Posted by admin on December 8, 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.
Torbridge rode up a few minutes after the rumbling stopped. His horse’s eyes rolled wildly with fear and exhaustion. A few soldiers straggled behind him. “You’d best come with us if you want to stay safe,” he ordered. But Iven just laughed.
“And what will you do that I can’t?” The smith planted his feet and mocked the captain. “Go on Torbridge, go rally the peasants back in Havensod.”
“You, boy, come with me!” It was more of a plea than an order. I think that was the first time I started to realize that my name had real meaning to people in the wide world. He moved to grab me, but I recoiled and he turned and rode away screaming, “Fools!”
In the valley below a few more eruptions shook the plain before the earth everywhere let out a great sigh. Straggling bands of Kaarum wandered north while straggling bands of soldiers wandered south. The great Kaarum warlord lies buried deep in the earth now along with Lord Kelsin. Bent and broken corpses littered the valley floor along with the scattered remains of weapons and wagons. I clutched my spear and retched again.
“Best use of a spear I’ve seen in a long time,” commented Iven.
“I agree,” said a voice I didn’t recognize until I turned around. There stood the stranger from the night before, quietly surveying the valley. His face was as cold as stone, but his wrinkles made it look like he was smiling even in the face of such destruction.
“Everywhere you go death follows, Pascalli,” said Iven. “Not even Kaarum deserve to die like that.”
“At another time I might debate that point with you,” replied Pascalli calmly. “For now let my work speak for itself. There is no question how I feel about the Kaarum or their masters or their servants.”
“And what of the men?” The smith screamed back. It is a testament to me of the gravity of the violence I witnessed that Iven would lose his temper. Passionate as he was, I never knew him to blink an eye at seeing a man crushed or burned or have a limb cut off. “They have done nothing.”
“I came to warn them, my friend,” replied Pascalli calmly. “Would there be more alive if I had let the Kaarum slaughter them? Would there be less suffering if I had waited? I tried to keep them back but I could not.”
“That is no way for a man to die.” Iven sulked.
“And I am sorry you witnessed it. You should have waited by the wagon. One of you at least has the sense to do as they are told. Scratch, my boy, come here.” Of course I obeyed. I had done nothing more than obey since leaving home. “Let me see.” He looked into my eyes in a way that only Pascalli could look. I felt as if he were searching my soul, looking for some spark of fate that he could ignite. I tried to hide it, and the harder I tried the wider his grin grew until he chuckled and said, “So it is true after all.”
“What’s true, sir,” I asked.
Again Pascalli chuckled. “A fool’s dream, that’s what. Now no more nonsensical questions until you are old enough to not understand them properly. Where are your things? Where is your horse?”
One thing about Pascalli that I always found interesting was his way of constantly asking questions but always refusing to answer them. For example, when I asked “Where are we going?”
He replied, “Ha, and what sort of silliness is that. I might just as well ask what you mean by that. Where are we going now? Nowhere. We are eating lunch right here. Later today? South, generally. Perhaps to Havensod and perhaps not. To Darnuth Keep. Ultimately? Who knows? Where are we going in life, you might just as well give up on that one. In fact, I would suggest you give up asking altogether until you are a bit older, say two hundred or so. Just keep your eyes and ears open and the answers will come when you need them.”
“Who are you?” I persisted.
“I see you won’t be satisfied without a few answers at least,” he said. He smiled broad and laughed as if the battle never happened. “I’ve nearly forgotten what it is to be curious and ignorant.” If he saw my frown he ignored it. “My name is Pascalli, at least that is what I am generally called. I am a wizard. To some I am The Wizard. To others I am other things, both better and worse. You may call me Pascalli or master, for I will continue the training that Iven has started.”
“What do you want with me?” My head reeled with unanswered questions.
He laughed again. “That is a question with many answers, most of which you could not possibly misunderstand correctly. Let us say simply that you and I share the same goals, and a part of the same destiny. I fight the Kaarum. More specifically I seek to destroy them utterly. You will help me. In time we may even succeed. At the moment it does not matter. The fact that Harrim Wilder finally saw fit to thrust you upon the world is at least a sign that things may begin to right themselves.” He saw the question in my eyes. “How I know the innkeeper and why are not questions I shall answer at the moment. Nor shall I bother with the dozen other you would conjure if I didn’t stop you. At the moment I want lunch.”
Between Pascalli and Iven existed a kind of quiet alliance that teetered on hatred but was held together by contempt of both the Kaarum and the injustice of men. I could plainly see that Iven trusted the wizard as he trusted no other man, but that he liked him no better than Torbridge. I found myself drawn to his smile, but a silent warning in my mind told me to tread carefully.
Though the Eastern Watch largely destroyed the Kaarum that day, they suffered tremendous losses. Many soldiers deserted following the destruction and the surviving officers spent the next markets searching for them or hunting the starving pockets of Kaarum. Pascalli had several loose ends to tie up in Havensod, most of which had little to do with me. He had contracted the help of a group of people very much unknown to me, and as I gathered unknown to anyone in the empire. First, however, Iven, Pascalli and I returned to Havensod. While I still remained a soldier in the imperial army and I remained Iven’s charge, Pascalli directed our affairs now and I am certain he didn’t take more than one eye off of me for longer than an instant.
Havensod is a favorite home for merchants, travelers and rogues. Most towns of any size are wonderful to visit, but Havensod has a peculiar kind of warmth about it that welcomes travelers. Inns, taverns, warehouses, shops, bazaars; all of the wonderful places a city should have mixed with the earthy roots of the farmers that built it. The few remaining old families who made Havensod their permanent residence were very old indeed and still mingled their blood with gentleman farmers in the surrounding region. The new permanent families were likewise very few in number and included wealthy merchants tired of their travels but still hungry for news of the world outside. Everyone else visited but never stayed. Shops changed owners almost as quickly as turnips, and the merchant selling beads one market would be gone the next only to return in a five market or a summer peddling pots or rugs. Of all the major cities in the empire, only Havensod openly welcomed foreigners, though few rarely crossed the eastern mountains or made the long trek from the south.
In those days alliances had yet to be forged with the kingdoms across the Shadowspines, and the Darkunders remained under suspicion. Havensod provided a sort of door to the empire for such folk. Pascalli bundled me into the back of the wagon and we entered the town just as dusk fell on the highway. “Here your name is Buck,” he told me. “Don’t you forget it. No mention of battles or Kaarum here, do you understand?”
“Yes,” I mumbled, not really understanding.
“You are a servant in my employ for about the last thirty markets. I treat you harshly. If anyone asks questions, show them your scars and mumble something about me beating you.”
A question started in my throat but he cut it off.
“I’ve neither time nor inclination to explain. Suffice to say that you are in real danger while in Havensod and that Iven and I are your only friends. Now in you go and keep your head down.”
Pascalli chose for our lodging one Blue Dragon inn. The place tickled my nose slightly with the odor of refuse behind the smoke and ale. Pascalli pulled the wagon around behind the inn and hopped out. “Stable the horses. Then bring our gear up to my room,” he growled.
I jumped to obey. Iven returned to the local guard headquarters and left me alone to unload everything. Apparently Pascalli gave orders that I was to do the job myself since none of the inn’s servants lent a hand. I did not finish until late into the night, and when I did Pascalli sent me off to find a corner to sleep with the servants. I collapsed in an exhausted heap on a pile of dirty straw and fell instantly into a deep slumber.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twelve
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Ten
Posted by admin on December 5, 2008
I just wanted to give a shout out to all the great support that this blog has received sinced inception. All my thanks goes out to the many readers who put up with my writing.
Especially to all those of you who use or have used Zimbio in the past. Enough of you like the blog to toss me a kudo, which is really appreciated. And enough of those kudos means that I made the “hot” page over at Zimbio.
I’m not saying I have the greatest thing here since sliced bread, but I am proud of what I’ve put together and I want to thank everyone for their support.
If you do get a chance to go over to zimbio.com go ahead and do it. This isn’t a referral or affiliate anything. Its just my way of sharing something useful to other bloggers. It isn’t a traffic building miracle, but it is a fun way to find interesting other blogs and to interact with people on the web.
Posted by admin on December 3, 2008
To be in here alone is almost wrong.
The spirit by me is so very strong.
To not share thatbright hope with a loved one
Is to face death beyond without someone
for all of us to learn is heaven sent
But to grow alone is not His intent.
A pair no one will make eternity
The others are simple frivolity.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
Posted by admin on December 1, 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 sat working on my armor by the light of a lantern at the end of the wagon when a man rode into camp on a great, fat, speckled gray horse. He was a large man, well over two meters tall (even without the hat) with flowing black hair streaked with gray and a beard that reached to his waist and below. He kept the beard tucked into a great black belt that stretched around his middle, holding up sky blue trousers over a startling yellow shirt. He covered himself with a thick green cloak and topped his head with a wide-brimmed green hat whose point bent slightly to the right. Larger even than Master Wilder, larger than Iven, yet he sprang from the horse as lightly as a young squirrel and tipped his hat to me.
“Good evening, young master,” he said as pleasantly as if we were enjoying the mid-summer’s festival together.
“And a good evening to you, sir,” I replied.
“I see the young still catch themselves up in these travesties.” His eyes danced as he spoke. “Take the advice of an old man and go home.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t,” I replied. To this day I do not know what drove me to say that. Perhaps it was his tone or manner, but I felt angry and sad and above all lonely. I had no home.
“What then? Can’t? Won’t? Ha! Who are you?” His tone was mischievous but I felt pacified.
“Colter Halfspear, sir, but here they call me Scratch.”
“Scratch, ho, ho!” he bellowed so loudly I thought the entire camp would wake. “That’s just grand. Halfspear’s son relegated to Scratch.” He laughed so hard tears came to his eyes. Just as suddenly as it started, the laughter stopped. His face turned serious, and I caught a look such as when my father told me something he didn’t want my mother to know about. “Now listen to me Scratch. Tomorrow is going to be a bloody day that won’t soon be forgotten in these valleys.” There was earnestness in his voice that transfixed me to him, a depth in his eyes that captivated me. His strength of will bound my attention. “Stick close to Iven, do you understand?”
“No sir,” I replied. I hadn’t really thought of doing anything else, but I really didn’t understand this fellow at all.
“Don’t leave the blacksmith’s side, not for a moment, not if demons themselves try to tear you away. I’ll be back afterwards, and perhaps then you’ll understand.” Then he smiled at me. It was a kind smile, the first kind smile I had seen since leaving home, and I trusted it. “Yes, I think perhaps we will meet again.” Then, just as quickly as he had appeared he parted the flap to Lord Kelsin’s tent and entered.
I listened at a safe distance from the tent, watching the lanterns extinguish around the camp. Only a few words escaped from the secret council, mostly the brash tones of the enormous stranger. The camp had changed in the last few days. A nervous air buzzed around us, and my curiosity itched until I wanted to be a part of the great plans for the coming battle.
I stayed awake nearly all of that night, both to finish my armor and to see if the stranger would re-appear. His horse had not been stabled, and I was half tempted to do the job for him. My armor fit nicely after a few hours of steady work, and I was sure it would pass Iven’s closest inspection. Just as I finally began sinking into sleep, the stranger grabbed me and pulled me wide-awake. “Remember, Halfspear, stay with the smith and trust not to fools,” he whispered. I hardly understood his words in the darkness, but he persisted. “You’ve friends and enemies all about you, and no time to sort them out. If you value your life and the legacy of your father you’ll keep away from the valley tomorrow and stay close by Iven.” He vanished into the darkness with a flurry, and I slipped into a deep slumber.
I woke late the following morning. I had grown used to the movement of the wagon through endless nights and days, but only the other soldiers marched away while we waited. After so much labor I found Iven’s stillness disturbing. Though his hands continued repairing a small tear in his coat, his face was calm and blank.
“Rest easy,” he said. “The wounded will be back soon enough. Then our work will begin again, and the work of others.”
I put on my mail and grabbed my spear. After all I was still a soldier in the imperial army, though I didn’t feel like much of a soldier and Iven laughed as he saw me. “You’ve done fair work with the shirt Scratch, though you’ll not need it today.”
“Where is the battle?” I asked.
“Why would you be asking about that trifle?” responded Iven. “You’ve no need for battles.”
“Just curious.”
“You’ll not be going near it Scratch, not if I can help it.” The smith’s voice had taken on his usual tone of brute finality.
“I don’t want to see it,” I said truthfully. “I don’t even like fighting.” I think I wanted to know more where it was so that I could run away from it than to be able to get to it.
“Really?” asked Iven. “You’ve got a lot of hardware for a lad that’s not looking for a fight.”
“It was my father’s,” I answered. “Except for the mail, that was given to me when the village sent me away.”
“On second thought, perhaps you should see the battle,” said Iven with a queer glint in his eye. “Not close up, but close enough. Seeing men cut down may help you understand the foolishness of all this. There’s a spare pig-poker in the wagon, and a helmet. Hop to it then Scratch, the day’s not getting any longer!”
With spears in hand we climbed a hill just north of the camp. At the top we looked down into a small valley where the two armies had met. The great black hosts of the Kaarum crushed against a stalwart wall of defending spearmen at the center, and around the edges horsemen galloped, pressing the dark army in against the middle ranks. I found Lord Kelsin quickly. His great white horse and shining armor sparkled in the mid morning light. Wherever he rode the men rallied and more than once a shout of courage erupted in his trail. Before him enemies fell back. For the moment the imperial army held he upper hand. The battle raged back and forth, like a swirling mass of insects seeking furiously to destroy one another.
The seemingly endless hosts of Kaarum slowly began to take their toll on the soldiers. Though their claws and horns could not reach past the long spears and shields of the army, their sheer size and great numbers steadily created an advantage. Then, suddenly, like a thunderclap, a wave of fear surged across the valley, spreading panic on both sides. An enormous dark figure on a great black reptile descended onto the battlefield from a hill across the valley. The huge deformed lizard sported gnarled horns and white sharp fangs. Wherever it went men fled in terror. The rider, clothed in a sable cloak, and bearing a long lance with a sword slung across his back urged his troops to battle.
Now the battle turned quickly against the imperial forces. The Kaarum rallied around their leader who spread terror like a plague across the field. On the opposite side, Lord Kelsin also struggled to bring hope and order back to the battle. With his bodyguard he made a drive deep into the Kaarum lines, pushing them back. But to his folly Kelsin overextended, and enemies cut down his rearguard. Stranded in the midst of his enemies, he struggled to return to safety. Before he could find a way out, the enemy warlord sped forth his troops, and I hid my face as they carried Kelsin from his horse and he became lost beneath the dark mass of fighting.
The battle turned into a route. Soldiers and officers alike fell back beneath a wave of panic. Without regard or sense of direction men turned and ran for any perceived safety. The flight of the soldiers was speedy but disorganized. The Kaarum crowded them together on their flanks, spreading confusion and disorder among the inner ranks.
Then it happened. A rumble like a thousand rushing waterfalls rose suddenly. The ground beneath the feet of the Kaarum began to erupt in violent explosions, creating massive sinkholes and throwing howling beast-men into the air. The entire length of the valley began to boil with the noise of a thousand thunderstorms as the earth hurled boulders into the air and they slammed back down again. Everywhere open pits sucked the Kaarum into the ground or explosions tossed them into the sky or crushed them beneath falling stones. The ground trembled. I fell to my knees. Soldiers lost their footing and many were sucked down with the violence and crushed with the Kaarum. Panic swept over the valley carrying with it all remnants of sanity. Men cut one another down just to be the first to escape the noise. Peasants pulled nobles from their horses. Even Iven tripped and fell eventually.
Of the many horrible memories I have, this is one of the most potent. I vomited endlessly. My loathing for violence redoubled. That experience transfixed in my mind forever the desire to keep armies apart.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Eleven
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Nine
Posted by admin on November 28, 2008
Homeless dance the pastures green;
free of dusty bonds or slavers mean.
The fields all glow with warm moonlight
the day I feign embrace my Lady Night.
Tho’ dark and thick as ink or embers cold,
her locks prss down with heat untold.
The latter end of sweet emptiness
goes to touch her saintly tress.
In peace she waits impassive.
Dead to my pleas wrought whole in massive
sorrow, I find my need to pass
the chance to cut the veins of tainted grass.
Lady Night n bland triumph takes my hand,
cold and trembling, where a good man
can see the sharp grass that poisoned cows,
and view skulls of broken vows.
The death fields above me soar
and stagger, then rise to flight once more.
I, with grace my cold libation
lat at the alter of her damnation.
I’ll not be taught to sing the silent death
song through bleak mankind’s breathless breath.
Night and those whose blackness round her shines,
with my fields of patient kine,
ponder the chance life has laid,
to give each of us a place pre-paid,
and we say “no,” or so it seems,
until sweetest Night and I dream our dreams.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
Posted by admin on November 26, 2008
Vociferous emancipation,
Hard gained through long toil,
Boils down the shafts of history.
Ebbing at imprudent intervals,
Freedom’s voice resurges,
Emerges without mystery.
The heart of man,
His brain and tired soul,
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
Posted by admin on November 24, 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.
Once the young son of the lord of a small holding required his sword be sharpened. He brashly approached Iven and demanded, “My sword needs work, see to it.”
“Put it with that lot,” Iven grunted. “It will get its turn with the others.”
The noble had not heard of Iven, and had not learned his manners, and replied, “Perhaps you do not understand. I require it immediately.”
“Perhaps, you are deaf, blind and stupid,” said Iven. His tone was matter of fact.
“You are mistaken.”
“No mistake. It is obvious that I gave you instructions, obvious there is a great deal of work to be done, and obvious you cannot reach the conclusion that you will have to wait your turn. If you can’t see the obvious, you must be blind. My wage is the same no matter whose blade gets done first.”
In that moment I discovered that Iven actually knew how to fight, though I saw it seldom enough. That noble drew his dull sword and threatened my master. Iven brushed the sword aside with his hammer with one swift, masterful stroke, and grasped the man in his great arms. Then he lifted him like a child and tossed him head over heels.
On it went, Scratch this and Scratch that until blisters had broken through my calluses and every bone ached to move. Then finally, mercifully we received the order to move out. At least I believed it was mercy that let me stay in a wagon all day. After all, we couldn’t very well build a fire.
Crack! For the hundredth time Iven’s leather thong snapped across my knuckles. There is more to armor and weapons than simply beating metal as I discovered. Even without furnace and fire we had plenty of work. Hardened leather breastplates needed repair or needed fastening together. At home my mother quilted to keep us warm in winter. Now I quilted thick padding, carefully stitching tight seams. Often recruits brought pieces of old armor which needed repair. Tools needed cleaning. And again crack! Iven could spot the tiniest flaw with my work and he disliked shoddy craftsmanship. “Do it right, Scratch. Lives depend on it,” he bellowed again.
When we reached the main camp I hoped for liberation and a reprieve from the constant work. A pair of familiar faces greeted me as we unpacked the wagon with Iven’s tools. Lyekal waited with a sword I had seen hanging over their mantle in Dunston. Behind him Wess leaned against a long spear, watching the swirl of recruits.
“Ho, Colter,” called Lyekal. “I see you haven’t managed to escape the forge. That’s not a job I would return to for all the money in the empire.”
“You best not let Iven hear that,” I replied. I cast a look in my master’s direction, hoping he would not be cross for me pausing to talk to my friends. “I see your father finally let you come.”
“We heard the council said you were of age,” replied Lyekal. “After that there was nothing they could do. Both Wess and I are older than you, and Wess has been on his own since last winter anyway.”
“I though you were going to farm, Wess,” I said.
He looked at me for the first time, and I saw the frown in his eyes. “I couldn’t pay Trakkin’s rent.”
“He’s a hard man,” I agreed.
“First time in four summers the place looked to have a good harvest and he turned us out. My sister went with a merchant traveling west. He paid Trakkin the rent in exchange for her services. I either joined up or became Trakkin’s slave.”
Two markets of marching did nothing to lighten my master’s disposition. “I’ve told you a thousand times, every chink, Scratch! Is that armor you would wear into battle with a thousand angry beasts trying to kill you?”
I had learned by then that his ranting was mostly rhetorical, and largely for his own amusement. In truth he was much softer than he let on, for though he cracked my fingers and let on when I made a mistake, he never did whip me as he warned. When we made camp north of Havensod he gave me a full night of rest and said, “Use the sleep, lad, for tomorrow the real work begins. The lads will begin dying soon!”
True to his word, the real work began in earnest. We joined the main camp where thousands of soldiers waited and trained to battle the Kaarum. Our small force suddenly became a large bustling, noisy clash of shouts and drills. Many of the recruits had never held a weapon before, and of those who knew something of fighting, only a very few had ever seen a Kaarum. For me my drillmaster was the forge and my weapon the bellows. “Hotter!” yelled Iven. “Hotter and higher!”
Though the new furnace was a little more to Iven’s liking, and he now had a half dozen experienced apprentices, I still had no time for rest. I labored along with the others, churning out lengths of wire, or casting bronze blades. We filled canvas bags with rings cut for mail. The grindstone sent a constant shower of sparks. I learned the art of turning a spear shaft on the large machine powered by driven oxen. Iven finished each piece personally. Into each long shirt he beat his particular mark, four brass rings, each inscribed with the names of his sons.
The moment we finished a blade a soldier snatched it. We made spears for the footmen, swords for officers, and lances for cavalry. I quickly decided I could live perfectly happy never seeing another weapon again, and that spear poles would better serve as bean trellises. Swords had no use whatsoever beyond decorating the mantle, and they were ugly enough at that. Iven showed me a secret that few armor smiths understood.
“After the mail is done, we bake thus, in hot coals and peat. Then it gets a bath in vinegar. This will make it harder and yet tougher. It is a trick I learned at home which I’ve not seen another do. With time and tools I could show you how to make such beautiful breastplates of blue and gold as to cause even that pimple Kelsin to blush. I’ve done work for the emperor himself, and all the great lords. You’ll notice that Kelsin’s armor doesn’t fit him quite right. That piece I made for his father, and his pride won’t let me alter it. The weight of it will throw him off in battle. Mark my words. Before they finish spilling blood he’ll wish for my hammer.”
Often the most difficult part of soldiering is the dread of waiting for danger that may come at any moment. The hours pass slowly when there is little to do but drill and watch the horizon for enemies. Iven had little patience for those whose hands remained idle. Most of the soldiers had no motivation to do anything beyond follow directions. “Look at that lazy lot, Scratch. They wouldn’t know a day’s work if it hit ‘em with a hammer.” I’m certain he meant for it to be his hammer, though gratefully there were no more interruptions by uncouth young nobles.
Though Iven never scolded me for talking with Lyekal or Wess so long as my work didn’t slacken, I knew he disapproved of the smith’s son. Both of them practiced hard, but even my untrained eye could tell that they hadn’t the time to achieve the skill of a true battle. Lyekal never tired of hoping for glory.
Within a five market, virtually every scrap of metal in the region had been accounted for. The work began to slow, and once more I found myself sleeping long enough to do more than drone through another day. I had learned to take pride in my work by then. I gained satisfaction looking at something I made with my own two hands being carried about and used by someone else.
“You’ve done well by me Scratch, now let’s see about that shirt of yours, and bring that pig poker with you too.”
I can still feel the excitement of working on my own armor for the first time. In later winters it became more drudgery than anything, until finally it was simply a routine that happened everyday. My weapons were already excellent and needed no work beyond the time to sharpen and polish them properly.
“Not much work to be done with it,” said the smith with a frown as he held up the mail. “Pretty shoddy work if you ask me. It’s not even been welded together. But it should at least fit you proper. Stand straight and let me get a measure.” He took my measurements and then watched as I started the pattern. Of course I had already been through it a dozen times, so there was really little left to learn. He surveyed the blade on the spear and took a moment to grind a small dent.
“Once you’ve got the pattern together, I’ll show you how to do the welds. Now sharpen it up Scratch, and work on those chinks. I don’t suppose you’ll ever need ‘em, but it’s worth having just the same.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Ten
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Eight
Posted by admin on November 21, 2008
Joao Sebastian looked over the quiet waves to watch the longboat that was moving steadily toward the ship that waited at anchor. “Cao Italiano,” he said, and spat to accentuate his words. “He leaves us here to rot, on this forgotten island, while he goes to find the gold on the continent.”
The sun weltered, and the sea breeze died silently. Even in the shade of the tall trees, the jungle still burned. The noise of insects infected the air with a constant buzz. Joao Sebastian felt the anger see out at him from the crew behind him, searing into his back as hotly as the sun on his face.
Joao heard Vasquez grunt indifferently and say, “Dios quiere.”
“Yes, Vasquez,” agreed Joao Sebastain, “this is exactly what God has wanted for us. We are to wait here and die on this forgotten place while that Italian dog returns to your Queen with the glory and the gold. I did not leave prison to face this, Vasquez. I did not cross these waters to face the savage spirits here.” Suddenly Joao Sebastian’s face changed, and he smiled. He turned to Vasquez and with a friendly gesture said, “but come, my Spanish friend, and we will find the treasures that Nuestro Senor has provided.” With that Joao Sebastian rubbed a leather hand across his brown face and started across the beach toward the jungle.
-*-
“They are coming, father. I have seen them. They are covered in odd clothes, and they turn at the sound of a cricket. Birds flee before them; the jungle is silent. Even the trees do not know how to receive the strangers. These can not be the spirit sons which the gods promised to send us. They are dirty.”
“Do not judge too quickly child. The spirit children of the gods are unused to our world. Only by their hearts can you tell them from the deceivers that the Dark one may send. Go and watch them, and pray to see their hearts.”
-*-
Four months of storm and hell for this. To be left at the end of the earth where even the devil will not come. To purge the ignorant pagan of his beliefs and cure him of the evils of gold and silver. Four years in a Spanish prison to spend four months in a Spanish hell with only an Italian dog to turn to. This is not why I left my motherland. To see the ocean, that is what I told my mother. Yes, to see the ocean, but also to have a little bread to eat. What is an orphan to do? Sail away to cut timbers in the burning jungle.
“Cut faster you dogs,” growled Joao Sebastian. “El Capitan wants this fort built and dedicated to Nuestra Senora La Virgen before he returns from the mainland.
“You screech for nothing,” replied Vasquez, “El Capitan isn’t coming back tomorrow. We have time. Or do you fear El Capitan more than Nuestro Senor, the King of our souls. God will provide for the righteous.
“El Capitan killed Nuestro Senor a long time ago. El Capitan is your god now, and he has already sent us all to rot here in this hell.” Joao Sebastian pointed to a dark rock that knifed above the trees, a hundred meters over the calm waters of the bay. “There is where we build the temple to our golden god.”
-*-
“They are attacking the forest. All day, like animals, they have cut down the trees in the sun-god’s shadow, and carried them to the holy grounds, father. They burn fires there now, and stink of sweat and anger. Animals they have killed, and they burn them on the fires and eat them. I do not like these spirits. The leader, he works and does not perspire. The others, they fear him. They do not speak to him.”
“Have you seen their hearts, child? Only when the gods open your eyes to see their spirits will you know them. Of course if they are spirit children of the gods they will go to the holy places and offer sacrifices. You must watch them and learn their rites. Of course they must seek nourishment in our world somehow. And we, unworthy souls have not offered them anything because of our much fear.”
“And what if they are deceivers sent to defile the holy grounds?”
-*-
At least there is meat in this lost place. Joao Sebastian looked around the skeleton of a building they had managed to erect that day. Not the worst structure he had ever seen, but hardly a fortress. “Vasquez,” he called, “set up a watch. Have the men take turns. I don’t want anything from that jungle to find its way into our new home.”
“Of course, Joao Sebastian,” said Vasquez, though his tone clearly indicated his low regard for his leader. “We’ll protect your fortress with our lives.”
Joao Sebastian turned his eyes from the fire with effort and wrapped his eyes around Vasquez’ mind. “Of course you will because it is all you have,” replied Joao Sebastian. “This is all you have anymore, this jungle and me. If the fort goes then we die.” Vasquez scratched his lice nervously and stood up to leave. “Do you think the Capitan will come back for us? Eh, Vasquez?” Joao Sebastian rained laughter on the Spaniard, until Vasquez opened his mouth to respond and Joao Sebastian cut him off. “We were left here because that perro was running out of supplies and he never liked any of us from the start. If he could have afforded to get rid of me sooner, he would have. But no, I was too valuable, until he realized that I’m not as stupid as the rest of you. There is no gold on this island, only mosquitoes. On the continent there is treasure, but when he comes, what will he say to us? Eh Vasquez? Will he say, ‘look, we’re rich, what a fortune we’ve made,’ or will he say, ‘Nuestro Senor has not been as kind as I had hoped my friends, perhaps fortune will treat us better another time.’ Well, Vasquez?”
Vasquez turned his eyes from Joao Sebastian’s dark glare. Vasquez ran a nervous hand through his dark curls, scratching where the lice bit, and answered, “I don’t know Joao Sebastian. Either way this is better for me than dying in a prison. I had a sentence of death in Spain. I had no hope.”
Joao Sebastian’s voice became suddenly calm and quiet as the sea breeze. “And here you also have a sentence of death, and I am your only hope. If it is not starvation or disease, then surely the savages will take us. Yes, Vasquez, they are watching us, waiting, and surely they will come.” Joao Sebastian suddenly let out a raucous laugh that filled Vasquez with terror. His dark eyes danced wildly in the firelight as he looked ofr his secret bottle.
No, I did not leave my Portugal to live with Spanish dogs. If only Nuestro Senor has been kinder, perhaps then I would have been the Capitan instead of just a Portuguese dog that knows the stars and the savage ways. Yes, I know the savage ways. I can steal form them and use their women and make them slaves as well as any. And the gold. Yes, I had gold, enough to get a ship of my own perhaps. Yes. More, enough to have a good crew, not like El Capitan, scraping the prisons. And all lost for the death of a nobleman’s whelp. Joao Sebastian took another pull at his secret bottle.
-*-
“Some sleep, and some watch the night, father. The leader, he does not sleep. But he does not watch. He is like in the gods’ trance, but his face is full of pain, not joy, father.”
“Have you seen his heart, child?”
“I have prayed and watched. Others also watch. They say we should kill them, that they defile the holy ground. Others say we should give them gifts, that they are the spirit children. I pray. I wait. But the gods do not answer. If these are the spirit children, why do the gods not reveal their glory to us?”
“The gods sent them here to try us. Be careful, so, to choose correctly, or the whole village will feel the gods’ wrath.”
-*-
Joao Sebastian slipped out of his trance with the first indifferent rays of the sun. Already the sweat of his companions was beginning to stink as the company roused and resumed the building. Joao Sebastian noticed for the first time in the dawn light the ghostly angular shadows cast by large stones that surrounded the camp. The stone they were building on was covered with sod, but a circular section near the center had been cleared away, and holes had been drilled at symmetrical points into the rock around the central pit. What the sailors had naturally taken for the best spot for a fire contained more ashes than Joao Sebastian remembered burning the night before. In the pink dawn the jutting rock seemed a bloody crown for a savage dead king.
“Vasquez,” he called, “what do you make of these holes?”
Vasquez looked with interest for the first time at the holes in the ground. He was obviously confused for a moment, until he saw what Joao Sebastian saw, and his face wound itself into a deep frown. “We are not alone,” he said flatly.
“Very good, Vasquez,” mocked Joao Sebastian, and then his voice curdled, “call the men.”
-*-
“They stand around the holy place, father, talking in strange tongues. The leader has strange crystal eyes. He does not sleep. He marks our sacred places. He walks a careful pattern and does not put out the holy fire in the sacred place. They burn the sacred fires, but heir sacrifices are not accepted. The spirits do not approve, that much I can feel. These creatures cannot be the spirit children of the gods. I have prayed, and their glory has not been revealed.”
“You say the leader has strange eyes, child. That can be dangerous or glorious. Perhaps the fair ones are the spirit children, and he has deceived them. Take the sacred lance and kill him. Then try the others. A trial will tell all.”
-*-
“El Capitan said here,” retorted Vasquez angrily. “Here is the spot. We’ve already started. We’ve ammunition and powder. I’ll not leave.”
“Then rot,” growled Joao Sebastian. The wiry Portuguese sailor grabbed a pistol and tucked it into his belt. “I’ll be back to bury you.” With that he turned and stomped angrily into the jungle. Yes, I am dead, but you are dead too, Spanish dogs. They will come and eat your hearts. I have seen their angry spirits watching us, waiting in the night. Now the time for waiting is over.
The jungle received his intrusion in cruel silence. Save for the subtle buzz of mosquitoes the jungle was quiet. Joao Sebastian felt eyes on his movements, but he didn’t take out his pistol. After he had gone perhaps a hundred meters he heard a hushed whistle in the distance from the jungle behind. But he hadn’t seen a bird all day. Strange eyes seemed to bore into him, until Joao Sebastian finally grew weary of his stalker. He changed course, casually turning for the beach. A muffled crack behind him, and Joao Sebastian sensed his hunter’s frustration. Another moment passed in silence, two, three. Now! Joao Sebastian heard the swift movement of the arm before the spear actually took flight, but his reaction was slow. He turned and ducked in one smooth motion, but the lance grazed his left shoulder. He pulled the pistol out and fired as his attacker screamed a war cry. Joao Sebastian couldn’t tell if his shot was good or not, but the attacker didn’t come again. Joao Sebastian crawled his way to the base of a tree and sank down to look at his wound.
The obsidian point had dug deep, and he could tell from the burning that he had been poisoned. At least the bone is intact, but what does it matter. I am dead. In an hour or a day, if not the poison, the gangrene, the spirits.
-*-
“I have broken the deceiver’s spell, father. His magic was strong, he used the dark fire, and I am burned, but the spell is broken. The wound is deep, but I have seen them all unveiled. They are stupid and slow without his magic.”
“Very good, child. The gods will reward your valor.”
-*-
Joao Sebastian passed the afternoon beneath the shade of a palm tree near the edge of the beach. Even from the beach he could feel the jungle come alive with the savage spirits. The same dark magic that had struck him would strike again. As the shadows fell across the jungle, an even darker shadow came over Joao Sebastian. Vasquez will curse me before he dies. All those dogs will curse me, but it will not save them. God will strike them down with the hand of the heretic.
-*-
“There is a note, Capitan, here on his body. He scribbled something, but the writing is faded. “Mueran Perros . . .’ is all I can see. He must have fought the savages here, cursing them even in death. There are no other bodies.”
“Did you search the rock, did they build the fort?”
“There is nothing Capitan. Not even one timber is there. There are signs of chopping and hauling, but even the tools are gone. We found a spear near the skeleton with an obsidian head and a few feathers, but that is all.”
“Fate is fickle, a few more shares for us. Too bad for them. Let’s go.”
THE END
Posted by admin on November 19, 2008
There are several ways to write a fantasy novel and most of them will work out just fine in the end. The real trick of course is then turning around and selling your novel. Assuming you have that little point covered, let’s discuss how to write a fantasy a novel.
The biggest ingredient is effort. I say that now so that it doesn’t get forgotten. Write every day. Be consistent. Put in the effort.
You’re ready to put in the effort – ok, here are a few other pointers.
- Tell a story. Don’t build a world. This is not a Dungeons and Dragons game you are about to run. Nobody is really that interested in the torrid details of your world. Yes those details are important, but not as important as the story. A story has a hero, an antagonist, a love interest – all those things that we enjoy reading about and watching in the movies.
- Show your story, don’t tell it. You have a love interest and a hero. Don’t say “and he fell in love with the princess.” That is kinda blah. Rather show his/her actions and words as they interact.
- Write your story. All too often I talk with would be novelists who don’t actually write anything. They tell me all about the world, the characters, the concepts, but on paper they have nothing more than a few notes. Not one word of dialogue, action, nothing.
- Keep writing your story. Yep, keep at it. Sure you may take a break now and again to go through your notes and revise your ideas, but KEEP WRITING THE STORY. Otherwise you’ll just end up with a pile of notes.
- Finish the story. It may sound a bit strange but it can be hard to just call the story done. Figure out where the climax is, tie up the loose ends that actually need tying up and finish it. Call it good. We don’t need to read about the hero’s sixteen grand children and their battles with the Dragons of Orgnark. Save that for another novel. Finish this one.
- Go back a re-write your story. You thought you were done didn’t you. Go back and cut out half of everything you have written. Hack it. Slash it. Get mean with that red pen. Then re-work it again. Go through the whole book, sentence by sentence and word by word.
- Take a break. Now is a good time to get away from it. Let your girlfriend read it. If you don’t have a girlfriend then now would be a good time to get one. Let it sit. Let it stew. Let people whose opinion is worth anything take a look at it and then listen to them.
- Revisit step 6. Be sure you have taken at least a couple of weeks off. Then go back and do step 6 all over again.
- Repeat steps 6 through 8 a couple of more times.
- Call it good. No it isn’t perfect. It isn’t the greatest thing you have ever done. You are still unhappy with it. You are still disappointed. You still want more. Too bad. It is done. You are finished with it. Accept that and go on to write the next novel.
If you were expecting something more directly fantasy related – tough. A story is a story is a story. The setting is less important than the story. If you haven’t figured out how to write a story then you should quit now. Learning how to write a fantasy novel is no different than learning to write any other story. Odds are that if you want to write a fantasy novel then you already understand how fantasy novels work and have a good idea of what to put into your world and charaters. The rest is just writing a good story.
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.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Nine
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Seven
