Posted by admin on March 30, 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.
If Bracken had resented my presence before, he now openly challenged even Baghorn’s judgment. If we hadn’t needed all the men to help with driving the wagons and handling the stock, I’m sure Baghorn would have dismissed one of us on the spot. We pushed the oxen south as fast as we dared, stopping at villages only long enough to rest, rather than hunt additional profits. Baghorn seemed convinced that his luck had finally run completely dry, and his only hope of avoiding ruin lay behind the gates of Anascrag and his own home.
Like Bracken, I wondered how or why Laural would disappear without any warning. We found their trail easily enough. They kept to the road, heading south, but the wagons had no hope of catching them. Quivain struck east at the first branch of the road, and we heard nothing more of the pair. In addition to the horses, they had taken food and supplies for a long journey, for which Pascalli agreed to recompense the caravan. “Your luck’s not as bad as you might believe, Baghorn,” said the wizard. He smiled and slapped the merchant on the back. “You’ll come through all this with a tidy profit, and a wealth of experience free of charge.”
“Experience is never free, and usually more costly than it’s worth,” replied Baghorn, only slightly reassured by the fresh coins in his pocket.
As we neared Anascrag, traffic increased substantially. Merchants mixed with adventurers and nobles, all beginning the gathering for the Festival of Spears. Although each individual noble retained his or her own guards, the blue and white uniforms of the imperial troops became commonplace. They patrolled the highway more regularly, keeping peace and offering comfort to the nobility.
One carriage in particular caught my eye. The wheels were narrow and taller than most, and the gold inlay covered nearly the entire vehicle. “Is that the emperor’s,” I asked Pascalli.
“No, lad. Narnal hasn’t attended the festival since he won the crown many winters past. That crest, the two-headed hawk is the family of Taradurk. Lord Taradurk is regent over the entire western empire.”
“This is the east,” I said.
“His family is wealthy, powerful, and well-connected to the emperor. They often visit Dynwater.”
The carriage curtain slipped aside briefly and I caught a glimpse of steel gray hair atop a solid frame. A moment of recognition seemed to pass between Pascalli and the man, but he pulled the curtain shut again and the carriage rambled past the caravan.
Though it was a large city by the standards of the empire, Anascrag carried the feel of a village still. The people decorated the open plazas and small houses with late blossoms and painted their homes and shops brightly with every color. Shopkeepers plied their wares with simple patience rather than yelling. Children played behind houses and in the streets, where wagons and people alike meandered with unhurried steadiness. Anascrag was a slow, self sufficient, unimposing city that captured my imagination and memory.
Iven brightened the moment the spires of Anascrag’s cathedral to Tylos became visible. Every moment his impatience grew, until I thought he would burst. We had not entered a large city since Havensod, and my experience there was unimpressive to say the least. I hoped there would be a clean inn with food I did not have to cook and a bed I could sleep in.
A large stone wall surrounds Anascrag, and that wall is visible for many kilometers in all directions across the vast wheat fields surrounding the city. Above the wall towers the great cathedral to Tylos. City guards patrol the walls regularly, and the four city gates, one for each direction of the compass, close at night. Admittance to the city is regulated but generally casual. The center of the empire is a mix of many cultures, and Anascrag’s cobblestone streets and alleys hold a variety of secrets from many places despite the unassuming look of it all. The city guards demanded our weapons until Pascalli produced letters of writ certifying his status as lord of Gratterskeep and my status as his knight and personal guard. At the time I thought Pascalli was merely passing off a lie so that we could remain armed. I later discovered, as will any historian, that Pascalli was indeed lord of Gratterskeep and that he had the authority to call me his knight and to allow me to bear arms for his protection. Being lord and knight respectively, brought us much improved status in the city.
Anascrag is divided into a number of districts, each bearing certain restrictions according to social status. As a farmer, for example I would have been relegated to some of the outer portions of the city while most of the middle and all of the inner portions were closed. Peasants and slaves could not pass out of the districts near the city walls without permission. In the middle of the city wealthier merchants and lesser nobles mingled, while the innermost portions were reserved for the wealthy nobles and the royal family who governed the city and surrounding lands. As a noble, however unimportant, Pascalli could be allowed access to some of the finer inns and services, and as his servant I was allowed many of the same privileges. Because we arrived late that first night, we decided to take up lodging at an inn closer to the outskirts, in one of the artisans’ districts, close to where Iven lived.
Iven departed the caravan the moment we passed the city gates. Baghorn frowned as he left, but said nothing. “We’ll help you unload your wares, if you wish,” offered Pascalli.
“Not at all,” replied Baghorn good-naturedly. “I’ve servants already for that.” He paid the guards and dismissed them with a smile. “It’s good to be home again. Good luck to you.”
I watched the caravan disappear, waiting for Pascalli to make up his mind. “We’ll spend a night at an inn I know. Iven needs time to settle in again.”
The smells of the place nearly overpowered me. Women, painted grotesquely, danced to idiotic tunes strummed out on over-zealous instruments. The western empire is famous for the class distinction, and all women of a certain profession are painted to disguise their true identities and class. Anascrag is a mixture of east and west, especially among the poor created mockeries of both sides.
Bracken stumbled into the place half-way through our meal. He smelled of liquor and swayed as he walked. The leer in his eye spoke of trouble, but I hoped he would seek it elsewhere. He planted himself less than a meter from my chair and growled. “I’m done with you whelp.” I can’t say what else he may have added after that. His boot connected with my jaw, and a cracking white light flashed across my eyes followed by darkness.
The familiar sound of Iven’s hammer already rang out a welcome to all who passed by early in the morning. I arrived somewhat later in the day, but my spirits rose immediately when I recognized the familiar tune.
“Have you eaten yet, Scratch?” he asked. His face broke into a larger grin than I had ever seen.
“No, sir,” I replied.
“Then go inside and get some breakfast from Whinnie. I expected the old man would send you my way, and judging from the way you look he’s been up to his old tricks again.” I gave him a shrug and headed into the house. “Mind you don’t take to long,” he called after me. “I’ve a bellows here that needs attention!”
Whinnie was as plump and kind a person I have ever met. Her hair, once blonde, was now streaked with gray. Her face, though kind and still happy was lined from worry about husband and children. Every moment her hands moved, constantly cleaning or mending or cooking, for the work never ended. Opposite I suppose in many ways to my mother who never appeared to do much, as a lady should, but who always kept a spotless house. My mother appeared weak, thin, frail, but stood in battle and faced down anyone foolish enough to cross her. Whinnie, larger and stouter than most women, had the strength of enduring rather than conquering.
She gladly took me in, and for a few short days became a second mother to me. “Scratch is not a proper name,” she said straight off. “I’m sure my thick skulled husband has long forgotten your true name, but I’ll not be calling a child something as unseemly as Scratch. What’s your true name, child?”
“Colter Halfspear,” I said. “I don’t much care for Scratch. It’s just what Iven called me when we first met, so everyone else does too, and I’m supposed to be traveling in secret.” I felt again during those days that I was again the child, again the boy who never left his village. I felt I could stay and enjoy and be loved again, and maybe, just maybe the curse wouldn’t follow me.
“You’re not traveling now, Colter,” she replied. Her voice was soft and gentle, more soothing to me than the balm she rubbed over my bruises. “We’ve no need for secrets here, but if you want to keep some for a rainy day, you go right ahead.” She gave me a wink and a smile. “Now I imagine that my ever-loving, demon driven, forge-master told you to join him at the bellows. There will be none of that as long as I am mistress of this hovel. You’ve journeyed thousands of kilometers only to find a wicked ambush at the hands of a conspiring wizard, whatever his intentions were. Today, and until the wizard decides to fetch you, you can rest and maybe even think of home.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Eight
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Six
Posted by admin on March 27, 2009
I sit here and think of you,
think of memories I want to make.
Do you understand that I don’t love just you?
The idea o flife, real life is so great.
I want to go away and be there, find truth,
Anywhere, and live.
There could be glory in the future for us.
Your greatness will make it so.
I can do anything, everything, rise up,
fly even, love and grow, remembering.
or could. If you knew enough
and let me live.
Posted by admin on March 25, 2009
Black wing
Against blue sky
Eagle swoops
And careens.
White feath
Falls softly
In the wind,
Wavers in the air.
Green grass weakens
Rough red-brown
Rocks, builds home
In sandy cliffs.
Blue-grey bird
Rises in a flurry,
Soars high,
Touches golden sun.
Posted by admin on March 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.
We turned south again, and Baghorn seemed in good spirits after acquiring more wool than anticipated. The weavers of Anascrag would pay handsomely for the quality we brought. As the markets passed, Pascalli mentioned his fears of the Kaarum again.
“They’ve had time to learn what happened in full at Havensod. They know we’re watching. It’s only a matter of time before they attack again,” he warned.
Baghorn also wished to reach Anascrag, where he had a home and shop, but seemed in no hurry. “The nobles won’t have arrived yet, and they’re the ones with the gold. If I return now my wife will spend all my profits before the festival even draws close. You’ve filled your contract. You’re free to go if you wish. The roads should be relatively safe now, and the wagons will be cumbersome for most robbers to think of stealing.”
“We’ll see you through to Anascrag,” I replied.
Pascalli began scouting ahead after that. He seemed preoccupied, though I could not guess his mind. Iven talked of nothing but his home. I drifted into the routine of daily work. The burdened wagons made only slow progress while we labored over the narrow roads which no one bothered to maintain.
Pascalli pulled me aside after returning from his scouting venture one evening. “I found the trail of Kaarum.”
“How close?” I asked.
“A few hours, I would guess. They were heading south ahead of us, but they could easily double back or circle around again. They’re avoiding the road, of course, but that means little.” He seemed more concerned than I expected. “I think they are scouting in force. Either that or this group has been lost a long time since Havensod. I counted a dozen tracks, but I’m sure there are more.”
“We better position ourselves for an attack, then,” I suggested. “They will be scavenging for food. It won’t take them long to realize that we’re here.”
We explained the situation privately to Baghorn. His face betrayed his alarm, though he kept his voice as calm as he could. “I’ve never heard of so many out here without their full army close by. If they’ve come down from the mountains again we’ve no chance at all.”
“True enough,” agreed Pascalli, but he winked. “They are either lost or scouting in force. I am certain any army is still hiding in the mountains. Though they will most certainly attack us if they find us, we have sufficient men here to save ourselves if we are smart about it.”
“I’ve no head for battle,” conceded Baghorn. “If we’re to live, then I suppose we’ll have to trust your judgment and hope for the best.”
He left us to organize the defenses and answer the questioning faces of his wife and servants. Pascalli looked at me expectantly, but I had no plan to offer. I glanced around the camp, quickly recounting the number of wagons, people, and livestock.
“The stream to the west will make approach from that direction difficult,” I said aloud as I thought through the plan. Pascalli smiled in response, but didn’t interrupt. “We can effectively block the road north and south with the wagons, which leaves the east open.”
“They are not highly intelligent creatures, and will likely take the easiest path, so they should choose the east, though they are also very unpredictable,” said Pascalli.
We bedded down for the night with the sure expectation of attack. Bracken and I shared the first watch. Iven lay near the wagons at the south edge of camp, but I knew he would sleep only lightly if at all until his turn at watch. Pascalli lay closer to the fire, but he also would likely not be asleep despite his pretense. Among the others nerves might keep some of them from their rest, but any experienced soldier steels sleep when offered the chance.
Though a veteran of many fights, Bracken still held little respect for any other man’s sword. He loafed near the fire, keeping the altitude’s chill at bay. In the distance a lone wolf cried out in the darkness. The sound echoed false, and I strained my ears for any other sound from the darkness. Bracken emptied his pipe into the fire, sending the sweet fragrance of the western leaf he favored across the camp.
“There’s nothing out there but wind and crickets,” he grumbled. “You jump at everything.”
The creak of leather rose above the muffled shift of leaves in the darkness. I drew an arrow and fired at a shadow blocking the reflection of the stars.
“They’re coming,” I cried.
My shout opened the attack as if my voice had the power to drive them forward. Dark animal shapes poured into the camp from the east and south. Bracken whipped his sword free and leapt to cover the space between the wagons blocking the south end of the camp. Someone behind me fired an arrow as I loosed a second shot. The first Kaarum reached the camp and I dropped the bow in favor of my spear. As expected, Pascalli met the attack at my side, his sword beating the familiar rhythm against the horns and claws of the Kaarum.
I set my spear against a charge and caught my enemy below his guard. The spear tore free, and I let it fall. As I drew my father’s sword I glanced south to see Iven crushing into another with his hammer. I looked quickly to Quivain’s blankets, but they were empty. Baghorn handled his rapier expertly. He closely guarded his wife and daughter while the servants struggled with cooking knives and logs from the fire.
Desperately, like wild cats forced into starvation, the Kaarum threw themselves at us. My warning had given us just enough time to bring our weapons into play, but they outnumbered us almost two to one. Two drivers fell to the onslaught. Their attackers tried to drag them back into the forest rather than face continued danger. Pascalli chased them down while I retrieved my bow. All around me, the frightened faces stared in disbelief at the remains of violence.
“Drag the Kaarum into the woods,” I said. “Let the scavengers have them if they can stomach them. Who’s hurt and who can help?”
“Only a bit of a scratch here,” said Bracken. “I think the drivers got the worst of it.”
“We’re all right,” said Baghorn. “I don’t see Laural.”
“Quivain is also missing,” said Pascalli as he added fuel to our dwindling fire.
“I’ll get a shovel,” offered Iven. “You can worry about the rogue another day. If the Kaarum dragged him off then I say good riddance. If he bolted then it’s the same.”
“I’ll have me a look,” said Bracken. “I don’t fancy Laural would slip off without at least telling me.”
“She’s gone,” said Pascalli. “Her bag is missing, and so is the pack Quivain won at dice just two markets back. Their trail will be easy enough to follow when the sun rises, if you’ve the inclination. They’ve taken a pair of horses as well, though, and they’ll have several hours start.”
“I knew he would bring nothing but trouble,” grumbled Baghorn. “You should have killed him when you had the chance.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Pascalli spoke first. “We are not the masters of life and death. Scratch did what he thought best, and his thinking kept you alive tonight. Any evil that comes of this will hurt him harder than you, that much is certain. If it’s the price of horses that concerns you, we’ll pay.” He drew a bag of coins from within his cloak. He slowly counted them over to Baghorn. “We’ll drive your wagons to Anascrag, but the pace will double. I’ve no concern for your profits or the welfare of your caravan, though I respect the boy’s judgment there. I’ve business in the west that cannot wait.”
Bracken watched the coins drop into the merchant’s hand and followed the bag as it disappeared again into Pascalli’s cloak. He caught my eye and turned quickly to help Iven with the dead. I moved to help restore order to the mess but Pascalli pulled me aside.
“By winter the Kaarum will be forced to move. Already some are willing to try the wilderness away from the main body. When the food disappears entirely on the other side of the mountains they will be forced out. Time is growing short.” The earnestness in his eyes frightened me a little. I relied on his calm reassurance to bolster my own bravado.
“How long will it take us to reach the keep?” I asked.
“We’ve many markets ahead of us yet, and tasks to perform before we get there. We can reach Last Gate by the end of summer if nothing more than expected goes wrong. Any later than that and we may have trouble surviving the winter.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Seven
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Five
Posted by admin on March 20, 2009
They danced.
They sang.
They screamed
She pushed him.
He pushed back.
She cried.
He yelled.
They hugged.
She got a truck.
He got a doll.
He pulled.
She pushed.
They traded.
They played.
An hour later they did it again.
Posted by admin on March 18, 2009
What makes a good drama? I can’t say that I’m the world’s leading expert on the subject, but as a guy who has a blog and the will to write, I am going to add my bit.
The real key to a good drama is risk. Risk that feels important to the reader is necessary for a good drama.
Risk is nothing more than a chance for somebody to lose something. Whether the risk is realized or not is less relevant than the risk itself. The character involved doesn’t need to be aware of the risk or be emotionally involved with the risk, though these can be very helpful. The reader, however, must be intimately involved with the risk. The reader must care what happens and must want the lost to not occur.
Not all readers place the same value on a given situation or character so creating a sense of risk that is important enough to reader means finding a situation that appeals to the most readers.
Creating a situation that appeals to readers means understanding the target audience and applying a sense of risk that the audience can relate to. Technology junkies would place more value on a loss of technology, for example, than perhaps a loss of bed sheets.
Posted by admin on March 16, 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.
Confused amazement turned to quiet trepidation on the faces of the caravan workers as I approached. I doubt that my dirty face would help my cause, and though I saw no point in Pascalli’s request, I knew better than to appeal his decision. “My companions and I are still interested in traveling with the caravan,” I said as I surveyed their situation. Three of their workers were bandaged, as were two of the four remaining guards. One of the horses had been killed by a rock, and wheels on two wagons had been replaced. I could not tell what, if any, of their cargo had been damaged, but I was sure that at least part of what they carried was lost. Master Baghorn, though undamaged, had clearly been shaken by the trouble.
“You’ve an interesting choice of companions,” he replied, pointing at Quivain.
“He is no longer a threat to you,” I commented. “I am sure he will repay any damages he has caused, though the price of a life cannot be regained.” A thought came to me, bold as it was, and I said it before Pascalli could stop me. “Did any of those who died have a family?”
“No, we lost only a few guards, and to my knowledge they were lone men in this world.”
“Then I will fill their contracts, without wages, and gladly fill it a second time at the same price until the cost of their loss is mended or until you tire of my company.” I tried to speak fairly and with confidence.
“You, alone?” asked Baghorn.
“I can speak only for myself,” I replied. “The actions of my companions are their own to answer, but they will certainly want to travel with me. Surely you will want to hire them. I can speak for their skill. The bald one is ferocious with a hammer when moved to anger, and the tall one is master of both blade and staff.”
“What about him,” he said, pointing at Quivain. “He is an outlaw and deserves to hang.”
“That is true, but I will not turn him in,” I replied. “I am not his judge and I do not have such need of gold as to break my promise that he would go free if in turn he would surrender and give up control of that magic.”
Knowing full well that the routed bandits could return at anytime, and seeing himself in a desperate situation, he finally agreed. “But Quivain is not to touch a weapon, or even get near one while in my camp. I hold you responsible for that!”
“If you know me, or my companions, you know we will do as we say.” The man made me angry, but I tried to keep my calm.
Baghorn looked more closely at me. “I’d heard that a wastrel boy and a pair of vagabonds may be wandering these roads. You’ve the look of a scoundrel. I don’t care what happened up north. Here I don’t know you.”
“Fair enough,” I replied.
“The regent in Havensod has a long arm. Torbridge’s men are patrolling farther west now that the nobles are moving towards Anascrag. I don’t need any trouble.” I could understand Baghorn’s concern, and in a way I appreciated his bluntness.
“I see you’ve managed well enough,” said Pascalli. “I see a bit of Imat rubbed into you. Keep both eyes on Blackhand. He’s a rogue to the last.”
“Spoken like a man who’s either betrayed or been betrayed by someone as close as his own mother,” observed Quivain. “I’d not trust you to cook my dinner.”
“And well you shouldn’t,” replied Pascalli. “I know more of poisons than even your old master ever learned, and he learned from some of the best. You are not my responsibility, but the boy is. Cross me and we’ll have words. Cross him and we’ll cross swords.”
“I owe the boy my life, though as you observed I hardly value that. It is at least worth the respect of an honest man, however. I’ll do as he says.”
True to his word, Quivain caused me no trouble, and I was able to learn much from him. Although his tongue was ever spinning a web of silky deceit, as I listened I learned not only how to discern the truth, but my own tongue gradually added some softness. “A glib tongue and quick mind are of more worth than a thousand swords, Scratch,” he said. “Don’t let the world sell you anything else, for it’s just a lie.” He called himself Blackhand for the gloves he always wore. Although he certainly had a different name recorded on some book in a temple, to the world he was Quivain Blackhand. Only to his mother and perhaps to a lonely priest was he known by something different, and if his story is to be believed, she did not share her life with his for more than a few brief moments.
The caravan consisted of four wagons, the five remaining guardsmen, my little company, Baghorn and his wife and four small children, and their three servants. According to custom, the mercenaries kept themselves apart from Baghorn’s family and close servants. The merchant had a daughter, but she was too young to be of much interest to any of the men. In the evenings the men often gathered together to play at dice. Quivain joined their games, though I can’t say where he found the coin to start.
“You use old tricks,” I observed to him after watching him play. “Sooner or later they will catch on, and then you’ll have trouble.”
He winked. “The slow ones won’t, and the quick ones played their own tricks,” he replied. “It’s an old game. Tomorrow they’ll see what else I know until the wise learn that I lose only when I want to. The rest will keep playing because they win sometimes and the thought of beating me will eat at them. I could teach you a few tricks if you’d like.”
“I’ve no use for cards or dice,” I said. “What I need to know I’ve already learned.”
“A fool’s statement,” he replied. “Any man can learn more.” He looked over at the girl who served as Baghorn’s cook and maid. We could not see her face from where we sat. “What do you see in her?” he asked.
“She’s a cook,” I replied.
“Yes, but what do you really see?”
“She’s been cooking for some time. She knows her business. She doesn’t care much for Baghorn, but she’s polite enough about it.”
“Not bad,” agreed Quivain.
“What do you see?” I asked.
“She’s got a bit of coin tucked beneath her skirt. It’s not much, but it’s enough she doesn’t want anyone to know about it. If you listen careful you can hear it, and the folds of her skirt cast an awkward shadow sometimes. This is her first caravan job, and will likely be her last as she uses borrowed tools.
You can’t see it now, but she’s a lively smile that hides a past she won’t share with you or me. You can see the scars on her hands from where she came from before though she tries to hide them beneath riding gloves whenever she can. She also keeps a small blade in her left boot. The boots don’t fit properly, as you can see by the track, which you’ve noticed but not mentioned. If invited to gamble I would say she refuses, not out of propriety, but because she’s learned the truth of gambling. It’s unlikely she has the experience to avoid a properly laid swindle, so if you want her money that would be the tactic to try.”
“You’ve a shrewd eye. Everyone is an opportunity for you,” I said.
“Everyone and everything. There are more tricks than dice or cards. Think on it.” He slipped into his borrowed blankets and left me to dwell on his words. I glanced again at the girl, and realized a familiarity in her movements. She turned her head and I recognized the freckles, though they had faded considerably.
“Good evening, Laural,” I said. Her hair caught a bit of the firelight and reflected back soft red and yellow. She had exchanged her shabby maid’s dress for riding skirts that fit her snugly and for a blouse cut far too low for mamma’s approval. “I’m glad to see you found a way out of the kitchens.”
“I’m still a maid,” she winked and laughed. Her voice sounded musical and light now, with no hint of the misery from before. “I still cook and wash and clean, but at least I see something of the world now.”
She had a knowing smile that could have been pretense, but I believed she at least felt she had outgrown her former self. We chatted a while about Havensod and people we knew. She was so much happier, a completely different person.
“You’re bigger,” she said. “I hardly recognized you.” Suddenly she changed the subject. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that before. Of course I’ve never really seen more than a few scuffles at a tavern or inn, but that was exciting. I was terrified, of course, and after we were separated from the guards I thought we were lost for sure.”
Few people in my life had looked at me with anything more than a condescending smile or derisive glance. Her girlish grin and compliments stilled my heart and tongue. I could feel the heat rising to my face. “I think I was more angry than afraid. Pascalli didn’t lift a finger to help, and he could have stopped it anytime he wanted,” I said
“I’m glad he didn’t,” she replied, her voice coy, as she winked. “I was terrified, but you showed great courage.”
Baghorn expected me to direct all of the guards’ activities, which turned out to be much easier than anticipated. Pascalli and Quivain both had a hand in my training as a leader while Iven became less vocal with each passing day. Of all the guards, only Bracken seemed to resent our intrusion. He was a strong, experienced fighter who understood the value of strength and little else. He deferred to my direction because Pascalli and Iven did, though I could tell he had little confidence in me.
Baghorn directed the caravan north and west to trade with the towns west of Dynwater but not so far north as the Northern Crown. Though the profits would not be as large, further east the roads would be more dangerous. Quivain privately counseled me to avoid some places where he knew outlaws preyed. I relayed this information to Baghorn, but was careful not to mention Quivain’s name.
Each day I talked with Quivain, and he showed me tricks he knew about understanding people and learning not only where they hid their gold but how they might hide other secrets. Pascalli often joined these conversations.
“A person is many things,” observed Quivain. “We present ourselves to the world so that others might accept who we are. We hold things back in hopes that they won’t guess the dark truths we all hide, our fears and desires. Strip away the veils and you can reach the heart of a man.”
Pascalli laughed. “Aye, but not he heart of a woman. That requires something altogether different.”
Quivain laughed with him. “Right you are, old man, but one step at a time for the lad. He’s barely learned to walk. Let’s not make him run just yet.”
We guarded Baghorn’s caravan for many markets. Laural and I renewed our friendship, and I passed that summer as happily as any in my life. The caravan stopped once near a beautiful lowland lake just a little east of Anascrag. Beneath the moonlight I shared my first real kiss.
“Where will you go after Anascrag?” asked Laural.
“The Kaarum are regaining their strength. That’s what Pascalli says. We are going to meet them at Darnuth Keep,” I said.
“Then what? Get killed?” She sounded incredulous.
“It is my destiny to destroy them,” I said. I felt the words roll out mechanically.
“We make our own destiny in this life. You can be a great man in this world, Colter. Pascalli isn’t concerned about what’s best for you.”
The truth of her words struck a chord in my heart, but they also opened my mind to the growing realization of my own feelings. “He may use me, but Pascalli is doing what he believes is best for the world. Nobody understands how important that is better than he does. And I have my father’s curse to fulfill. I will make things right with Tylos.”
“I don’t want to stay with the caravan. Take me with you,” she said, her eyes betraying her desperation. “Baghorn’s a bully and a fool, and I’ll never see anything slaving for him.”
“There’s more than money out there,” I said, trying to sound both wise and comforting.
“Easy for you to say. You have a full purse and a sword to take you wherever you go.” A bit of her character I had overlooked before was now coming out.
“I haven’t any money,” I said, though I did have some savings left from earlier adventures. “I committed to work for Baghorn for nothing in exchange for Quivain’s life. And I go where Pascalli takes me anyway. I don’t have much choice what I do.”
She looked horrified, those amazing eyes flared with anger. “You what? You mean you’re slaving for that fat slug in order to save that rogue! I was better off scraping pots for Jakand. You amaze me. And to think I let myself like you!”
I turned from prince to pauper in a few short minutes, at least in her eyes. She left me there by the lake to nurse my stunned pride and to try to figure out what had happened. I did have some gold, not much, but I knew that anyone more interested in your money than yourself was not someone to chase after. That didn’t mean I didn’t think about it more than once. I believe she meant for me to chase after her, that she had played her last trick to get me to abandon Pascalli and seek glory and wealth on my own. Unfortunately for her I was much too simple to see her game and too inexperienced with people to understand.
I resumed my duties with the caravan, and dedicated myself to training with Pascalli. He seemed pleased that I no longer spent time with Laural, and yet concerned at the same time.
“Your better off without that one, lad,” said Iven once. “She’s the worst kind.”
“What kind should I look for?” I asked.
I don’t think he expected that question, and he wasn’t prepared to answer. His bald pate turned red, and he muttered something under his breath. Pascalli overheard us and erupted into laugher.
“That, my boy, is something you may well have to discover for yourself. We are just old men who manage our way through life the hard way. This much I can say. Ask yourself what you want, truly what you want from life, and then seek the person who wants to share that with you. Peasants give themselves to each other just to survive and produce enough brats to run their patch of land. Nobles marry to create alliances and preserve their dynasties. Neither is often happy. Most live miserable lives. The few, the lucky, are those who can choose their own way in this world. That choice is before you, and will always be there.”
I didn’t notice Quivain join us. “They’re right, lad. She doesn’t know that she doesn’t want what she wants right now. In time she may come around, but she’ll hurt herself and anyone near her long before that day comes.”
“You don’t make sense,” I observed.
“I will one day,” he replied.
Though I avoided Laural, and she avoided me, Quivain struck up a friendship with her that I did not expect. The two spent time together each night. Often she sat with him, watching him at dice, though I knew she cared little enough for the game. In his turn he spoke less and less to me.
“I told you to keep both eyes on him,” said Pascalli when I spoke to him about it. “Now I think you should keep your eyes on your duties with Baghorn. What becomes of Quivain is his own affair. The caravan has come farther north than I expected. The Kaarum may have begun sending scouts, though it is still early to say. Don’t forget Torbridge either. I doubt the man can reach this far, but I can only guess at the friends he may have made without my opposition in the courts. I’ve been too long away from the nobles. Politics is a nasty business, and changes with the wind.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Six
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Four
Posted by admin on March 13, 2009
Sitting in the dark, I miss you.
My LCD blinks at me.
A car whirs by.
I think of you.
You think of me.
Or do you?
I write.
I think.
I do not sleep.
And you?
You miss me too.
The important thing about writing poetry, as I’ve discovered is to simply write consistently. The good poems come when they want to. The rest of the time it is just words put together with a bit of hope for something inspiring. I hope you enjoy today’s post.
Posted by admin on March 11, 2009
Cliché as it may be for a fantasy lover, the most inspiring book in my life was The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien.
I read The Hobbit for the first time when I was five or six, and it was then that I decided to write fantasy stories. I can’t say that I am the greatest author on the planet. In fact, among fantasy authors I rank pretty low. Life has its distractions and it is difficult to dedicate oneself to a lifestyle that doesn’t support a family.
This interest in fantasy, however, has given me a number of skills that I doubt I would have otherwise acquired. It lead me to study the art of writing, which meant that I learned to love to read.
It lead me to a love of role-playing, which lead to a love of computers and technology. This lead to a deeper understanding of mathematics, science, and a general love of learning.
Because I picked up The Hobbit at such a young age and because I couldn’t put it down again, I have very much been inspired to become the person that I am today.
So I ask, what book inspired you?
Posted by admin on March 9, 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.
I dismounted and looked to Quivain’s wound. The hurt was very bad, but not mortal. Always while in the wild I had remembered to practice my little lore of herbs and roots, and Pascalli had an uncanny ability to know precisely the use of everything we passed. To my great delight the wizard answered those questions as freely as if he felt it a challenge to see if I would ever weary of tapping the well of his knowledge. In truth I never tired of learning the lore of the woods. I often collected seeds when the season was right, and wherever we traveled I tried to gather more so that when at long last we came to some rest I would be able to plant a little garden. Quivain’s luck dictated that I have some bloodsap I had collected only a few days earlier which I applied gingerly.
His determined grimace mocked me as I performed my little surgery. I picked out the shards of bone and stopped the bleeding with the bloodsap. When I asked if he had a clean cloth for a bandage he produced a fine silk handkerchief. After a few long moments I had reduced the danger of gangrene and substantially increased his comfort.
“Light me a pipe, lad,” he asked, his tone no longer jeering. He indicated a pouch at his side. I did as he asked, finding both pipe and fuel inside, as well as a few coins a necklace and a ring. I had gold enough of my own, but I was curious why a man of his obvious vanity would refrain from wearing the jewelry. “You’ve a skilled hand at surgery,” he said when his pipe was lit.
“I’m sorry I haven’t got anything to ease your pain,” I replied. “I’m sure there are roots in the area, but it would take time to find them, and I still need to deal with your rocky friend.”
Sometimes a realization comes upon us with such force it literally changes us into a different person. I believe that as soon as the words escaped my mouth I had such an experience. How stupid could I be! I went chasing hopelessly after the servant when clearly the master was at hand. So the lesson, or at least part of the lesson that Pascalli tried to teach me I learned. The situation required more thought than action, and perhaps more skill with words than with swords.
Quivain seemed to guess my thoughts, though I imagine it was not difficult for him to do so. “At least you’ve discovered that killing me will not stop it. Although it might have saved you some trouble anyway.” He winked. There must have been something special in his pipe for he no longer seemed to be in pain.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I replied. I was now tired and frustrated and confused, but determined to get my answers from him. “I just put you back together again. All I want to do is clear the road.” The words were out before I realized how pathetic they must have sounded to someone like Quivain.
He laughed. He laughed a mocking laugh that bit at my heart with its spite. “The road will be clear in time,” he said. “Why not just go around?”
I didn’t really have an answer, but I said, “Because I don’t want to. Now either make the thing go away or tell me how to do it.”
“Or what?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You won’t kill me, you already said that, and I won’t be threatened. You may take me prisoner, but I promise you’ll regret it everyday if you do, not that I wouldn’t escape, of course.”
“I have no use for prisoners,” I answered. “What would I do with you?” He rolled his eyes at this question, and started to speak, but I cut him short. “I can’t turn you in for bounty,” I said quickly. That statement surprised him.
“What? Why not?”
I squirmed a little in my mind, and I felt my face flush. “Because imperial agents are looking for me,” I said. His eyes widened with a surprise that even this master rogue could not conceal.
“Surely, lad, you jest. I’ve traveled many a road with many a rogue and few I’ve known to attract the ire of the emperor. Most do little more than stir up trouble for a minor lord or lady now and again.”
“I’m not sure if he’s angry,” I said. “The emperor I mean. He just wants to talk to me and I don’t want to talk to him, that’s all. Now look, why don’t you clear that thing off the road and you can come with us for a while. I can guarantee you’ll be safe from anyone looking for you as long as you’re with us, and you will be free to leave whenever you want.” I was certain he would think me mad. I could tell he was seriously considering his options, but at last he agreed.
“Very well, lad, I agree.” His eyes sparkled dangerously, and he put forward the hand from his undamaged arm. As I took it, he said, “Now fetch me a horse and I’ll see about old rocky.”
By now the forest for several meters in all directions had been vigorously damaged by the raging tumult. Branches and rubble lay strewn everywhere I looked.
The caravan had now managed to gather itself together and was preparing to move out the way they just came. Finding an extra mount turned out to be less difficult than I first imagined. Quivain’s outlaw band was well outfitted, and I turned up a stray in just a few moments. I didn’t see how it happened, but by the time I returned with the horse, the rumbling stopped, and now the quiet felt nearly deafening. In place of the whirling mass of earth and stone was a patch of road as smooth as anyone could desire. Though signs of rubble and broken trees remained, the road and all the dirt had returned to make the pathway straight. A cry arose among the caravan at the silence and they turned to investigate.
Pascalli stood up as I led Quivain to where he had waited patiently for me to put an end to the trouble. “I’ll have that ring, Master Blackhand,” he said.
“It’s not yours on any account, and I certainly wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”
“Who are you and what are you talking about?” Quivain looked from Pascalli to me. His eyes betrayed both confusion and anger. “What’s this all about?”
“No games, Quivain, and do not attempt to play the fool with me. I have a genuine fool to watch over daily,” he directed his eyes at me. “Knowing the difference is a sort of specialty of mine. The ring,” he repeated.
“Who are you,” Quivain asked. His tone was direct and all pretenses gone.
“I am the master of all that was broken. You’ve a trinket in your pocket that will bring you grief in the end, and I am glad it has fallen to me.” Pascalli towered over the smaller man, and though his words rolled out calmly they held an air of authority.
“If I refuse?” inquired the rogue.
“You cannot,” said Pascalli as bluntly as I had ever heard him say anything. “You will give or I will take.” He uttered the last phrase with a finality that could not be missed.
Quivain conceded. He took the ring from his pouch and tossed it at Pascalli. “Anything else, while I’m giving things away?”
Pascalli snatched the ring from the air and it quickly disappeared to one of his many pockets. “You’ve nothing else of worth,” he replied. “Unless you value your life, which I doubt.” Then he turned to me. “I see you finally managed to think your way out of that mess, though by the look of you it was a hard lesson to learn and one I hope you don’t forget.”
“Of course not,” I grimbled.
“I imagine you promised this person you would let him tag a long whether I wanted him or not?” Pascalli had resumed his usual merry tone, and I couldn’t tell if I was in any real trouble or not.
“Yes, well, I told him he could travel with us. I didn’t see any harm in it,” I said.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” replied Pascalli. “I do see the harm, or potential harm, as well as the potential good. However, it is another lesson you will be able to learn all on your own, and in due time. But you still haven’t done what I asked you to do before this entire mess started. Go and get us employment with that caravan before they decide to leave us all behind. I should like to speak with the merchant. There is news of the wide world I want to hear. Off you go Scratch, and take your prize with you.” He pointed to Quivain who followed me as I mounted my horse and rode back to the caravan.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Five
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Three
