cures that, and there’s more meat on those bones than not. He can hunt and track.”
“Ok, innkeeper, I hear you, now let the lad speak for himself. What is your name?”
“Colter Halfspear.”
“Where did you get the scars?”
“Fighting a Kaarum in the dark at my farm.”
“Can you ride?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you use a sword?”
“No, sir, but I can learn?”
“A spear?”
“No, but I can learn.”
“A bow?”
“Yes sir, best shot in the village.” Technically that was a slight exaggeration on my part since there were two or three who could match my skill on any given day, but I figured it was alright since they didn’t live exactly in the village and weren’t actually in the village at the moment.
“Anything else to say for yourself?”
“I can read and write, and I can do as I’m told.”
He gave me a last searching look from top to bottom and mused over the fresh scabs on my arms. “He’ll need mail, a sword, a spear, food, a horse, a bow, and money. I’ll take him, but he needs to be outfitted properly or my command will send him home, and wages and food can be slow coming, especially for new recruits. I don’t know what he’s done to you to run him out, but you better have him ready when breakfast is over.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Six
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Four
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 24, 2008
Video games and legerdemain
Mix like chex inside my brain.
Hours spent (okay, wasted)
With too much Mountain dew
And not enough working.
But I don’t care, cause my Paladin’s
Maxed his ranks and my barb
Can’t be flanked. Even that gobby
Can dish it out in need.
And I’ll blow you away
With some rocket spray
If you keep camping your ass
In the elevator shaft.
Not to mention how I’ll be happy
To tap a few more mana
And then combo away
While you cry and complain,
And ask me to explain
All of those dumb rules again.
I’ll toss you the book
And give a look
That says quite clear
Its all in here, and if you
Really wanted to win
You’d have already taken it in.
So give up and go home
There is no such thing as a friendly
Time. Losing is (I’m pretty sure) a crime.
Either that or shut up
And pass the chips.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 23, 2008
I recently joined up with the Widgeteers! I’m pretty excited about it because it is drop dead simple, and it works in tandem very well with Entrecard. I can’t say it has dramatically increased the traffic to my site, but it is a great way to build brand recognition.
The way it works is pretty simple – display a widget on your site which displays advertisements other widgeteer’s ads from categories of your choosing. Each time an ad is displayed, for each page impression, you gain some credits towards displaying your own advertising.
Of course the widgeteers offer multiple levels of membership from free right on up to platinum status, but there is no obligation to join any of the pay per membership levels.
The beauty of the system is that – unlike Entrecard or other click based systems – there is really very little to do. Simply add the widget and then create your ads. The widgeteer system takes care of the rest.
Obviously this will not turn a ramshackle website into a success overnight – nor will it bring an unaccountable boost in traffic instantaneously, but it is a dead easy way to get free exposure.
If you decide to try it out, let me know what you think.
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 22, 2008
Writing is a lonely art, very often a solitary effort carried out in hidden corners of the world. A person gathers his or her thoughts and begins to put them down, alone where the judging eyes of others cannot confirm the internal criticisms. At the end there is a manuscript. A piece of paper or electrons that hold a bit of triumph – evidence of the author’s worth.
Now, perhaps, if the nerves can handle it this child of thought is borne to others. Given away and they can make it their own, but only if it has worth to them. Others can accept it, reject it, or try to change it. They can toss it out to the daggers of public scrutiny. If it is good it will hold up. If it is good it will be accepted, cannonized, monetized, or simply printed.
To the the author the manuscript will always have worth. Always that moment when it first appeared in thought, that special solitary time remains with the author. That moment is what drives the author to write again. That moment drives the author to continue to create in the vain hope of connecting that moment with another.
The work is both about communicating with another (the best authors consider their audience), as well as about enjoying the moment of creative inspiration. In the end, writing is still a lonely art.
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 20, 2008
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
Later that evening, Harrim invited me into his private dining room, after I had already stuffed myself of course, where he and my mother dined privately. My mother dressed in the most beautiful scarlet, and she set her hair beneath a lace cap, very unlike anything I had seen her wear in the summers since my father died, but very much how I remembered her from before. Harrim served a table as grand as I have seen any innkeeper set, and far grander than many a nobleman, for the platters and cups were gold and silver, and even I knew the wine came of no common vintage.
“Come in and sit with us, my boy,” said Harrim cheerfully. “You’re of an age now when you should sit with the men, not the boys. Take some wine.” I refused the goblet for I sensed something amiss. I never ignored that sense. “Suit yourself then…”
“Colter,” interrupted my mother. “We have some wonderful news to share with you.”
“’Em, right,” and for the first and only time I believe that I saw Master Wilder slightly embarrassed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine? No? Ok, well, Colter, as you know I fancy your mother. I have for some time, but now that your pa’s been gone so long.”
“Harrim has asked me to marry him,” said my mother. Her face beamed like a girl again, and I could tell a great weight had lifted from her. “Isn’t it wonderful? It’s the most wonderful thing that could happen for us. No more digging and scratching and starving on that god-forsaken farm.”
There is something truly awful about being reminded how pointless your hard work is, especially when you already know it. I hated the work, and I hated starving. I despised having bloody feet and sores, but I loved the land. “I like the farm,” I muttered.
“Of course you don’t have to leave the farm,” said Harrim, once again cheerful. “Betta of course will come here and live with us, you are welcome, naturally, if you want. You’re a man now, old enough to choose what you want.”
“Of course, that’s right,” agreed mamma with a smile and a laugh. “We will be married within a market, and then it’s all yours anyway, to do with as you like. You can work it or rent it or sell it. I am sure Harrim will help you set up any trade you wish. Won’t you Harrim?”
“Of course, my dear. He’s a hard worker and bright. What do you have to say, Colter?”
The truth is I didn’t have anything to say really. Honestly nothing at all, but I think that is the first time I discovered how to lie, or at least how to conceal my emotions, which is better than lying. “This is truly wonderful.” I smiled and I laughed. “Now I wish I hadn’t eaten so much already since this calls for a celebration.” We all laughed and talked and once again mamma became the lady she had always been.
Harrim kept a great water clock in that private room, and after glancing at it a few times he invited me to take a walk with him. Mamma said, “Go on son, I’m afraid there will be more news and more decisions to make tonight.”
Harrim grabbed a lantern and led me to a path behind the Waystop that wandered into the hills south of town. Usually the land there is green and grassy, now the hills were brown and dry. The night had taken on a cooler tone, and I caught the scent of summer rain on the breeze. “There will be rain,” I commented. “That will help the farm through the summer.”
Harrim didn’t seem to notice my remarks, but he put a massive arm around my shoulders and guided me off the main path into a little grove of trees just outside of town. I was neither tall nor large, and Harrim was both. We must have looked an odd pair in the lantern light.
“You do understand the need for this marriage,” he said.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I am happy for you both.”
“I am glad to hear it, although I know that your thoughts are undoubtedly more complex than that. In time I hope to be able to help you through some of those complexities, but in the meantime I want you to understand that I know I can never replace your father, and that life at the inn can never replace life at the farm. Your mother is practical.”
“She has sense,” we said at the same moment and we both laughed.
“Yes, she has sense,” continued Harrim. “Enough to go for all of us. The only thing she didn’t have sense about was your father.”
I jerked away instinctively and searched his eyes for the humor, but found only sincere sadness. I couldn’t find a way to respond or express the hurt I felt in his words.
“Colter, please, just a little further,” he pleaded. And we continued into the trees. “Your mother loved, still loves, your father more deeply than I have ever known a person to love another, but she loved him too much, more than she should have.”
“More than he deserved, you mean,” I replied. I was angry, resentful, a boy.
“No, not more than he deserved. More than he could handle. More than he could return. Let me show you. Let me explain.”
We reached a small clearing in the trees where the starlight sprinkled down to the ground in soft wisps over the buzzing insects. A large stone dominated the clearing. It was circular in shape and rounded on top, perhaps a meter and a half high at the center and two meters in diameter. The moonlight danced over the stone and it seemed to begin to glow with a soft inner light as we approached.
“Kyven brought a number of treasures back with him when he returned from his adventures. This is one he brought back the first time, before he ever married, before you were born. Take a look.”
The stone now definitely glowed with a soft green light and wisps of green vapor began to slip off the surface of the stone into the air and over the ground. Wherever the vapors touched the grass, it turned one shade further from brown to green until within a few short moments the entire grove appeared vibrant and green again, as if just after a spring rain.
“The stone is tied to the will of the gods, Colter. It brings life and prosperity when we follow their will and death and plague when we do not.”
“So, what does this have to do with me?” A naive question, one I suspected I knew the answer to, but I needed to hear it.
“When I said ‘we’ I really meant ‘you.’ You need to follow the will of the gods. In order for your father to retrieve the spear of Udelf and defeat the demon lord of the hordes of Kaarum, he made a pact with Tylos to forever obey and serve. That is why he left again after completing his first adventure. But it nearly broke your mother’s heart. She waited in agony those winters while he was gone. You were born and grew in prosperity and the plantation prospered in those days. Then he returned. Something about that final journey changed him. He never confided all of the details to me, but I knew that he was hurt beyond casual notice.”
“He was wounded in battle. That’s what he told me,” I said.
The innkeeper looked at me. A deep sadness covered his face. “Yes, he was wounded, but not so much from battle as from heartbreak. He came home to your mother, his one true love and forsook his adventuring ways, and he began to wither. You see, he was compelled to hunt evil.”
“But he gave it up for mamma,” I finished his thought. I began to understand at that moment. It was only a beginning, but an unfortunate sad beginning, like swallowing tyrnwood prepared without sweetening for the first time. I stared at that stone and the wonder I felt at seeing the green vapors turned to loathing and fear of the unknown.
“It started working again today,” said Harrim. I had guessed as much but I didn’t need to say it. “The council is going to meet today to decide how long you will be permitted to stay in the village. Then you will have to take up where your father left off.”
I admit I cried. “I’ll send your mother for you.” He left me there to cry out the last vestiges of my boyhood alone in the thin lantern light. So I did, and as my teardrops fell on that warm, inviting stone my fears turned to curiosity and my loathing into longing for the wide world. Some part of me enjoyed the thought of finding glory and riches, of standing on my own against a Kaarum rather than hiding frightened in a corner. And some part of me wanted to simply wake up in the morning and go back to my parched fields to try to grow a crop for the autumn harvest.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Five
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Three
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 17, 2008
Whether writing online or off, short stories rely on a few basics in order to be successful. While plot may be essential for most stories, for many stories there are no real twists or turns to follow and there may not be much in the way of action or adventure.
For these stories, and for all stories, the crucial elements are the characters and their interactions with each other.
A common mistake made by many new writers is to fail to fully develop all of the characters in the story. All too often the lead character or perhaps the lead and his supporting character are the only developed characters in the story. The remaining characters come across as paper figures. Their dialogue is flat and full of cliche phrases. They often do little to move the story forward and their interactions with the protagonists feel awkward and stilted.
Much of this can be avoided by taking time to understand their place within the story world. If these characters are to become interesting to the reader then they must first be interesting, at least on a basic level, to the author. Only then can the author place them appropriately into the story and have them interact in an interesting way with the main characters.
When writing for the online audience, often authors feel rushed because stories tend to be shorter. Any audience, on the internet or in a magazine, however, requires the same level of depth and suspension of disbelief. It pays to take the time to truly develop characters to give the story the necessary level of depth.
One technique for doing this is to simply write a quick paragraph about the character in question. From that little idea the author will quickly come to understand how the character will fit into the story – if at all.
For example, the protagonist may be passing a bellhop in a hotel lobby. The bellhop may have a bit of crucial information to give to the protagonist. How their interaction comes about will decide whether the bellhop comes across as a plot device or if he comes alive as an interesting addition to the story.
The author may write a quick paragraph about the bellhop:
A thin, greasy figure who was awarded this position because his brother-in-law conceded to his sister’s demands. He does not like vegetarians in general, and often complains about having to cater to the demands of the hotel guests. He prefers to wear a pair of yellow sneakers despite company policy and uniform procedures. He smokes excessively and has a rough voice.
From these few sentences the author now understands how to approach the scene, and can introduce the bellhop appropriately into the story. As the story progresses, the bellhop will have a logical place within the story world that will grow organically out of his naturally established place.
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 15, 2008
Cold as ice and bound for hell
the dogs pounded a thrashing knell
of death beyond the moonlight clean,
while I with mine began to scream.
The fate of men wrought clear with blood
came howling down like devil’s love
to drown the hopes and mysteries
bound within my poetry.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
I hope you got a laugh from this. I find the frustration of writing so annoying that sometimes I just have to find the humor somewhere.
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
Posted by admin on October 13, 2008
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
I expected to walk to town, but Harrim had driven not just a wagon, but the coach he saved for special days. He invited me to ride on top and help drive, and I did so gladly. As we passed the turnoff to Trakkin’s farm I looked down the road in hopes of seeing a friendly face, but saw no one.
When my father lived, we visited Harrim’s Waystop at least once a five market. The friendship between Harrim Wilder and my father stretched back into their childhood. The large two-story brick inn towers above the other buildings in the village. Local legend recounts that generations ago the Wilders trafficked in exotic herbs with the darkunders, and after growing wealthy Harrim’s grandfather had settled in Dunston with his ill-gotten wealth in a place the empire would not come looking. True or not, most in the village didn’t worry since the inn grew in popularity until it attracted buyers for crops after good summers and for crafts after bad.
The small collection of farms surrounding a small collection of huts surrounding the Waystop still bears the name of Dunston in honor of the first settler’s horse. The blacksmith owned a nice house, and the miller built a home of brick near the river, but nobody else was able to use more than mud walls to keep them warm. During the midsummer festivals we all danced and sang. Sometimes we joined with Kerby for the harvest celebration. Sometimes they joined with us. Weddings, funerals, births and the rites of Tylos each became an affair for the entire village, and more often for both Dunston and Kerby.
The first dog barked a warning as we came within fifty meters of the first house, and several others took up the cry as we trundled into the village. Jans and Lora, children of Master Tintelbar, who kept the general store darted into the street and back again, playing. I could not make out the faces of the boys at the far end of town who kicked a pig’s stomach around. They were still too young to work the fields and had managed to escape early from their daily chores.
Betta waved at Lora, and she waved back. “Can I play with them?” she asked.
“Not now,” replied mamma. “You will get your dress dirty. Besides, I think I will need your help with dinner.”
I looked around but didn’t see Anaria or anyone else close to my age. Ton and Wess would still be in the fields for a few more hours while their sisters worked at home. A slow breeze cooled the streets as we pulled around to the back of the inn. Harrim pulled the coach to a stop and jumped down. He handed me the reins before helping my mother and sister.
“Put the coach away and take care of the horses, Colter. See they get a good rub down,” he said.
I didn’t see Achard, the servant that usually did the work around the Waystop, though I hardly expected him. Every time we visited the Waystop Harrim gave his servant the day off. The work kept me busy and out of trouble, and I enjoyed the change. I found another team of horses already stabled as well as a large black stallion with imperial livery. I tended these as well, knowing that Achard would have done the same in my place. As the sun began to set I heard the workers returning from the field. I piled on the last of the hay and went to see if I could find a friendly face.
Lyekal, a tall young man with broad shoulders that had yet to acquire the strength of his father, the smith, also watched the workers returning from the fields. He noticed me and crossed the street with a smile. His hands and face were black from the forge. I sat down on the front steps of the inn, and he joined me. “I thought I heard Harrim’s carriage,” he said. “Pa didn’t let me come and look. Jans says he saw an imperial soldier ride in earlier.”
“His horse is in the stable. I haven’t been inside yet,” I said.
“Pa says there’s war coming in the north. The Eastern Watch is recruiting again. I want to join if I can. Dunston’s got nothing for me,” he said.
“Your dad won’t like that,” I replied.
“All he does is work. Even ma says he works too much,” said Lyekal.
Wess, a boy about my height, but a few winters older came along the road carrying a bundle of firewood across his shoulder. Most of the villagers had straw colored hair they cropped short in summer, like Lyekal’s, but Wess wore his black hair to his shoulders. His family came from the west about the time my father left on his second adventure. He dropped the bundle next to us and sat on it. “It was a hot one today,” he said. “How’s your crop looking Colter? I’ve not had a chance to get out your way.”
“Mostly burned to dust,” I replied. “We’ve a few patches of barley that will see us through the winter if we get some rain.”
“The whole valley used to be green through the entire summer,” said Wess. “I remember when we came we could fish in that stream that disappeared after the earth moved.”
“Pa says time will change soon enough,” said Lyekal. “I don’t think so. I’m not staying anyway. Your of age now, Wess. Why don’t you join up with me?”
“You’ve been talking the soldier for two winters now. You know your pa won’t let you,” replied Wess.
“I’ll be of age in a five-market,” replied Lyekal with a snort. “Kyven Halfspear isn’t the only hero around here. I’ve plans for myself.”
Betta found me loafing there. “Mamma says its time to help with supper.” I glared at her and she stuck her tongue out at me. I smiled back and we laughed. I waved to my friends and headed inside.
“Serve the captain,” ordered mamma. “Bring him what he asks for, but mix the wine with water if he wants more than a second cup. There’s no point making him drunk, and we’ve business to tend to tonight. There is also a pair of cloth merchants who will likely ask for more than Betta can manage herself, so you keep an eye on them as well.”
Despite her warnings, the captain ate quickly and quietly, and though he finished the second cup of wine he did not ask for more. He hardly spoke a word, and buckled on his sword immediately after eating. “I’d hoped to see more of the men. Is there a tavern in this village?” he asked.
“Sometimes they gather at the smithy after supper,” I replied.
He nodded and I watched him walk through the front door. The merchants complained about the weather as they ate, and I could not help but miss the livelier days when my father brought us here to celebrate. Mamma disappeared with Harrim into his private dining room while Betta and I ate in the kitchens. Afterwards we sat together on the front porch of the inn, laughing and listening to the sounds of the village. Lyekal walked towards us from his father’s smithy just down the street. He had replaced his smile with a scowl.
“Pa’s being unfair,” he complained. “Captain Torbridge is looking for recruits. He’ll take anyone willing, and they pay too. Not one of the men wants to join and I can’t. I tell you I’m leaving as soon as the council declares me of age.”
“I like it here,” said Betta. She laughed. “I think you would look silly with a spear. You’re too skinny.”
“What do you know?” he sneered. “You’re just a little girl.”
Betta stuck out her tongue. “None of us knows anything about the world,” I said. “I’ve been to most all the farms around Dunston and Kerby. I even went to Havensod a couple of times before pa died, but I don’t remember it much. I’ve hunted as far north as the Wynndle, or at least the west fork, and south past Trakkin’s.”
“I’ve never even been that far,” said Lyekal. “I hate this place.”
Down the street we saw the men starting to leave the smithy. “I don’t think your captain is making any friends,” I said. I stood up and took Betta by the hand. “Time for bed. Maybe your pa will change his mind.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Four
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Two
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!
