Posted by admin on December 31, 2008
Heartbeats shiver like squirrels in th frost.
They know I’m cold.
Hearts feel faint;
They taste like muffins,
bust smell only of old mold.
These squirrels feel the way a lemon sounds
When it drops to the ground.
Kathy Williams was a squirrel
in John Day a long time ago.
And moonbeams dance
the way fish mingle
when the water’s warm.
She wasn’t a squirrel at all.
Fudge fish don’t care,
Even though if the wind blows
the dogs will bark.
I hear their cold growlls;
they look tainted in teh mist.
Geez you’re short.
The random pipes of memory broke
the heart I watched,
and it stopped beating.
The squirrels were as sad as sparkling starlight
that danced in a crystal web.
Kid watched from the shadows
As I flew into th ground.
Tomorrow hearts will fly.
To where? No one knows but the squirrels.
They follow the monster candles in heaven
where I’ll be happy to be sad again.
Porque no hay duro que no se quebra.
So the trees sing, the hearts dance,
the squirrels go out to sea,
while we all shake with the cold.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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Posted by admin on December 29, 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.
After Havensod I began endless days of practice with sword and spear and bow. Pascalli carried an enormous oak shaft he would brandish when rancor took him, but he also hid a sword beneath his cloak. Iven preferred his hammer over anything else, but he relented long enough to show me the proper use of my father’s spear.
“Hold it thus,” he told me. “And watch your footwork.” He usually said that after I tripped again. “You’re feet give you control. Don’t rely on your eyes or hands. Your legs and hips are the power, not your arms. You’re scrawny as a chicken, lad. You can’t expect to beat me with strength alone.”
“Then how can I win?” I asked. I didn’t want to kill the smith or anyone at all, but my desire to learn grew insatiable.
“Play to your strengths. You’ve speed and nimble feet. Never force a blow you can draw me into, and don’t try to stop a blow you could just as easily avoid altogether,” he said. I listened carefully to the smith and each day tried to improve upon the last.
I soon discovered that Pascalli had truly mastered many skills. In addition to my daily or twice or thrice daily efforts with weapons, he taught and drilled and forced me to recite from memory arithmetic, poetry, and the solutions to complex problems. In many ways, traveling with those two was akin to being locked in a room with two over-cautious tutors from dawn until dusk. Of course usually tutors did not also have you doing the cooking and cleaning and tending the fire. I don’t mean to say that they treated me harshly. They merely kept me busy. I certainly had no time to be homesick or to cause trouble.
The days began early and ended very late. We did not push the horses too quickly, though Pascalli had a definite direction and course in mind. We traveled almost due east, but slightly north out of Havensod directly into the Shadowspine Mountains. After the first day we left the highway where it continued east and slightly south towards a pass that led out of the empire.
“We are in the wild now,” advised Iven. “You best keep your wits about you, Scratch.”
“I’ve been in the wild before,” I replied quietly.
“Of course you have,” said Pascalli, slightly condescending. “I’m sure your father did his best to get around your mother’s preoccupation with your safety.” I gave him a sour look, but he only smiled back. “Have no fear. You will have plenty of opportunity to learn.” When he caught my look of exasperation, he added, “There is no skill so great that it cannot be improved. We need meat and healing plants. One thing you do not do well is cook, and since you once expressed an interest in learning, I shall teach you. For that we shall need some herbs and plants of which you may not be entirely familiar.”
“I already know about herbs and plants and things,” I said.
“I’m sure you do,” he said dismissively. “Now ride on out and see if you can bring down an elk or buffalo.”
“Wouldn’t a deer be enough? There are only three of us,” I suggested.
“We need more than just meat,” he replied. “A bear or tiger would be good, though I doubt you will see one. Fat and furs will see us through the winter.” He gave me a mysterious grin. “Of course if all goes well we will have other resources for the winter. Still, we better plan for the worst.”
“We’ll need to move higher into the mountains if you want to find game that large,” I said. “It’s too hot this low.”
He smiled back at me. “Of course, Scratch, you lead the way. Take us north and east until we reach the head of the Dustwater.” I thought he was joking, but after a moment I realized he actually expected me to pick out our trail.
Under my leadership we progressed slowly. I turned out to be a less proficient tracker than I had expected, though not as bad, I think, as Iven had guessed. My father taught me as much as a young boy could learn, and I stayed alert to the hints Pascalli dropped each day. After three days we finally came upon a small stream that flowed icy cold from the mountains. “I see you’ve finally found it,” chuckled Pascalli, and my ears burned. “Why not rest a while,” he suggested, although it was only mid-day. “This is a branch of the Dustwater. We can follow it upstream until it joins the main river. Perhaps the smith can catch a fish for our supper and you can show me that trick you do with the spear again.”
The trick he referred to was the one where he disarmed me and sent me sprawling head over heels. I felt in no mood to be bruised again. “I need to check for animal sign,” I said.
“Good idea, I’ll come with you,” said the old wizard. I expected Pascalli to do little more than be a nuisance, much less offer any real help. To my great surprise he proved to be both much more expert than myself, and a much kinder teacher than I had hoped.
“Shhh, Scratch,” he breathed. “See, there, the path of a small snake where it has crossed to get water. And there, that broken twig is fresh, only a few minutes. A mountain buffalo most likely, there haven’t been any sign of bear.”
Sure enough it only required a few moments of careful looking to spot a clearer set of tracks among the softer ground near the water. We found a medium sized bull grazing near the stream.
“Do you know where to shoot?” asked Pascalli.
“Yes, I replied,” as I pulled my bow. My aim was true, and the arrow found its mark just behind and a little below the shoulder. I drew and loosed a second arrow when the first one didn’t drop the mountain buffalo. After a moment though, it stumbled and fell over. I had never before killed anything quite so large and felt a mixture of emotions as I watched the blood ooze from its nose. Slaying something so great and beautiful felt both wonderful and horrible.
“You begin skinning it,” said Pascalli. “I’ll get Iven.”
We had a wonderful feast of fresh meat that evening, the first I had enjoyed since leaving Dunston. We scraped and cured the hide. We carefully jerked thee rest of the meat. Pascalli took the time to show me the proper technique for curing the hide while we rested and gathered our strength.
“We’ll need at least two more hides like this by the end of summer,” warned Pascalli. “Three or four would serve us better.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Not that again,” laughed the wizard, and Iven added his own rough chuckle. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why do we need so many hides if there are clothes and blankets we can buy?” I said.
“That should be obvious even to you,” replied the wizard. “There is a strong possibility that we will spend the winter in the mountains without access to other resources. You have much to learn before you can take up your father’s destiny.”
“What do you know about my father?” I asked.
“More than you,” replied Pascalli with a wink. He saw the hurt and anger in my eyes. “No need for that. I mean no harm. I know a great deal about many people. Your father was a great man and he left you a great responsibility. Can you understand that?”
“I can do what needs doing,” I said.
“Then find us meat and hides before we have to go to ground for the winter. Before you know it your real work will begin and you’ve not long to prepare for it. You will take up Kyven Halfspear’s work, and I mean for you to be fully prepared when you do.”
I brought down another buffalo and three elk before the first snow, and for the first time in several markets Pascalli seemed content. Then one day Pascalli told me to take the rear. I had lead long enough. At first I felt that I had somehow disappointed him with my performance. I must have taken too long or not properly followed the river. I quickly realized he was looking for a specific place, one that I could not possibly know about. He guided us higher and deeper, beyond the farthest homesteads. Eventually I lost the path entirely though I did my best to watch our back trail. Pascalli taught me to pick out landmarks so that if I ever rode the same trail twice, either coming or going I would be able to find my way. Despite his training I admit I could not keep the path clearly in my mind. He guided us for more than two markets. In the dead of winter we entered a cave deep in the mountains far beyond the known passes of men.
We had already consumed much of our meat. Iven complained more than once about the lack of fuel for his pipe. Pascalli waved away our concerns lightly. “We’ll soon have more than we need I’m sure, though you may not like what you get. Tomorrow we’ll enter the realm of the Veldmen. They’ll see us through the winter safe enough.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Fifteen
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirteen
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Posted by admin on December 26, 2008
Sometimes shadows
play tricks on our minds
just the way
rain clouds do.
Lost lemmings come
when nightmares become
daydreams with no way
to split the two.
light makes shadows real by hiding
just as day
makes night sparkle.
Crystal rose oozes
up when dawn filters
out Tuesday bright rays
burn mucky dew.
Shadow glass rabbits
mingle with Gods,
casting a grand play
writeen by . . .
Pisspots and brainbeams
bouncing on walls of steel,
no one knows th way
to Katmandu.
Hearts burst in spurts
at times. Nobody
holds tigers at bay
when old clocks run
and we bounce again
and the shadows come.
the dimness stays
the day out
making puddles on teh brain
grow deep and rank
until the shadows spray
evening dew.
Gray rabbits will forget
patterns. Becoming shadow;
new time is a new day,
icy smooth.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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Posted by admin on December 24, 2008
Making fantasy writing believable is both much more simple and much more complicated than a lot of people estimate. Generally because they think of fantasy as something completely separate from other types of writing.
Yes writing fantasy tends to involve leaps of logic and putting faith in the author, but at its core, that is not what makes a fantasy unbelievable. That suspension of disbelief must happen in any fiction, whether a mystery, a spy thriller, or when writing fantasy.
The key is primarily to write good characters. If the dialoge feels forced or the descriptions are unnatural or stilted, then the logci behind the use of magic in the world will quickly become irrelevant. If the characters act natural and live as organic entities (i.e. stemming naturally from their surroundings, not necessarily made from carbon) within their world then automatically the level of believabilty has increased.
Writing good dialoge will go a long way to make the story believable. Writing fantasy is not much different from writing fiction of any kind. The characters must feel as if they belong. Their actions must correspond to their motives. Their words must correlate to their actions. They must react to and interact with each other in a natural manner. If you accomplish this, then the reasons behind the blood sacrifices required to generate the power necessary to complete the ultimate spell of destruction become less important. The reasons are still imporant, but now the stage is set so that they can become believeable whereas with poor characters the reader will never even reach this point.
Again, if the characters spring naturally from their world, then the reasons behind the sacrifices and thier reactions to them will already be explained. If there are flaws in the logic they will generally be exposed already due to the natural tendancies of the characters. An evil villain predisposed with a hatred for bloodshed would inherently seek an overwhelming, driving motive for a blood sacrifice whereas a bloodthirsty maniac would likely find the power associated with it as an added perk rather than a driving force. In either instance the logic lies more with the characters than the mechanics behind the world.
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Posted by admin on December 22, 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 thought we would point the wagon towards one of the many city gates, but instead we drove to the old fort near the center of town where the Eastern Watch kept their command. Though the town came alive early with farmers and artisans already preparing for a busy day in the city’s sprawling markets, the fort seemed abandoned. All around the noise of the city erupted almost at once, while the old fort waited in silence, like a skeletal crown on top of a low hill.
The fort gates stood open, and the sentries merely waved and nodded at Pascalli as we approached. Inside only a few soldiers were visible. Across the yard I heard Iven’s hammer ringing against the anvil. I could just make out his broad shoulders working in the cool morning air.
“Lord Armos is waiting for you,” said a man I did not recognize.
Pascalli nodded towards Iven. “Fetch the smith as well. He’ll be needed this morning,” said Pascalli. The man hesitated. Obviously he knew how little Iven liked to be disturbed when working. “Tell him I sent you, and you may have better luck.” Pascalli winked and laughed to himself. The soldier reluctantly turned towards the forge. “Once we’re inside, speak only if spoken to. A great deal may be said today, none of which you should either understand or concern yourself with at the moment. However, I would like you to remember what goes on. Above all, pay attention to the faces you meet today, for they won’t soon forget yours.”
I followed the towering wizard into a low building with thick stone walls. A soldier escorted us down a narrow hallway to a small room at the back of the fortress. A little sunlight filtered in through narrow windows near the ceiling, but the real light came from two dusty lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
Two men waited inside. I recognized Daven. The friendly priest seemed genuinely delighted to see me. “I’m glad to see you again, Colter. We lost a lot of men in the battle. None of us knew what happened to you.”
I caught the wizard’s eye and held my tongue. “I am Lord Armos,” said the other man. His graying hair rested on the armor covering his broad shoulders. His cares weighed heavily, causing him to stoop slightly when he stood or walked. His voice sounded tired, but still carried the firmness of a man used to giving orders. “Pascalli says that you have entered into an apprenticeship with Iven. Is this true?”
I didn’t know anything about it, but I guessed that Pascalli must have arranged it. “Yes, sir,” I replied.
Pascalli presented a document. I recognized my name but not the paper. Iven opened the door and stepped inside. I felt crowded between the two massive men.
“I see you’ve taken an apprentice,” said Armos. “Usually we like to be informed of these changes beforehand. We hoped you would continue with us, but I am sure you want to rejoin your family.”
“That’s right, sir,” replied Iven. “I’ve a home and forge in Anascrag that are missing me. The boy has already learned a lot. He proved himself a solid worker, and I can use his help.”
“Imperial law frees you from service so long as you have been accepted by a master of Iven’s status. We’ll need another witness.” He opened the door and spoke quickly to the soldier who stood guard outside. “Captain Torbridge has become invaluable since the battle. He’s assisting me here now, though we’re shorthanded and most of the officers spend more time in the field than usual.”
Armos returned to his seat and motioned for the rest of us to sit down as well. Daven filled wooden goblets with wine while we waited for Torbridge.
“It is a pity that so many died in the battle,” said the priest to no one in particular. “Lord Kelsin has been greatly missed.”
“”He wasn’t a bad man.” To my surprise Iven spoke. “I never agreed much with him, but he didn’t deserve such a death.”
“You saw it then?” asked Armos.
“The lad and I watched from a hill,” replied the smith. “War is a gruesome thing, but nobody should suffer the terror those men faced before they perished. It’s no surprise so many deserted. They’ll not want to face the Kaarum again if there’s risk of that happening again.”
“I am sure the effect was equally potent on the Kaarum,” said Pascalli. “They will not venture south so easily again. Not only are their numbers largely dwindled, but even their powerful masters will not be able to force them out until they are on the brink of starvation.”
“How long will that take?” asked Daven.
“A few summers, possibly longer,” replied Pascalli. “I’ve not visited their broken land in many winters, so it could also be sooner.”
“The Eastern Watch cannot recover in time,” said Armos. “I hope you are wrong.”
The wizard’s eyes flickered and the corners of his mouth tightened slightly. “This would not be the first time you hoped I was wrong.” His words cut the old general, and he slouched in his armor. “I doubt you’ve anything to worry about.” Pascalli’s tone brightened. The stern edge left his voice. “They will try the west next, unless I miss my guess. After they exhaust the wilderness north of the wall they will find Anascrag.”
“There’s a ray of hope for us, then,” said Daven. He smiled. “This heavy talk does nothing to cheer any of us. I’ve no head for battle, or for politics. Pass round the wine again. Besides, Colter is to be congratulated. An apprenticeship such as this will be very valuable for him.”
“What will be valuable?” I recognized Torbridge’s voice from the doorway.
“Young Halfspear has entered into an apprenticeship,” said Armos. “We need you to witness the discharge.”
Torbridge glanced around the room. If he guessed any of Pascalli’s mind he didn’t show it. He scarcely glanced at the document before adding his signature to the bottom. “You can collect your wages with the quartermaster.” He left the room as abruptly as he came. Armos added his signature and handed me the paper.
“Listen to your master, boy. He’s a man who knows the world and the men in it. You’re free to go.” Lord Armos returned to his chair and sighed heavily.
Iven took me by the shoulder and guided me from the room. Pascalli followed us to the wagon. “I’ll meet you at the drover’s after you’ve collected his wages and your gear. They brought in some wild horses to break for the army a few markets back. I’ve a feeling they’ll have some surplus, and we’ll need extra mounts.”
As Iven took me to the quartermaster I noticed how few soldiers garrisoned the walls. A line of women waited outside another low building, some of them carried or led small children. They stood in near silence, many of them weeping. “They’ve come to check the lists of the dead, and collect their husband’s wages” said Iven. “They call it the widow’s due, but only half will ever see it. Without a body their claim can’t be proven, and they’ll write him down as a deserter. The sorrow of those men buried in the valley will continue for many winters to come.”
“They’ll starve,” I said.
“Or worse,” said Iven. I wondered at his statement, but held my tongue.
Iven loaded a heavy pack onto my shoulders before taking an even larger load for himself. We struggled beneath the weight down the hill and to the north edge of town where wide corrals held stock for sale to the slaughterhouses or the stables. We found Pascalli haggling with a much smaller man over the price of horses. In the end he traded the wagon and more money than he cared to spend for seven strong horses bred in the mountains.
“Your mother knows something of horses, I believe,” said Pascalli. “Did she ever teach you anything about them?”
“I could ride before I could walk,” I replied. “These are good horses if you plan on a long journey over rough ground. I know the mountain breeds. They have heart and endurance, but they can be hard to break. They’ve short legs, so don’t bet on winning a sprint.”
“You’ve a keen eye, lad,” said the gentleman selling the horses. “I can use an extra hand if you’re interested.”
“The lad’s spoken for,” interrupted Iven gruffly.
The man nodded. “The name’s Tondo, if you change your mind. I drift between here and Dynwater, though I’m usually further north during the summer.” He tipped his hat and smiled. “Pleasure doing business with someone who understands it.”
We mounted and Pascalli led us toward the city gates. As we left the drover I noticed a familiar wagon pull up. Farmer Trakkin dismounted, and I saw Anaria idly toying with a flower in her fingers. I caught Pascalli’s sleeve and pointed in their direction.
“You’ll only bring them trouble if they see you now,” said the wizard. “Torbridge made a point of ignoring you, but you should know he hasn’t forgotten your name or face. As soon as he’s able he’ll send word to those who care that you’ve left the army and Havensod. Your father left a name in the world that draws the attention of men with power. Before winter comes they’ll be looking for you, and no apprenticeship will keep you safe then.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Fourteen
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twelve
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Posted by admin on December 19, 2008
The great advantage of being a scientist is that you see the world for what it is, as it is, and you maintain no bias one way or the other about how it is. The great advantage of believing in something is that no matter what you see or hear or are told, you will find what you are looking for. Greg’s advantage laid in a unique combination of belief and science sometimes labeled insanity. A thin, elderly man with only a few strands of gray hair, thick glasses, and a penchant for polo shirts; Greg hardly presented an imposing figure.
Seventy-three years is not too long a time to spend conquering a planet. Nearly everything imaginable had been invented during his lifetime, and each new product both created a new niche in his plan and fueled the fire of his disappointment in humanity. A race of people willing to spend their lives in front of a little box of glass and plastic is not fit to govern the planet I live on, or so he believed. The television and personal computer, however, were wonderful devices for restraining humans and Greg had every intention of utilizing them to their fullest potential.
The major side effect of wanting to dominate a planet populated by six billion people is that you either have to delegate some of that power, or you have to limit the numbers of slaves. This particular point had bothered Greg for several decades; at times even affecting his ability to work. Killing people (or anything else), was not something he was good at; it wasn’t even something he had ever done. In then end, however, he had given way to human nature and decided on the easy way out; eliminate the excess. So, down to brass tacks, start by eliminating (without destroying the planet) approximately six billion people. Step two; convince those who remain that you are the rightful ruler of the planet. Step three, live happily ever after.
Step one, as Greg viewed it, was the most difficult, (after all who wouldn’t want to follow him after everyone else was dead). Naturally if he didn’t plan on keeping anyone alive it would be much easier. Of course it would have been even easier still if he had amassed a following of individuals to help him. Once more the problem of working alone on such projects with a limited budget remained unsolved. This time, however, it would definitely work.
Greg had great faith in human incompetence, having experienced it first hand on several occasions. There is no fool like the one who believes the system works, he had often taught his children. Despite his efforts, however, they still paid their taxes and held down regular job.
Once more Greg worked furiously at his basement computer, attempting to simultaneously monitor the working of the World Health Organization (WHO), and NASA. Launching your own satellite into Earth’s orbit can be difficult; doing so undetected and without cooperative outside help took nearly a decade. Doing it twice more was, as Greg put it, “beautiful.” Others may have dubbed it insane, but then their vote didn’t count much at this point anyway.
With a nudge hand here and there, he had managed to keep news of his biological attacks in South America and Africa sufficiently shrouded in confusion as to render the opposition incompetent. Developing the proper virus to do the job was almost as difficult as launching satellites. Information is plentiful and easy enough to gather, but acquiring the proper chemicals can get you arrested, and Greg was passionate about his criminal spotless criminal record; not so much as a parking ticket (not that he drove much these days).
Greg’s attention diverted from the WHO to the internal proceedings at the European Union, and the United Nations. Cracking the control of a single government was easy enough; he had, after all, helped to break and built several countries over the years, but simultaneously eradicating government heads around the globe was a true challenge. The first key is unrest, always unrest. Start with the people and then slowly let the level of discomfort rise until those at the top could feel it; then remove the top. Full-scale cyber-attacks on the European and Asian economy would begin tomorrow. He had tested his methods in the past, gradually fluctuating the worldwide economy; a lifetime of preparation for this moment.
He smiled to himself, scratched his scraggly beard and balding head, and pressed the enter key.
To continue to divert attention away from events in the third world, Greg unleashed a pair of new electronic viruses that would distribute themselves throughout developed countries, keeping businessmen and employees equally busy for a few days. He transmitted an email to a doctor in the Congo (who by now was certainly carrying the biological virus), recalling him to his home in northern Europe. A similar message found a doctor in Nicaragua, and the doctor returned to Australia. Greg reached for his coffee mug, empty. All right, get some coffee and then tackle North America.
Greg got up from his swivel chair, his thin frame leaving a shallow impression, and stretched his arms and back. Books lay stacked all around him, notepads, pencils, files containing all imaginable information; and over all of it sat the strong odor of coffee and meticulous malice. Greg whistled quietly to himself as he skipped up the stairs. Eighty-six and still more fit than any television raised punk. At the top of the stair he met his daughter. “Going on a coffee run, you want anything,” he asked.
“Dad, its midnight, I was just headed to bed. Don’t wake the kids when you come in, ok.”
“Sorry, Mandy, I’ll be quiet when I come in.” Grandkids were great, if only their parents weren’t so annoying.
Thirty years ago a doctor twenty years his junior told him to give up the coffee, alcohol and late nights (he never did smoke). Greg sent flowers to the doctor’s widow, but secretly he didn’t feel much remorse. Destiny decides how long you live, and you decide how much you enjoy it. Greg was destined for greatness, and immortality. The garage was full of the keys to immortality. Experiment upon experiment latched together in a careful chain, all to produce panacea. The rats, dogs, and neighborhood bums who were now cured (one way or the other) of their ill health were all greatly appreciated. A super immune system combined with genetic anti-aging created an agent that cured just about everything, including the common cold and cancer.
The Go-mart, or whatever they called the place these days had the best coffee available at midnight (or any other time), and Greg found the crust on the nacho cheese particularly appetizing. The hired help, as usual, reminded him of the reasons behind his never-tiring quest, but then so did pretty much everyone else he met. He used his credit card to pay for the order, after all the transaction would simply ‘disappear’ by morning anyway. Greg sipped his coffee smugly on the way home.
Back at the lab he checked his resources and progress. He didn’t have enough money to manage a full-scale release of the virus in North America, or Europe, and a partial release would only give the Americans time to find a cure, so an alternative must be found. Fortunately, a lifetime of planning allows one to consider these possibilities beforehand. Greg rummaged around in his desk until he found the correct set of cables, and connected a small device to his computer. He quickly loaded a new program, and giggled slightly as the green light on his gadget sprang to life. Radiation emissions on computer and television screens around the world, but most heavily concentrated in the United States, would now reach toxic levels. By the end of the week video game geeks would be dropping like flies.
Enough damage for the moment, he decided. Time for a drink and some light reading. He found a bottle of beer in the mini-refrigerator, and opened a thick file labeled space exploration. The improbability of humans discovering extra-terrestrial life always amused Greg. If only they really tried. Of course, if they really tried I could stand them. Greg continued to peruse his various files for over an hour, lost in the possibilities of what could be. The world was finally becoming a unit bound by more than just gravity. The potential for world cultures to merge, language and customs to join, and new leadership to be defined was being fulfilled. All too slowly. With the right people, living forever, all of the waste and laziness and destruction would be eliminated. Six billion to find a few thousand; at least he had good odds of finding decent help.
Time for more nachos. Compulsively, he swiveled the chair around to check the progress. His chair bumped against the transponder, and the device fell to the floor. “Damn!” he exclaimed. Greg picked up the box, noting that the case had cracked. He shook it a couple of times. The rattling told him soldering was in order, and Greg let out a soft sigh. “I’ll fix it when I get back.” He left the broken equipment on the desk and stopped at the bathroom on the way out the door. The convenience store was only a few blocks away, and the night was warm, Greg walked, as usual. For a change, there was another customer, obviously in a hurry. The engine of their beat-up Toyota was still humming, and the lights were on. Some punk kid, as it turned out, harassing the clerk. Why don’t people just let people do their jobs, he thought. Greg opened the door and headed to the coffee.
“Hey old man, where you goin’” the punk accosted him. Greg gave him a stern look, failed to see the gun, and proceeded to the coffee. The clerk screamed, the punk fired, and Greg’s panacea failed to stop the bullet.
In other news, a doctor in the Congo discovered a cure for a mysterious virus believed to have been transported through insects in third world countries, saving the lives of thousands. He had received a message recalling him earlier, but stayed to finish the job anyway. NASA discovered yet another mysterious satellite, believed to have been launched by a terrorist group, and destroyed it. The department of defense announced a new cyber-security system. The European Union managed to quell fears of instability, and the United Nations reported that political unrest was at an all-time low.
Prospects for the world in general looked good, although crime in some suburban areas appeared to be on the rise.
THE END
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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Posted by admin on December 17, 2008
I read an invitation to dream today.
The words formed a magical display,
that made me think of love and thoughtful hope
I would have cried if I could. But I know,
Just isn’t proper.
“Come sit,” it said, and spin me happy tales.
Stay with me tonight, beside shadows stale.
Learn how dreamers sleep and love, wake and live.
Do not let feelings close too tight, give
the world beauty.
Please don’t think I’m too strange ecause I love
the way i feel, or feel that I am above
all the usual norms of happiness.
I’m not. My life is still the propervmess
it was tomorrow.
Follow the stars if you would like to fly,
Go right ahead, don’t write, don’t say good bye.
The invitation is nice, lie, or spin,
dance or sing. No guilt, no sorrow, no sin.
Leave dark superstitions.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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Posted by admin on December 15, 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.
What seemed like only moments later a hard boot brought me painfully to my senses. I expected to see the tall form of Pascalli looming over me in the dark before dawn, but instead a greasy man of medium build with dirty blond locks hanging about his chin leered at me.
Master Horrofmen, the owner of the Blue Dragon, did not care for my intrusion upon his establishment and reminded me at every turn.
“Whip him soundly if he’s lazy, Jakand,” he warned the greasy cook. “I’ll not have any loafers in my place.”
True to his orders, Jakand kicked me whenever a foul mood took him or if he thought me too slow. He took to calling me Lazy Nob and relegated me to a corner with even less straw than before.
“Up and earn your keep.” Jakand’s voice sounded slightly raspy and clearly not content. I pulled myself from the ground, blinking stupidly. “The wood needs split as Jon’s left it undone again. Now get.”
“Where?” I stammered. By now I was getting used to being ordered around by people I didn’t know.
“In the back, stupid.” I noticed his knee bending slightly as he readied another kick and I scampered away to work. I split the wood and sharpened the axe on a stone in the barn. I neither saw nor heard Pascalli, though I knew he must be close by as no one had called for the horses or wagon.
At the Waystop guests were infrequent except after harvest when the merchants came, and the times I helped Harrim I could do any task at my leisure. The Blue Dragon was crowded with travelers from many places, and their demands filled not only my time, but kept the four regular servants busy as well. Jon never spoke to me except to give me another task though I guessed from Jakand’s manner that to take pity on me would cause him trouble.
“Vergha has taken ill,” said Jakand the following morning. “You’ll help Laural with the cleaning until she is better.” Vergha, the older woman who cleaned the rooms looked as fit and healthy as ever. Her hand moved as quickly as any young girl’s when I stole a crust of bread for my breakfast, and her string of curses betrayed the strength in her lungs as I darted from the kitchens. Jakand liked her, however, and I knew there would be no peace if I displeased either of them.
I found Laural on the second floor sweeping dust from the corners. “Jakand sent me to help,” I said.
She smiled back and looked at me through greasy bangs that got into her eyes. Although certainly older than me she seemed at once both younger and more mature. A hint of lighter color showed beneath the dirt and grime covering her hair and face. I saw a freckle or two where she wiped the dirt from her nose. I knew I must look little better, and pushed the hair back over my ears.
“Start over there,” she said. She pointed at a pile of rubbish in the corner. “I brought a bin up with me. You can find an extra broom in the kitchen if you’re brave enough to go back down there.”
I laughed a little. “Not just now. Vergha’s not in a pleasant mood this morning.”
“Or any morning,” agreed Laural.
I didn’t mind the work even though many of my old friends would have considered fit only for a woman. Laural made the place feel almost pleasant. We worked through the day, exchanging lighter conversation than I had enjoyed since arriving at the inn. By evening I was tired, but content with the day’s work.
When a rough hand shook me awake in the middle of the night I thought Jakand had found another torture. I didn’t expect to see Pascalli smiling back at me. He held a finger to his lips and motioned for me to follow him out of the kitchens. In the opposite corner Jon stirred a little in his sleep, but resumed his rhythmic snoring as I joined Pascalli in the alley behind the Blue Dragon.
“Where have you been?” I demanded in the loudest whisper I could manage.
“I believe my affairs are my own,” he said through stern brows. “Some may argue that I need a keeper, but I reserve the opinion that you are not the person for the job.” His lecture tone melted quickly. “I’m sure you’ve had a time of it. Jakand was always a bit of a brute, and far too dull for my taste. I hope he hasn’t handled you too badly.”
“I’m alive,” I said. “The work isn’t bad, and he’s slow with his kicks in the afternoon. Will we be leaving soon?” I tried to make the question sound as pitiful as possible.
“Not soon enough for your liking, I’m afraid.” I frowned and stared at the feet. I hadn’t noticed the chill air in the alley until then. “Don’t sulk. Another day, maybe two and we’ll be on our way. I just wanted to see that you were alive and let you know I hadn’t forgotten. Have you seen any imperial troops?”
“No. I’ve only seen merchants and a few travelers. I haven’t talked to any of them as Jakand doesn’t like us to speak to the guests,” I replied.
“Technically you have deserted your post, so I don’t think you should strike up a conversation with anyone who might recognize you at the moment,” he said.
“You’re nothing but trouble,” I said.
“Most people I know would agree with you.” He smiled, and his eyes softened. “You will have to trust me, Scratch. Tomorrow I’ll speak with Torbridge or whoever they’ve left in command. I’ll have it sorted out soon enough. In the meantime, be careful who you talk to. There are plenty of scoundrels around who intend you harm.” He handed me small packet wrapped in a bit of cloth. “I saved bit of food which I’m sure will taste better than the swill Jakand usually passes around.”
I took the food. “Thanks,” I said. Despite the circumstances, I felt I could trust him. “Have you seen Iven?”
“He’s doing well. He returned to his post at my suggestion. At the moment he is rather worried about you. It will do him good to know that you are safe, though perhaps not as comfortable as you would like,” said Pascalli.
“Will he be coming with us?” I asked.
“Probably,” replied Pascalli. “Now off you go, and be quiet. I’ll fetch you as soon as I can.”
In the morning I resumed my chores, though my heart felt a little lighter after Pascalli’s reassurances. Laural found me splitting wood. I was glad for her company. She had washed her face and hair, and her freckles showed clearly in the morning light.
“It must me a festival day,” I commented. “You look fit to celebrate.”
“Any change is nice,” she replied. “This place wears you down until there’s hardly anything left. I’d like to leave the Blue Dragon forever.”
“What’s holding you here?” I asked. “Surely you’ve kin somewhere who would take you in.”
“My father owed Master Horrofmen for the rents on his shop. When the time came to pay he offered me instead. Five winters of service. If I had the money I could buy my way out, but where could I get any money? I’ve nowhere to run even if I dared try.” The helplessness in her eyes echoed the emptiness of her voice as she spoke. “You’ll be moving on soon enough, though, won’t you?”
I hesitated, unsure if she had overheard my conversation with Pascalli or if she was just guessing. “I hope so,” I said. “Jakand’s boot is getting uncomfortable.”
“He’s a pig,” agreed Laural. We shared a laugh at the man’s expense. “Do you think your friend could take me with you?”
“You should have been sleeping,” I said.
“You shouldn’t make so much noise when you walk.” She countered.
“I only met him a few days before we came here. I don’t know where we’re going or when. If he has plans, he hasn’t told me about them. You can ask him what you like.”
Pascalli appeared before dawn the following day, before most of the guests had risen, and even before our work had really begun for the day. I heard his voice booming from the common room. “Horrofmen, I require my baggage. All of it now, including the bit that walks. Have my team sent around immediately. I must be off at once.”
Horrofmen poked his head into the kitchens long enough to point a finger at me and jerk a thumb towards the stables. “Best get your horses ready, boy.”
Laural caught my sleeve as I walked out. “Come on,” I said. “No harm asking.”
Pascalli met us at the stable. “Get the horses, lad. Don’t bother with the girl. We’ve enough baggage already.”
“Please, sir, I can cook and mend,” said Laural.
Pascalli looked at her more kindly than I expected. His voice was gentle, but firm. “Where we go you cannot come, child. I know Horrofmen for his black heart and unyielding ways, but do not give up hope too quickly. Help is often just a moment away. I cannot help you today, but another may come along just when least expected. Hop to, Scratch! Don’t forget your pack!”
What an idiot I must have been. I loaded my pack onto the wagon, and as I did I remembered the money Master Wilder had given me. I waved at Laural, and she came to help. “It isn’t much, but it should be enough for a start,” I said. “I’ve no use for it.” I handed her the coins, and tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She tried to speak, but turned away and darted inside.
“Now then, lad, let’s be off. We’ve much work today,” said Pascalli.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirteen
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Eleven
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Posted by admin on December 12, 2008
I squashed a bug, smash.
Gross huh. It was cool, squash.
Another one bit the dust, wipe.
There go two more in one big swipe.
Hurry, kill another two or three
before someone steps on you or me.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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Posted by admin on December 10, 2008
Six years, Jarak thought; six years, three months, and nine days. The cell looked much the same as it had six years before. The straw on the ground had changed intermittently, but the stones were the same dull gray they had been, and the smell of unclean bodies was the same, if only less noticed now. Six years in Havarfast’s dungeons was a feat accomplished by few, although Jarak was not particularly thrilled about being among the select crowd of criminals who managed to survive that long in the wizard’s grasp. Jarak slipped a knife from inside his tattered tunic, and began prying loose a stone in the ground beneath the straw. Most men died from despair in the dungeons, not from the venomous food, or the miserable rats. Jarak giggled to himself as he felt the stone move, hope kept him sane, and sanity kept him alive.
Beneath the stone a dark hole opened, and Jarak quickly dropped himself under, and slipped the stone back into place overhead. The tunnel was completely dark, but Jarak didn’t mind at all. For almost six years he had been visiting the tunnel as frequently as he could, each visit bringing him a little closer to insanity, and a little closer to freedom.
Six years was too long a time for the master thief to spend wasting his life when adventures abounded at every turn in the outside world. One petty mistake, and Havarfast locked him in this miserable dungeon, simply to save face. Jarak had worked for Havarfast on many occasions, indeed Jarak had stolen many of the elements that had allowed Havarfast to rise to his new position, including his prized staff and crown. In return Havarfast had betrayed him, and withheld payment. The guards caught him trying to escape Dyrwater after pilfering the wizard’s treasury, and that final chance had ended him in the dungeon.
Jarak slipped stealthily down the tunnel, to its blank end. Behind him a cord stretched in a straight line back to his cell. At the tunnel’s end, he came upon a worn spade, which he used to chip his way towards freedom. He took the shovel, and with one nudge broke through the wall. Cool air filtered in, and Jarak broke into a frenzy, digging and clawing his way into the moonlight. He breathed the fresh air, and stifled a shout. Within moments he managed to drag himself out of the hole. The castle sat atop a large hill, and Jarak began to pile stones over the hole to cover his exit. The work was finished long before the sun rose, and the thief slipped quickly into the night.
Dyrwater, the town that had grown up at the base of the castle, would have to offer Jarak refuge for the night, until he could find faster transport to some other region. Jarak slipped over the wall at the edge of town, and stole silently through the predawn shadows to the center of town. Many new buildings and streets had been built over the years, including a number of taverns and inns. In the back of his mind he hoped the inn he looked for still remained. He worried in vain, for prominent on the main street of town, near the center, still stood the Blue Drake, its delicately painted sign slightly iridescent in the moonlight. The first rays of sunlight were sneaking over the mountain peaks that surrounded the town and castle as Jarak knocked at the front door. “If Darnum has rented my room, I’ll strangle him,” mumbled Jarak to himself.
After knocking loudly a second time, a husky voice growled at him from behind the door, “I’ll open in a moment, be quiet or you’ll disturb the guests.” Jarak heard the bar being lifted from inside, and a key turning in the lock. After a moment, the doors swung out and wide open. Jarak stepped back, and looked at Darnum’s unchanged face. The innkeeper was still as stout and bald as ever, and his long beard covered almost his entire dirty apron. Darnum held his silence when he saw Jarak’s face.
Jarak looked quickly up the deserted street, making sure no lights had appeared in the gray, and that all of the windows had remained closed, and then he slipped quickly past the innkeeper and into the inn. “How did you escape,” asked Darnum, “and what are you doing here. The guards will search here first, you must leave at once.”
The common room was empty, but the smell of breakfast had begun to drift in from the kitchen. “Let me into my old room,” Jarak began. He saw the concern and confusion on his old friend’s face, and assured him, “I won’t stay long. Give me some food, and I’ll be gone before the guards arrive.” Darnum hesitated, but then retrieved a key. Jarak bounded up the stairs, his heart pounding inside of his chest. The old room, at the very top of the inn was small and cramped, and seldom used unless the inn was filled beyond capacity. Even the bed had been removed in recent years, and a thick layer of dust covered the floorboards. Jarak quickly found the loose board in the windowsill, and moved it aside. From the hollow of the wall he retrieved a small leather bag filled with jewels, and a few gold coins. Just as he returned the board to its place, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“I didn’t know you’d hidden it here, of all places,” said Darnum. “I would have spent it had I known,” laughed the innkeeper.
“I know,” replied Jarak. Darnum carried a tray with food and drink, which he proffered. Jarak ate gratefully, and quickly.
“Where will you go?” asked the innkeeper.
“I’m not sure, north probably. I need to see what’s changed in six years.”
“The color of gold hasn’t,” was the dry reply, “and neither has Havarfast.”
“Still bitter,” laughed Jarak.
“Don’t let him catch you again, or you won’t live to escape a second time.”
Jarak quickly ate the meal, and dropped a few jewels and a gold coin onto the tray. He tucked a half a loaf of bread and some cheese into his tunic. “Havarfast won’t see me again,” he chuckled grimly, “and I doubt anyone in this town ever will either.” Jarak opened the window, and slipped onto the roof of the inn and towards the edge of town.
*
The north shires were peaceful lands, where a prosperous merchant, such as Jarak, could ply his trade and peaceably enjoy a free life. Two years after his escape, he had not returned to the land of Havarfast’s reign, and had made a flowering business for himself as a jewel merchant, and expert trader. He owned a little shop in the quiet town of Eastonshin, where bandits were few, and the farmers fat. His evenings he passed at the local pubs, in particular The Glass Tavern.
Travelers were rare, but in recent weeks many had passed north (or south) as Kings and Wizards sought to expand their influence. Jarak sat at a table near the hearth, enjoying a game of cards with a few dwarven merchants plying their trade in the south. There’s no need to pay for what you can get for free, Jarak thought, as he dealt another hand, and found the pile of treasure growing steadily before him. From his vantage, Jarak could see all who entered the tavern from the main door, and when a thin stranger clad in a dark green cloak walked in, his attention left the game for a moment. Valsh, the barkeep sent a spindly maid to take the order, but then followed closely himself to inquire if the stranger would require a room, or other refreshment. Of a sudden, Valsh pointed a stubby finger towards Jarak’s table, and pocketed a coin. The stranger rose, and Jarak indicated to his companions that they would soon have company.
“‘Tis a private game,” suggested Dalhern, a broad dwarf with a thick yellow beard as the stranger approached, “and we’ve only begun.”
“Cards are not my strength,” replied the stranger, his voice smooth and relaxed, the words dripping from his mouth easily, “I would rather speak a moment with the jewel trader.” The stranger eyed Jarak closely, and smiled, “perhaps there is business that we may accomplish before the evening is done.” Jarak noted the stranger’s fine clothes, and rings beneath the worn cloak. The dwarves grumbled loudly as Jarak rose, but calmed noticeably as he left a fair portion of his winnings sitting on the table.
“Come with me,” Jarak said, “and we’ll see what can be done.” Jarak went to the bar, and tossed Valsh a coin, “we’ll need the back room for a time, send Jeanne in with the good wine.” Valsh nodded and laughed, then yelled for the maid and jerked a thumb at the back room. “Do you have a name,” asked Jarak as they settled into the thick smoky shadows of The Glass Tavern’s back room.
Jeanne entered with a tray set with goblets and bottle. The stranger waited for her to leave before replying, “Tellus. I have heard that you can identify any jewel carved from the Auvul Empire to the Free Lords in the south.” Tellus spoke calmly, but Jarak noted the earnestness behind his eyes, and slight desperation at the corner of his mouth.
Jarak chuckled. “That is an exaggeration, albeit pleasant, but far too much.” It wouldn’t be the first time in the past two years, or several years before, that someone had come with questions about his past; or a grudge. “I take it you have a question about a jewel.”
Tellus removed a pouch from his tunic, and opened the contents onto the table. “Tell me why I haven’t been able to sell these in any of the lands south of here, and why I have had to flee for my life to these freezing lands.”
Jarak quickly identified some of the stones he had stolen from Havarfast, as well as a few other more common trinkets. “You must be some kind of thief,” laughed Jarak, “indeed, there is only one other who would dare lay his hands on those.”
“And who would that be?”
“The tale is common enough,” laughed Jarak, “of the only thief who ever pilfered that treasury and escaped. Jarak was quite famous until his death. The guards of Havarfast searched for him in every corner of the kingdom. Rumor has it that the old wizard himself has even searched for Jarak. But he died when bandits fell on him. Most of the jewels were recovered over a year ago.” Jarak finished his tale quietly, and looked Tellus in the eyes. “Where did these come from?” Jarak drank deeply from his goblet, and filled it again.
“Bandits fell on a traveler in the south, they fled when they saw my approach, but they left behind a small pouch. Its owner was a paunch, balding man, with a long beard. He died with me looking on, cursing the name of Havarfast. Inside the pouch I found the jewels. Can you help me distribute them?” Now Tellus waited, and as he did, he too drank from his goblet. Jarak chuckled softly.
“Of course. Come to my shop at midnight.” Jarak drained his goblet once again, then stood and left the room. He left the tavern quickly, and laughed out loud as he left, and hurried along the dark streets.
Promptly at midnight Tellus appeared, knocking at the door of the shop. Jarak opened the door quickly, and let the stranger in. A tallow lantern lit the room where a small table was set with wine and cakes. Jarak sat quickly down, and gestured to Tellus.
“Two years is a long search,” Jarak said softly, “I’m almost surprised at your persistence.” Tellus looked briefly shocked, but quickly resumed his calm.
“Then you’ve guessed,” he said menacingly. Jarak nodded, and poured himself a glass of wine, and then filled his companion’s cup. “Then you know why I’ve come.” Again Jarak nodded, and sipped at his wine. Without breaking his smile, he offered Tellus his cup. The stranger batted the cup away angrily, “I haven’t come to drink, particularly not with a thief and assassin.”
“You were always rather disagreeable, Havarfast,” laughed Jarak. “I only took the wages you cheated me.”
Tellus pulled back the hood from his cloak, and mumbled arcane words. As he did, his face shimmered, and Havarfast took his place. The Wizard’s short cut beard and dark eyes were unmistakable in the lamplight.
“You should have been content with what you were paid.” Havarfast was growing angrier by the moment, and his eyes burned with fury. Jarak managed to remain calm, quietly sipping from his cup. “And now, my revenge will be complete.”
“Don’t you mean my revenge?” said Jarak. The mage balked. “I believe our contract for the assassination of your brother was complete freedom to run the underground in your realm. The contract for your staff was for an unofficially sponsored assassin’s guild. And finally for your crown, the source of, or at least proponent of your power, was to be delivered in exchange for the smuggler’s guild. Perhaps I would have cut my losses if you hadn’t put me in prison. Perhaps I would have let you live if you hadn’t murdered Darnum.”
Havarfast cackled, “that fat oaf. You should never have left the sorcerstone with him. Without it you have no protection from my powers. And you should never have trusted him, he told me where to find you even before we burned his inn to the ground.” Havarfast suddenly stood up, and waved his arms, screaming arcane words of power. Iridescent streams of energy cackled at his fingertips as he unleashed a bolt of power at Jarak. The magic fizzled, and evaporated when it touched the smiling thief, and the wizard stepped back, babbling.
“Two years is a long time to set a trap, Havarfast, and, contrary to what you may have been told, yours wasn’t the only sorcerstone. The assassin’s guild here in the north has been very helpful, and will probably be my greatest support when I take your crown. You should have tried the wine, it is much less messy that way.” Jarak slipped a knife from his boot, and quickly lodged it in the wizard’s throat. As he did, the wizard caught a glimpse of a small blue stone on a chain around his neck.
THE END
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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