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

Posted by admin on February 23, 2009

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.

The next day we saw six wagons drawing close to the village from the south as Pascalli and I returned from our daily practice.  “They’ll be carrying food or silk north.  Most of the food comes from the west.  They’ll trade it for gold or tools or furs to take to the south,” said Pascalli.
We rode out to greet them.  The wagons did not pause at our approach though a man clad in mail rode out to greet us.  “You must be Pascalli,” said the man in armor.  “My name is Imat.  A cousin of mine said a fat man and a boy were loafing about up here waiting for the caravans to start.”

“Your cousin was right.”  Pascalli smiled and laughed.  “I see you come fairly well supplied, but Nysang and his men are rumored to be waiting further north.  A few extra spears can’t hurt.”

“Nysang is a pig, but nobody’s made him squeal yet.  They say he has nearly a hundred men riding with him now.  The rotted Kaarum gave every worthless beggar an excuse to turn thief and the rotted empire gave all of them swords to do it with.  I’ve a dozen solid men.  Is it just you two, or can I expect any more help in Larston?” asked Imat.

“We’ve one companion,” replied Pascalli.  “He’s a stout fellow and not to be trifled with in or out of battle.  I would advise against taking on anyone else at Larston.  Erich the Bald is waiting at Radston.  If the stories are true he has something personal against Nysang.  He may be valuable to have along.”

“He’s a greasy one Erich.  Slipped through more hangmen’s ropes than anybody.  You seem well informed,” said Imat.

“I keep my eyes open,” replied the wizard.

“Good, you’ll need them.  We’ll water the oxen and horses and do a little trading in Larston.  Tomorrow we push on.  That dung pile Angry Gim beat us to the best of it already.”

“His load was small,” said Pascalli.  “You may need to travel a bit further than expected, but you should still get your price.  Nobody else has come this way.”

I watched mutedly as they discussed their business.  The dozen men Imat spoke of carried a mixture of weapons and armor fragments scavenged from previous battles.  Their mounts were better than those generally used by villagers or even soldiers.  The men were rough and hard.  They eyed us curiously, especially Pascalli who seemed to have usurped a position of greater importance without passing their approval.

Imat directed the affairs of the guards and watched over the wagons, but Darman, a small easy-going man owned the wares and made the final decisions.  For the most part Darman ignored Iven and me, though the smith proved more useful to the caravan than the rest of us.  Iven often repaired pieces of equipment, and each time I served as his assistant, learning a bit of his craft each day.  We passed through a few tiny villages on our way.  At each we traded only a little.  At one of these we added Erich the Bald to our number.

“Pay attention to Imat,” warned Pascalli.  “He’s a strong leader and you can learn from him.  Watch how he handles his men and learn to do the same.”

“What about Erich?” I asked.  “Imat listens to him.”

“Good job, Scratch.  I hoped you might notice that.  Erich’s a shrewd fighter, and wise enough to avoid the attention of Darman.  Watch them both, but take the older warrior’s advice if he gives it.  He hasn’t lived this long through foolishness.”

Each day before we began moving and after we stopped, Pascalli worked with me on my spear.  Though the other guards often observed our practice they rarely said anything about it.  Only Erich the Bald ever interrupted us.

“You’re too nervous, lad,” he said one day.  “Stop thinking about winning or losing the fight.  Stop thinking about the forms.  By now you know how to hold the thing and where to put it.  Let your mind relax and let your body enjoy the movements.”

I thought to ask him to explain himself, but hesitated.  I tried to apply his method, but failed.  Later, as he sat alone with his drink I approached him.  “I can’t do it,” I said.

He looked into my eyes, and though his own were bloodshot and weary with drink and travel, even I could see the cunning and desire to survive that he tried to hide.  “You’ll learn,” he said.  “The old windbag says you’ve been blooded, so you’ve sense enough to handle yourself, but you’ll not reach your father’s greatness without losing your fear.”  He caught the question in my eyes and stopped me before I could ask.  “I rode with your pa, almost from the start.  You’ll never be able to hide from those who knew him well.  You’ve the same face, and the same fears.  Learn to keep your fears someplace else and you’ll see improvement.”

I went away confused but less uncertain.  Pascalli continued to push.  I had little time to myself.  Though my thoughts sometimes returned to my farm or the places I had known since, I had no opportunity to dwell on them.  Then, one day our scout didn’t return.

Imat corralled the wagons immediately and personally verified that each person was properly armed.  The bandits were no fools.  They knew we couldn’t wait for long and that they outnumbered us.  We spent one night in silent anticipation before Darman convinced him we had to continue on.  Imat’s concession was to travel slowly and place each rider for maximum mobility.

The attack the following morning happened swiftly and with precision.  Only Imat’s careful planning preserved the caravan.  A hail of arrows fell over us before nearly a hundred men on foot charged into us.  The few who kept bows in the wagons returned fire quickly.  A man to my right took an arrow to the chest and our little group swung out wide to flank the attack and draw away a part of their force.

Across the road Erich waded into the battle.  He whirled an enormous spiked chain with horrible accuracy.  Men fell away from him wounded or frightened as he cleared a wide path for his allies.  His face was calm and his voice steady as he shouted orders to nearby guards.

Imat directed yet a third group with precision, flanking the attack opposite my group.  Though the outlaws outnumbered us severely, the guardsmen were all veterans of at least a few close battles and handled themselves without fear.  A few, like myself became disoriented at times and had to rely on the careful direction of the experienced leaders.  Others threw themselves at the enemy with a passion and bloodlust I had never before seen.

Despite being afoot, Erich the Bald reached Nysang first.  The bandit leader was a large man, nearly as large as Pascalli.  He wore thick furs that did not completely hide the many scars on his arms and legs.  He used a great axe with brutal efficiency, and was alone responsible for most of our losses that day.  He caught Erich’s chain with the axe and ripped it from the smaller man’s hands as if plucking the hide from an ear of corn.  Undaunted, Erich stepped in and drew a short, broad stabbing sword forged after the manner of the old empire.

They threw themselves at each other with the precise, trained fury of men who knew not only combat but their opponent’s mind and will.  All around them the battle slowed as men focused on the display of single combat.  Blows fell and were countered on both sides.  Erich used speed beyond what his old legs seemed capable.  Nysang growled and lunged, receiving a vicious gash on the right arm for his efforts.  Quickly Erich stepped aside and past the larger man before he could raise his guard again.  By the time the axe was ready, the sword drove home, and with one breath the outlaws fled into the woods.

Our numbers had been cut in half, both of guards as well as servants and drivers.  Darman asked for volunteers among the guards to drive wagons, and Iven offered my services.  We stayed with the caravan until we reached the silver mines east of Dynwater in the lower parts of the Northern Crown.  Darman made a fair trade in both coin and bullion, and he agreed to keep us on as he returned south to seek yet more profit before he could return to Havensod to buy an inn and retire in comfort.  We rode with him for several markets, listening to news of the wide world and sharing the caravan’s troubles.

Each day I learned a little more from my companions, until Pascalli no longer hovered over me at every turn.  Erich left us shortly after turning south.  “If ever you return to the east, lad, you’ll find me wandering here.  I’ll gladly share my fire with Halfspear’s son.”

As summer faded into autumn we found ourselves west and south of Dynwater, but not so far west as Anascrag.  “I’ll be turning east again,” said Darman.  “I’ve furs and coin and food enough to set a tidy profit.  I’ve no love for the regent or his pig Torbridge, but Havensod is a place that holds my heart.  I know you can’t follow me all the way, but I’d be obliged if you could ride that way at least for a market or two.”

Pascalli nodded and smiled.  “For a few markets.  We’ll need a safe place to winter.  Word is the Festival of Spears will be held next summer.  In the spring I mean to go to Anascrag.”

“Then we’ll go south first, and leave you where the weather is less dangerous and the people more friendly,” agreed Darman.  “I’ve a cousin who often travels east to west and back again.  You may have the luck to fall in with him along the way.”

We passed the winter wandering from village to village as tinkers and mercenaries.  Though few of the common folk had use for a sword or spear, anybody who could mend a wagon wheel or shoe a horse was welcome.  When the snows began to fall few merchants traveled the roads, but those who did welcomed our company for our names and faces were known among the people of the wild lands.  Often when we entered a new tavern or inn, the name of Scratch slipped out and someone would call for an account of our battle with Nysang.

By spring Iven had given me a razor sharp steel knife to use for shaving.  “Beards are for dishonest men and nobles, which is usually the same thing,” he said.  “Keep your face clean and people will know you’ve nothing to hide.”
Pascalli laughed and tugged at his own beard.  “Believe what you want, my friend.  Styles come and go.  When I was a boy a beard was a symbol of power and prestige.  Today it is more a matter of preference.  It’s time we turned north again and began looking for Darman’s cousin.  The Kaarum will be scouting south again by now, and we’ve business in the west.”

Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman

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