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

Posted by admin on November 17, 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.

In the morning our portion of the army marched north to join the main army commanded by lord Kelsin. A few days south of Havensod recruiters ran out to gather in those hapless souls who would rather face certain death with the possibility of food than certain starvation. I learned a great deal in those few days from Daven, who tended my wounds and kept me company while I watched the army gather.

“This ragtag lot will need all the help of Tylos,” said Daven as we marched along.

“Don’t you think our army is strong enough?” I asked.

“Drunroust, the imperial regent, has failed to maintain the army here in the east. Anybody can slip through the borders these days,” he said.

“What will happen when we find the Kaarum?” I asked.

“Only Tylos knows that, but I’m sure it won’t be pretty,” he replied. “Three passes lead out of the Northern Crown, one near Darnuth Keep, one near Dynwater, and one in a small gap where the Shadowspine Mountains split from the Northern Crown. The Kaarum pour out in massive hordes every few winters through one of these openings and if they escape unchecked they ravage across thousands of kilometers in the empire pillaging all they find. The Eastern Watch, as the regent calls his army, has orders to ambush and contain any attempt at the Shadowspine pass.”

“How many of them are there?” I asked.

“I don’t know, lad,” he answered. “I’ve never fought the Kaarum before, though my father did. Usually they have very large armies. We will march north to Havensod, and join another army before continuing north until we find the Kaarum.”

My days of rest were short lived. Lord Kelsin rode into camp at a thunderous charge. He was a tall, young man who reflected the image of knighthood. He kept his breastplate polished brightly, and rode a white stallion that tolerated nothing from other horses. To my surprise he came directly to Daven’s tent, but rather than speak to the priest he questioned me. Torbridge escorted the priest out of the tent.

“I understand you saw Kaarum as far south and west as the village of Dunston,” he said.

“I killed one at our farm near there,” I replied.

“Kyven Halfspear was your father?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you join the army? Who sent you?”

“The village council decided,” I said. “I’m not sure why.” I couldn’t admit that nobody wanted me at home anymore, and I didn’t really want to talk about my father. My answers seemed to satisfy him, though he said little and I couldn’t tell exactly what he thought or felt.

Lord Kelsin left the camp as quickly as he had appeared. Anyone who could, watched him exit the officer’s tent and then gallop away north. Then Torbridge found me and told me, “You’ve been given a new assignment, specifically by Lord Kelsin.”

Daven watched as I followed Torbridge to a wagon that smelled of soot and sweat, apart from the rest of the camp. I wanted to ask what was going on, but decided to be quiet. The captain had little patience and much on his mind.

“Remember what I’ve told you. Keep out of trouble. Iven will teach you a trade if you do as he says. I’ve no time to explain, and there are too many ears about. Be patient. Everything will become clear in a few markets,” he said.

I nodded though I didn’t really understand. He seemed genuinely concerned about me, though I felt something worried him.

An enormous man with dark tan skin and a round bald head worked rhythmically beating a piece of iron on an anvil. He had more bulk and more muscle than any other man I have met. I had no doubt he could crush my bones with one hand. He stood covered from head to toe in soot and grime, and the look on his face as we approached reminded me of my mother after Betta chipped another of her cups.

He scowled at Torbridge and scowled at me and growled in a voice like a bear. “Is that the best you can do Torbridge?”

“It’s the best I’ve got and the best you’ll get. Now mind your manners. He’s been wounded and is under lord Kelsin’s protection.”

“Kelsin’s pet are you?” he asked me as Torbridge left. I felt in that moment that I had been trapped in a pit with a hungry dragon to be toyed with until he decided to consume me. “Scratched up by the Kaarum?”

I showed him my scars. I opened my mouth to talk, but his scowl cut me short again.

“Scratched or not, pet or not, if you’re lazy I’ll whip you red.” He saw that I understood. Torbridge rarely took the time to understand the soldiers in camp, and if he had he probably never would have left me with Iven. The blacksmith harbored no love for anyone born into a title and even less for a man unwilling to work the day through. To him Kelsin was both. Fortunately for me, I was neither. “Stow that lot in the wagon, Scratch,” he said, indicating my weapons. “Then take off that ridiculous shirt. We’ll fight no fights here, not on my watch. You can be a prancing pony for the mighty lord another day. Hop to lad! Get your rubbish into the wagon, and mind you don’t touch my tools!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin in my scramble to please him. At every turn I found something new to be done. A war is a prosperous time for an armor smith, even for a blacksmith who can sharpen swords. For a master like Iven, it is simply demanding.

I knew the use of some tools already. Before he died my father kept a busy shop at the farm. Only for a difficult job would he seek the help of the smith, and I aided him at every task. I had never known the drone and ache of hard repetitive labor, and Iven’s introduction was hard and fast.

“I know you can fetch and carry, Scratch, but I need more than just a pair of hands just now. I need your back and your mind as well. In a few days we’ll move the war north, and without the proper tools we’ll need more time than we’re given.”

He had a small furnace suitable for turning small blooms of iron which he taught me to load with the raw metal. I fetched the coal and worked the bellows until the fire was just the right temperature. He carefully beat the iron blooms into thin plates, which we cut into wire suitable for pulling through plates prepared with small holes for the purpose.

His mastery of the hammer amazed me. He allowed me to try my luck, and I quickly learned that time and the weight of the hammer were my enemy. I sweated and ached at each day’s end.

“Put your back into it Scratch,” he bellowed. “It’s the fire what’ll end the war, not the metal. Even filthy beasts can dig it up, Scratch. Anyone can dig. But can they melt it, cure it, purify it and beat it into something useful? I can do that much Scratch, but only if you give me that blasted fire.”

I pumped as hard as I could, but his words rang a constant melody. “By Tylos, Scratch, don’t you know the fire needs air. Blast it! Pump boy, pump.”

When the fire wasn’t burning I found myself busy at a dozen different tasks. Without the right tools we were unable to pull the wires properly and Iven eventually gave up and pounded each one by hand. I wound the wire around rods and cut the rings for making mail. I was no stranger to work. I had worked many summers on the farm, but there is a difference when you have a hot meal and someone to talk to when you come in from the field. After endless hours at the grindstone nothing waited for me but Iven and more chores. Fatigue and sore limbs were my constant companions.

“At home I’ve the tools for making fine wire,” said Iven. “Though the work is hard it goes much faster and the line doesn’t break nearly as often. Here I’ve no proper furnace. No real tools. Hardly the means to harden steal for a proper blade. No man should be made to work in such conditions. If ever I get my hands around Kelsin’s neck he’ll never start another war unprepared.”

But as hard as I labored Iven drove himself harder. I blazed the fire, but his hammer beat a constant rhythm that could be heard throughout the camp. No one approached his wagon unbidden because there is a certain respect that can only be earned by truly being the master of one’s domain. The size of the holding does not matter, but the sure knowledge that you are truly its master means that others simply know. Even Torbridge treated the smith with respect. Most of the other soldiers simply feared him.

On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Nine

Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Seven

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