Chapter Seven – The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep by Kelly D. Tolman

Posted by admin on November 10, 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.

Even summer rain can be cold and miserable, especially if you are caught in it afoot and in the dark. My companions trudged in silence once the sun began to set, and I caught more than one envious look from my perch on the horse.

“Perhaps the hero would lend us a ride on the pony,” said the darkunder as the rain dripped from his nose.

“If you gambled less you could have a mount of your own,” said Jarkin.

“My mother told me the same thing once,” replied Harry.

“A wise woman for sure. You would have done better to leave your spear and stay closer to home,” said the farmer.

A sudden noise startled my horse in the fading light. I had just enough time to guide my horse out of the way as something leapt out of the shadows. “To arms! To arms!” I heard someone calling. I managed to pull out the spear and turn my horse. I wasn’t sure what had attacked us until I charged. The distinct and awful smell of the Kaarum hit me full force. They say that smells can remind you of so many different things. They can take you back to a place of your childhood or give you the same feeling you had on your wedding day. The smell of vomit always reminds me of that moment, when I first charged down a Kaarum in the rain. Naturally I fouled the attack, but not as horribly as one might suppose. I had been riding since before I could walk, so fighting from the back of a horse felt almost like play. I hadn’t counted on the weight of the beast, or the power of my horse. I skewered it thoroughly enough, but then forgot to let go of the spear, and it was a simple matter of leverage. In an instant I found myself sprawled in the mud.

I looked up in time to see one of my companions cut down by the horns of a Kaarum. I tried to turn my head, but froze in place, transfixed by the moment. The first time you see death, if you ever see it, is something you never forget. A sharp bull’s horn ripped through his throat and sent him gurgling and choking into the mud. I struggled to my feet and retrieved my spear. The creature snarled at me, and the scents and sounds of battle rushed through my brain like a tidal wave. I screamed and charged, lost to the rushing energy of the battle. The Kaarum turned and lashed at me with its claws. Though I had no real skill with the spear, Tylos protected me. The Kaarum overextended its stance in the mud, putting it off balance. The claws reached my arms, but then it slipped and I stabbed it without difficulty.

There were only two Kaarum left then and five of us. They didn’t have sense or knowledge of how to surrender, and Torbridge had no intention of taking prisoners. Naturally they panicked. Harry and Jarkin were at least experienced, if not professional soldiers and Torbridge handled his blade expertly.

“Are you hurt, boy?” Torbridge wasted no time getting to the point after the battle.

“He cut my chest, sir,” I replied, my breath short and painful.

“Break out a light,” ordered the captain. “Come here, boy. Let’s see what happened. And you. Where are you hurt?” he barked at Jarkin.

“My arm, sir,” replied the farmer. “I fumbled the rotted spear. It’s been too long, sir.”

The captain chuckled a little in his grim way. “You’ll get plenty of practice soon enough. I’m glad you at least knew how to hold the blasted thing. Take off your shirt, boy, let’s see the damage.”

“You ride well,” commented the corporal. I believe that was the only thing he ever said to me. I never saw him after the battle of Havensod.

“I can ride,” I replied. “I lost my spear.”

“A sword is a better weapon,” commented Harry, with a smirk. “You’ve a nice blade. You should have used it.”

I admit I would have risen to Harry’s bait that time. I was ready to attack him. I hate killing. I hate spears and swords and everything they do to men, even then I hated it, but I hate feeling useless even more. I at least wanted to be able to say I didn’t need to use it, not that I couldn’t.

Torbridge intervened. “The boy’s alive,” he said. “He took down two. You’re a grown man, Darkunder, and this is not the first battle you’ve faced. You killed one, and his charge saved your skin. You owe the boy your life if you value it.”

I think Torbridge actually may have had a soft spot somewhere in his battle-scarred heart. He tended my wounds with efficient hands. What the bandage lacked in beauty it made up for with comfort.

“You should have worn your mail shirt,” he advised me. “And you should let go of the spear when you skewer it like that or you will be pulled down every time.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I’ll try to remember.”

“Don’t try,” said the captain sternly. “Either do it or next time you will die.” Some of the soundest advice I received from anyone of a military persuasion. “There is no room for error in battle. I fought the Kaarum in the north and trailed them to the west. I’ve seen many good men who were careless for only an instant cut down.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He glanced around, and spoke so that only I could hear. “I didn’t know your father, but I know he didn’t allow mistakes in battle. Your life is more important than you know so be careful what you do with it. Stay out of the way until you learn to handle that spear properly. You’re no good to anyone dead.”

The darkunder watched the conversation closely, but said nothing to me about it. If anyone else cared they said nothing. The reality of death and loss sapped the spirit from everyone.

We gathered the human dead and tied each one behind a saddle. I didn’t like the idea of walking through the mud so that a corpse could get a ride, but I knew better than to argue. Harry changed his own worn boots for a slightly better pair that one of the dead men had worn. We dragged the bodies of the Kaarum into the woods away from the road and piled them on top of each other. I put on my mail shirt while the others tried to clear away the mess of the battle.

We rode into camp about two hours after sundown. The sentries slouched in the rain and barely offered a protest as we passed. A few dozen soldiers slept in shabby tents or crouched in shelters hastily built from the forest. I saw only a few other horses and a team of oxen near some wagons.

“You’ve come in late,” said one of the sentries. “We expected you earlier.”

Torbridge ignored the man and rode ahead. Harry whispered, “Kaarum.” The soldier stiffened in response, but didn’t ask any more questions.

“You two take the dead over there.” Torbridge pointed at a wagon at the south end of camp. “Daven will look after them. We can bury them in the morning.” Harry and Jarkin dragged them off and Torbridge turned to me. “Daven’s tent is over here, follow me. You’re to stay with him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I replied.

Torbridge parted the flap to Daven’s tent without asking or waiting. A stout man with graying hair and a clean shaved face rested on a cot. He looked up as we entered and waited patiently for Torbridge to explain himself. “We brought some dead,” said the captain. “The boy’s been hurt. I want you to look after him for a few days. He can help you with whatever you need.” Torbridge parted the tent and left without another word.

“Come here, boy,” said Daven. “I suppose you have a name, though doubtless Torbridge has forgotten it if he ever listened in the first place.”

“Colter Halfspear,” I replied with a yawn. I rubbed my eyes, and the movement sent a spike of pain across my chest. I winced instinctively.

Daven looked at me closely. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t forget that name. Very well, let’s have a look at your wounds.”

Reluctantly I pulled my shirt off. Blood had seeped through the bandages, but I felt more tired than hurt.

“At least the man knows how to dress a wound,” said Daven. “I am a priest of Tylos, in case you haven’t guessed. I know you country folk see us seldom enough. I am going to offer a prayer of healing. Then you can rest while I see to the dead.”

He softly chanted, so low that I could not make out the words as he gently removed the bandages. He passed his fingers a hair’s breadth from my wounds, and as he did a tingling itch erased the Kaarum scratches. My flesh repaired itself beneath his hands, and the smell of indistinct flowers replaced that of blood and sweat. I felt both rested and healed.

“Remarkable,” said Daven. “Tylos must have something very special for you. In time I hope you find it.”

On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Eight

Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Six

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