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

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

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