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

Posted by admin on March 2, 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.

Pascalli knocked my blade out of my hand for the fifth or sixth time straight and sent me sprawling into the dust with a brutal kick. I dragged myself to my feet again and retrieved my weapon. I looked up to see my master watching an approaching group of wagons. “Dust yourself off Scratch, and go and offer our services.”

We were out of work again and as usual I obeyed. I can only imagine the sight I must have made. I didn’t cut my hair in those days so it must have been scraggly and down to my shoulders over dusty mail. My unwashed face could hardly make a strong impression, and my boots bore testament to the many kilometers we covered. I strapped on my bow, mounted my horse and rode to greet them. Pascalli warned me to always prepare for danger when meeting someone new along the highway. As casually as possible I removed an arrow before approaching too closely. I was in no mood to fight.

Master Baghorn, the wagon master was a short, round man dressed in a comfortable silk tunic. I never knew a less cheerful man, though men obsessed with wealth seldom are. His voice made a rather nasally sound whenever it erupted in a tantrum, and that same nasally tone would creep in when involved in a particularly exciting business deal. Four wagons comprised the train and two tall men in shining mail with long spears guarded each one. Immediately I realized that getting work from this gentleman would require more than simply asking.

“Hello,” I called.

Master Baghorn called a halt and signaled to one of his guards to come forward. The guard stood a full head taller than me and had a thick muscular build. He wore a thick black mustache and well-groomed hair cut short. The pommel of his sword was polished brightly, and he carried a small shield with a blue heron’s crest strapped to his arm. I had no desire to confront a nobleman or indeed to make any enemies at all.

“You come armed,” indicated the wagon master. I noticed then that he also had a rapier dangling at his side. He was a fat man, but I knew that his girth could be covering many winters of strength and muscle. He scanned me quickly, and I knew he saw more than just my dirty clothes and unkempt hair. The yellow silk blouse and black trousers sparkled nicely in the spring sunlight.

“I come to offer my services and the services of my companions if you wish it, my lord.” At least I hoped to sound courteous. That was one thing mamma taught me that even Iven couldn’t pound out.

“You’ve a sweet tongue for a rogue and ruffian,” replied the guard. His voice was as gruff and direct as his words. “Be gone before we slit your throats and turn you in for the bounty.”

“I’ve come in peace,” I replied. “We mean you no harm, and have only come to offer help. I see you’ve men enough, but the passage west has grown more dangerous this winter. There is always safety in numbers.”

“There is never safety with a rogue,” answered the guard. “We’ve wasted enough time with you already. Move out of the way before I toss you from that horse.”

Our dialogue was suddenly interrupted by a voice of practiced calm. “Stand aside, lad, let the real rogues have their claim.” A man dressed in silliest courtier fashion with a black hardened leather doublet and with bow at the ready had crept up quietly to the side of the road. He wore a black and silver blouse with matching trousers. He covered his head with a dark green hat over a set of shoulder-length dark brown locks. He hid his face behind a black veil from the nose down, but the dark eyes seemed to search everything at once. What I remember best about him, however, were the buckles on his shoes and the voice that slipped like silk from his tongue. “Leave now, boy, and you’ll not be hurt. The rest of you, throw down your weapons. I am Quivain Blackhand, and my lads have you surrounded.”

My eyes met those of the guard leader, and I knew instantly he would not back down, and I nodded. “To arms!” he shouted as he charged Quivain.
Arrows sailed into the wagons, and Master Baghorn whipped his horses into action. I loosed an arrow and caught one of the enemy bowmen in the throat. Arrows sailed towards the wagons as they attempted to charge past the bowmen. I wheeled my horse and charged into a pack of outlaws on one side of the road. Two guards joined the battle on my side while the rest divided their attention between engaging bowmen on the opposite side and helping move the wagons along. The skill of the mercenaries was fair, and they made a reasonable match against the outlaws, but I realized they lacked the experience of being whipped daily by a wizard who claimed nearly a thousand winters of practice. To my delight I found the battle turning in our favor, and had just managed to frighten away the last of the outlaws on our side of the road when a distant rumble and sinking in my stomach told me that something dreadful had happened.
Quivain, now engaged in mortal combat with the guard leader, burst out in a gale of laughter as the rumbling began. I wheeled my horse and drove to help the guard, but I arrived too late. Quivain stuck down his opponent and retreated into the woods.

“After the wagons!” I called, confident someone would follow. I learned a hard lesson when I charged headlong to save the wagons. As an intruder no one knew yet if they could trust me, so I chased down a wagon train alone while the surviving guards weighed their options far behind me.

My horse shied back in fear when I discovered the source of Quivain’s confidence. There is a great deal of magic in this world, and some of it is wild, running its own course, tied to nothing at all. This sort of magic can take many forms, and without a wizard to direct it or dominate it such a force can be very difficult to stop. The magic had entered the very earth, pulling itself into a great moving swirl of rock and rubble that blocked the road.
This thing, whatever it was, swirled some four meters high, lashing out with stones and dirt. An enormous dust devil had been raised and I felt nearly blinded by the stinging in my eyes. Master Baghorn attempted to turn his wagons about, but the road was far too narrow for that and finally he had to abandon his seat to dodge a stone that soared towards his head and crashed into an unlucky oak. The horses on the lead wagon kicked and neighed in terror, threatening to topple the wagon and all its contents. I tried the direct route first, and charged. My effort proved to be a complete shambles. I did manage to force whatever energy held it together to waver a little, but poking my spear into a swirling mass of dirt was quite difficult and I believe very dangerous. Afterwards I realized my actions were extremely foolish. Sand and dust battered me head to toe and at each moment I had to dodge rocks the size of my head or larger. After only a few seconds of that nonsense, I retreated a short distance to contemplate my next move.

At the time I was too busy trying to stay alive to notice that everyone else had already abandoned the wagons and were fleeing back along the road. Pascalli and Iven stayed to watch, and at one point I think I may have heard the smith yell something like, “Scratch, you fool, get out before your head comes off!” But I didn’t come out of my determined rage until I heard Quivain’s mocking laugh.

“Keep at it, little hero,” he laughed.

There was an element of pride and foolishness that made me want to quiet that mocking voice, but much more than that I felt angry at the person who had attacked the innocent. I wheeled my horse and charged. I don’t know that he expected such a vicious attack, and I doubt he seriously considered my abilities at arms a threat of any kind. Only at the last instant was he able to dodge my spear just enough to avoid being skewered completely, although I caught his arm, just below the armpit. I felt the bone crush and let the spear go. The momentum of my charge and the weight of the spear dropped Quivain to the ground where he laid gasping and cursing.

Charging Quivain did nothing to stop the earth creature’s onslaught.

The horses and wagons had now managed to back themselves out of danger. The guards had decided to round up stray outlaws, while the drivers and servants cowered. I stood alone against the creature while Pascalli and Iven cheered from the side of the road. Once more I tried the direct approach, which this time seemed to infuriate the thing. After a few moments, Pascalli lit a pipe and sat to enjoy his smoke. I decided to wear it down by charging in and dancing quickly out, but this turned out to be a very bad idea as the end result was that I became tired rather quickly while it simply raged on. Finally, distraught and angry, my horse weary and lathered, I dismounted and walked over to Pascalli.

“I’ve tried everything I know,” I sighed. He gave me a bemused smile. I was exasperated and screamed, “These people need our help. Can’t you see that?”

“I thought you were doing excellently,” he said, his tone completely condescending. “For a minute there I think you almost had it.” He winked. “Now, why don’t you try using your brains for once, instead of that silly pig poker, which by the way you should probably retrieve?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” I said. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Obviously you haven’t tried everything,” said my master, now using a tone that I recognized as the precursor to his short temper. “It is still here.”

“Do you have any suggestions,” I asked, as politely as I could.

“Look at the situation, my dear silly lad,” he replied, again as merrily as if we were picnicking. “The answer is readily supplied.”
I looked hopefully at Iven who merely shrugged and ducked as a rock hurtled suddenly towards us.

“It’s getting angry now, Scratch, you better hurry!” admonished Pascalli.

I could have turned and rode away but something drove me to finish the fight. There was nothing really holding me there. With Quivain wounded and the outlaws routed, simply turning around and finding another road could easily avoid the danger. Even victory was nearly pointless. Little could be gained by conquering this foe. It guarded nothing really. It wasn’t evil. It simply happened to be in my path. Backing away from such a challenge, particularly with Pascalli goading me never entered my mind.

Reckless youth will have its way. Once more I charged in, only to find the same results. My whole body was caked now with thick layers of dirt and grit. It would take me a full market to get all of the sand and dirt out of my clothes and ears. Finally I decided there must in fact be a better way, and I looked around. There, on the ground, bleeding and pale lay Quivain, whom I had forgotten in my haste.

On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Four

Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Two

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