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

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

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