Posted by admin on April 29, 2009
“The horde is not mindless,” said my master abruptly. “Each creature within the writhing mass can think and act, and each bears deadly weapons. Like men, they have fears and desires. They can be manipulated as easily as the kings of your land.”
“I’ve never know a king,” I replied. Pasav chuckled to himself.
“Of course not.” He paused, looking amused as he walked. “I have known too many.” Again he laughed, “and each one a bigger fool than the first.”
Pasav delighted in confusing me. We were far from any land I had ever known before. Day after day we rode through forests and over hills. We rested some days, and some days we did not. “Why don’t we take the plain roads,” I once asked.
“Because there is nothing of interest for us there,” was the reply.
The old man spoke in riddles or spouted legends. But his food was plentiful and easy enough to cook. Despite his strange ways and lofty manner, I like the old man. He was as kind as he was mysterious, and his discipline came only when necessary.
Truly I did lose interest in the affairs of the villages we passed. My own home in Craverton faded into a distant memory, where my withered mother’s face looked out on the dusty streets, waiting for a change that would never come. Pasav taught me to hold my spear, and to ride tall in the saddle. When we camped, he handed me a practice sword, and bade me learn to use it properly. Aged though he was, Pasav moved faster than a cat, and I found myself gently bruised by his hard teaching.
“There is no softness in the blade,” he chuckled. Then he put his arm on my shoulder and held up my chin. “Pain is everywhere in the world. We all feel it. The sword is hard, but the healer’s hand is soft and strong, stronger than the mightiest steel.” Then he showed me how to tend the bruises with herbs found in the hills, and where to find blossoms that brought hope and comfort. Day after day the lessons continued, tirelessly. Each moment he opened my mind, and each moment I found that I knew less than I ever thought possible.
After three weeks’ journey, we reached the foothills of the Tarangorn Mountains, far to the north of my village. By now I rode comfortably in the saddle, and the practice sword felt as comfortable in my hand as the crumbs of bread I used to crave. The end of summer was upon us, and the weather turned each hour a little colder. Before me the peaks rose blue and then white. A chill wind crossed our path, and I shivered in the saddle.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Nuriath, the ancient north realm,” responded Pasav. “No one lives here now.”
I looked about the barren hillsides all around us, and confirmed his assertion. “Where are we going?”
“A long time ago King Eirionoth built a fortress on the very edge of the mountains. He called it the Keep of the Black Crag. After our fall, the Horde overran the keep, and the kingdom fell into ruin. Many foul things lurk in the lower halls of the keep, but the upper portions are still well maintained. We will dwell there for some months this winter. I have a large store of provisions waiting there, and it is better housing than this open land. The Horde will move again this winter, and we must be prepared to meet them.”
I held my peace, although many questions still lay heavy on my mind. In another two weeks we came to the first of the mountains. In a narrow pass, high on the eastern face of the cliffs overlooking the valley sat a black fortress. Its dark spires stabbed into the sky like black spears pointing angrily at the gods. A narrow road cut into the face of the mountain and worked its way to the edge of the pass. The sunlight seemed to disappear into the shadows of the fortress, and no sound came from its dark windows.
“Once the keep was a fair place, full of laughter and feasting. Eirionoth was a powerful wizard in his time.” Pasav seemed lost in his deep memories as he spoke. “In those days the mountains were not as cold as you see them now. We worked many wonders in our seclusion from men, and they treated us with proper respect. Freely we shared with the kings all that we knew, indeed, the very foundations of the Keep of the Black Crag are imbued with mystical powers; and kings ruled from here freely. No army could ever assail it. In later days, though, its power failed. My brethren failed.” My master looked suddenly sad, and he stopped his horse and stared blankly at the castle above us.
“What happened?” I asked. “Did the Horde finally break down your defenses?”
Pasav half smirked and half sighed. “The more powerful of our order were able to summon servants from other spheres or to imbue dead things with life, or alter existing creatures so that they could learn intelligence. These servants were employed to build the keep, as well as to discover many new secrets. The gods blessed us as long as we were kind and gentle, and did not attempt to bring evil into the world. Some were tempted for greater power. The strongest of us, Niersath, summoned demons that taught him how to twist and torment the flesh of men and beasts. Together with some followers who also sought power, they created the creatures of the Horde. In the end, all of our creations turned against us. Our power failed, and their wills were made their own. The creatures overran all of the mountains. Most of my brethren were destroyed. Those who remained were summoned by the power of the gods to the Oracle deep in the mountains. We were charged with undoing what we had done. ‘You shall remain in this realms until all are destroyed’ they said. So we began to walk the earth in search of the Horde, attempting to undo our wrong. As long as even one of the creatures remains, the wizards do not age. But many of my brethren have been destroyed. I am the last of our order to continue, unless the rebel Niersath still lives. The horde has a power that I do not understand to continue to thrive. Each year thousands are destroyed, and each year their power grows.”
My master stopped speaking, and urged his horse up the narrow path towards the castle. I followed quietly, and watched the valley floor grow steadily further away. The roadway was broad enough for the two horses to walk side by side, but I chose to ride behind, as close to the mountain as possible. The pavement was black, and polished as if it had been laid just the day before. No fence or wall had been made to protect the edge, and the stone of the cliff face had been polished smooth as glass to the height of several men above the road. A chill wind beat against us from the north as we reached the top, and I pulled my cloak over my face. In the sky overhead, thick gray clouds gathered.
Pasav rode straight up to the castle gate, and finding it open, passed inside. I followed cautiously, but found no danger inside. “Shut the gate, Kyven,” he said. I dismounted, and began to labor with the enormous metal doors Pasav continued up towards the castle entrance itself, and soon disappeared inside. I managed to close the gate, and let down the bar to lock it shut before going inside of the castle myself.
My master had lit torches and built a small fire in a small room near the entrance. “There are many inhabitants of the castle now,” he warned quietly. “Most of them will not trouble us until we trouble them. They know that I use the upper portions of the castle, and are afraid to disturb me. Do not go down to any of the stories below for any reason.”
I nodded that I understood, and began taking out provisions to prepare a meal at the fire. “How long will we stay here?” I asked.
“We will stay through the winter. There are only a few passes through the mountains, but from here we can watch them all. In the ancient days, we built two other fortresses, greater than this to watch the other ways. Ardinan Tower and Castle Tirimbil are both still held by living kings. The Horde does not challenge those paths often anymore, for the warriors there are valiant and cunning. When you are ready, perhaps you will got to Ardinan Tower and train with the king’s guard.”
“I do not wish to be a warrior,” I replied. “I would rather be a cook.”
Pasav laughed, as merrily as I had ever heard him laugh. “Then you had best practice a great deal more.” He gestured at the fire, and the meal I was preparing. Rarely did anything I cook taste very good. Suddenly his manner changed, “but I am glad to hear your words. There is wisdom in them. Choose always not to want to be a warrior, even when you must take up a sword.”
“I had no trade before, though I was apprentice blacksmith for a while. What trade will I learn from you?”
“I also have no trade,” replied Pasav. “I am a wizard, a scholar, a thinker of great things.” He laughed out loud, “and mostly now I am an old man. You will learn no useful trade from me. I will teach you to be a warrior because I do not want you to be killed by the Horde. But I require an assistant for a time. You will know when you have learned enough, and then you will find your own way in this world.”
“Then I will learn to cook,” I replied. I finished preparing the meal, and we ate together in comfort. The dark castle was the first roof I had felt in several weeks, and I was glad for it.
“In the morning, we will find more comfortable quarters,” said Pasav, “but we will probably have to relocate some of the current inhabitants of the castle. With luck, we will have a few more weeks before the Horde tries to move south for the winter.”
The morning found the castle courtyard covered in a light layer of snow. There was no sign of any other creature beside us outside, and no sounds came from within. Pasav showed me around the ancient rooms and halls. He carried a set of keys, with which he opened several doors and showed me where he had stored provisions. The throne room was barren except for the ancient throne, and a few other chairs. The bedrooms were also empty. In a far corner of the castle, he showed me a locked door.
“The stairs beyond go down,” he said sharply, “do not go down them.”
The tower stairs and ramparts were free and clear, and from the highest towers the entire valley below for many miles was visible and open. Pasav had me put our gear in the bedrooms, and showed me where the kitchen was. After a tour and another lesson with the practice sword, Pasav took me to the north wall.
“From here we will see the approach of the enemy. The snow has come early, so we may expect them very soon. I hope that there will not be so many because of the losses they suffered in the summer, but we must try to destroy them all in this one pass. If any escape, then we will have to hunt them throughout the south all winter long.”
“Don’t they know that the pass will be guarded?” I asked.
“Of course, but they must chance it. Their numbers increase so rapidly that some of them must leave sometimes. In the winter, food is scarce for them, so they come south. We will stop them here. Come with me.”
I followed Pasav to the back of the castle, where the rampart met the mountain. A small path wound its way up the mountain, and eventually into the snow. The snow and ice grew deeper and more dangerous as we went, and several times I slipped. Eventually we reached a point where the path disappeared entirely. Pasav turned, and pointed to the valley below.
“I have more than food stored in the castle. When the Horde comes, we will let fall the snow into the valley, and they will be stopped. We will take turns watching. Your job will be to run up the path as quickly as possible, and wait for my signal. I will show you how to let the snowfall. Then you must hurry back to the castle. Whatever else happens, when the Horde comes, do not leave the ramparts, or go back inside the castle until I come for you.”
I was not sure that I understood everything the wizard wanted to explain, but I nodded my head. “I will let the snow fall, and wait for you on the ramparts. What will happen if the Horde gets into the castle?”
Pasav laughed openly. “That will not happen. But some creatures may come up from below, or out of the mountains when they hear the noise. Carry your spear, you should be able to protect yourself well enough while I am gone.”
We walked back down the mountain, and Pasav began to show me where his magical devices were stored, and how to use them. Each morning before any of my other duties, he made me run to the top of the path with a torch to light the fire that would let the snowfall. Again, before every meal, and sometimes during the day for no apparent reason Pasav would have me make the run. When I was not running up the mountain, I walked the ramparts, watching the valley and carrying my spear. Pasav spent nearly all of his time on the mountain with his boxes and barrels. Many times I carried supplies up for him, and still each day he made me practice with the sword.
After three weeks, the valley floor was also covered with a layer of snow, and the mountain path had become a trench through the ice. Finally, in the afternoon, I saw a black mass appear far north in the narrow valley. “Pasav,” I yelled, “Master, they are coming.”
The wizard joined me quickly on the rampart, and looked at what I saw. “Get your torch, and be off. Remember, do not light the fire until you get the signal.”
I had run the path so many times now that I needed no further instructions. I carried the torch quickly and without difficulty, and stood at the end of the path waiting. I couldn’t see much in the valley below, only a distant mass growing steadily larger. Eventually the mass disappeared beneath the shadows of the mountains, and I waited for the signal. My heart pounded, and I gripped the torch and my spear impatiently. After many minutes, a little ball of fire shot up into the sky, Pasav’s signal. I knelt, and used the torch to light the fire. When it began to burn steadily, I turned and made my way quickly down the path.
I reached the ramparts of the castle, and Pasav had already left. Below us, in the valley, the Horde approached. The mass of dark, beastly bodies moved quickly, yet quietly over the snow-laden ground, kicking up gusts of white powder as it went. High above, in the mountain, nothing stirred for a long time. I began to fear that the fire had gone out, when suddenly a resounding explosion shook the mountain and the castle. Almost instantly, the Horde stopped moving forward. Several animalistic voices cried out as the mountain began to drop vast amounts of snow over them. Across the valley, the echo shook the other mountain, and it too began to cast its wrath down upon the Horde. I fell to the ground, covering my ears, and hoped beyond hope that the castle would remain on its perch on the cliff.
After several minutes of rumbling and terror, the mountain stopped moving. I picked myself up, and ran down the rampart into the courtyard, “Pasav,” I called, “Master, where are you?” No one answered. I reached the castle entrance, when his words of warning returned to my mind, but too late. A large creature, like a dog, though slavering and covered with hard scales leaped out of the darkness. I raised my spear, and tried to jump out of the way. The beast knocked me over, and I crashed to the ground. Before I could react, it was on top of me. With the shaft of the spear I was able to protect myself from its angry fangs, but my strength was no match for its fierce wrath.
Suddenly the beast faltered. It turned its head, and I saw Pasav bring down his great sword. The beast died and I rolled from beneath the corpse. “To the rampart,” he said in a stern, commanding voice. I did not hesitate, but flew to the top of the stairs. In the courtyard below, I heard the sounds of battle as Pasav faced the creatures that were fleeing the castle.
I looked out over the castle wall, and for as far as I could see; the valley was filled with deep snow, and the twisted bodies of dead creatures. Black and broken, they littered the horizon. My arms and face were cut where I had been attacked, but I did not feel the sting. Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder, and I heard Pasav’s voice, “we have stopped them again, for a time, but our work is not yet done. Help me clear the courtyard, and then we can rest.”
THE END
Posted by admin on April 27, 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.
After Enbeck-thrull we kept even more to the wild if possible. I understood that the villagers would surely spread the news of such interesting events far and wide for winters to come, and that the Lord of Gratterskeep would be long remembered there. Such notoriety could only attract the attention of the local lords and eventually the regent.
We reached the northern wall and turned west. Here the villages appeared less frequently, and we spent many nights beneath the endless stars. In those days I took my watch alone as Pascalli slept. It was not unusual for him to share a portion of my watch, or for me to share a portion of his, as it is a very lonely business traveling in the wild.
One night beneath the canopy of stars I sat considering the fate that had dragged me from home. I found the fragment’s of Anaria’s flower in the bottom of my pack and missed the farm and everything I had left behind. My father’s bow and spear waited within reach of my hand, but he had not taught me their use or history.
“Tell me about my father,” I asked Pascalli.
“Halfspear was not the name he was born with,” answered the wizard. “He accepted that name in honor of his skill with weapons. After his first battles he returned home an orphan, so the name stayed and he has passed it on to you.”
“I only knew him as a farmer,” I said.
“A man may be many things and yet remain a mystery to those who love him best. I knew him as a soldier and a leader of men,” said Pascalli.
“What does that make me?” I asked.
“It doesn’t make you anything?” Pascalli laughed. “Your father chose to become a farmer. You have chosen to follow me, and I will train you to be a soldier and a hunter and a dozen other things. In the end you will be whatever you make of yourself, or whatever Tylos makes of you.”
“What will that be?” I asked.
“You’re full of questions tonight. Nobody knows the mind of the gods, lad. I’m going to get some rest. Wake me before you not off.”
Pascalli wrapped himself in his blankets. I felt unusually awake as questions raced through my mind. Somehow I wanted to prove that I could be more than a farmer, and yet a part of me wished only to return to Dunston and live a peaceful life.
Suddenly I felt warmth about me, not just simple comfort, but actual heat, as if surrounded by gentle flames, and a light shone over me such as that of the high-noon summer sun. Around me, the camp glowed white, and the sweet fragrance of dew-covered grass filled my nostrils. Then She stood before me, her feet just above the grass. Though I felt no breeze, her hair rippled in ever-changing locks of purest red and gold, swirling about her perfect face. Her skin appeared as white as the undiscovered snow. She wore a shimmering robe of palest blue or silver, so bright was the light that my mortal eyes could not tell. When she spoke, her voice was as the gentle spring rains, both soft and soothing but so strong it held my very soul captive.
“Colter, son of Kyven my beloved champion, do not fear.” Although I was quite startled, I do not believe I was afraid but those eyes of blue fire impressed upon me her great power. “Be not dismayed for your father. He has earned his reward and rests with me. The tasks he chose to leave unfinished were his to leave.”
I could not speak although my mind raced with a thousand questions. I wanted so much to know about myself, about my future, about my family, about Pascalli. Much of what went through my mind was no more than the innocent ramblings of youth, but there were other burning important questions.
“Do not trouble your mind and heart for the future, my child. Your choices will also be your own to make, and you will know what they are when the time comes. I have come now to the realm I broke so long ago that it may begin to heal, and that through you the healing may begin should you choose it. Do not fear, for if you stand by me then none may thwart you though the way will not be easy even until the day you pass into my eternal realm.”
My thoughts turned to Pascalli and the breaking and to Darnuth Keep, and I knew instantly she could tell all my thoughts.
“Follow the counsel of the wizard, for his task is great and he has much to do before his curse can be lifted. He will never again betray me, and his heart and mind are ever upon the task at hand. Look not to the past for the answers, my child. None before you have done what must be done, only look at what you have. I have sent others to aid you, and in time even others will find you. When the calamities foretold begin to unfold they will flock to the banner you will raise.”
“And if I don’t want to,” I thought. I instantly felt a pang of regret for even thinking such cowardly things.
“Do not fear men.” Her voice, though I could not hear a change, felt firmer, stronger, and more potent. “Do not fear death. Do not fear the future. Know that I am with you always through fire and pain and darkness. When the demons of Hieron gather against you and summon their allies here to defeat you, I will stand by you and your spear will shine with my power.”
“How am I to know what to do? Where to go?” Now I longed to serve but I still did not understand my full purpose.
“That will come in time. Follow your feelings and you will know. I will be with you always.”
Then as quickly as She had appeared She was gone. I found that I was kneeling in the grass staring into the stars. I blinked. The odor of dew and spring rain still hung heavy in my nostrils. I sat back, my mind a whir of wonder and hope. Pascalli stirred in his sleep, and I realized that the first rays of dawn were just edging their way over the horizon.
I didn’t say anything to Pascalli right away about my experience. He allowed me to choose my own time for the telling, although I am sure he knew something had happened as soon as he saw me that morning. “I’m sure you have more questions than answers now,” he said when I finished the tale. “That is usually what happens when we learn something important.”
“She said that you are cursed, but that I should do what you tell me.” There were indeed a hundred questions, but I didn’t know which were safe to ask, so I thought I would try to hardest first.
Pascalli paused. I felt that I had hit upon a nerve, but then he chuckled. “Yes, my boy, I am the most cursed man in the world, and well I deserve it. Perhaps one day you will come to understand the full depth of who and what I am, but I doubt it. After so many centuries I am barely beginning to understand.” His chuckle ended and then he shook his head. Sadness passed across his face like I had not seen in his face before. “The world was not always as it is. Before the breaking, magic flourished everywhere and in everything. The most common of villages, and in those days there were many more villages and towns and cities, had magic to help their crops grow and to heal sick animals.”
“But the most powerful magic was reserved for great men of learning and study. We, that is to say I and some of my closest associates, delved deeply into the very powers that create and mold life in this world. We developed mastery over the elements, over the basest of creatures, and eventually over death. Or at least our power extended mostly over death, for our lives expanded beyond that of the average man. But with such great power came great greed and lust.”
“There are those in the world now, just as there were then, who believe that power that is not used is not really power. That is a lie, Scratch, a very cunningly crafted lie that leads only to pain and misery. For a time I believed it. When we reach Darnuth Keep you will see much of the results. In short, some of my comrades attempted to use magic to twist life to serve their basest whims. Through intrigue and through open warfare they established their petty kingdoms. Eventually we divided more or less into two groups, and then we went to war. One the one hand there were those who sought to preserve magic and use it only to enhance, heal and build. On the other side were those who wished to use it to create their own version of life. They would abuse it to suppress, curse, and build after their own image.”
I couldn’t help but ask, “How did the war go?”
“Better you should ask which side I was on, first,” said Pascalli. “Each point in its proper order.”
“Very well,” I said. “Which side were you on?” Only after the words were out of my mouth did I realize that there were so many possible meanings to the question.
“I was on the wrong side,” responded the wizard.
“You mean you were with the evil wizards?”
“No, I mean that both sides were wrong and that I was too slow to realize my mistake. But for your information I was indeed the leader of what you would consider to be the evil wizards, although we were not so much evil as mistaken. And since we won, we would hardly consider ourselves evil. Generally only those who lose the great wars are considered the bad or evil enemy, as the victors get to write history.”
“So you killed all the good wizards?” I asked bluntly.
“Always so black and white with the young,” he replied. He had an air of irritability now, and I knew I should listen more and talk less. “Of course we killed them. They were our sworn enemies. And in the process both sides killed millions of innocents and ruined the lives of countless others. We took this world from a state of beauty and grace to a state of near constant warfare, and we broke our goddess’ heart. She warned us, but we did not all heed the warning. Instead some of us thought we could undo what had been done, yet others thought that now we had a fresh world that we could reshape to fit our own desires just as we had wanted.”
“We built massive fortresses and in them began experimenting. One by one we turned out abominations and fancies and wonders. And one by one we began again to be envious and covetous of the power that the others held. We no longer shared our secrets with others, and for a generation hid ourselves from each other and the world. Then, as if by common consent, we resurfaced and went again to war against each other.”
“In the wake of that final war, we broke the world. That is to say we drove the Veldmen forever from the surface. We destroyed the long memories of the Darkunders. We shattered the spirits and histories of all the races of men. We destroyed civilization, and we destroyed each other. I say we, only because I did not stop them from what they did. There were three of us who saw the folly of it before it completely unfolded, and we petitioned to Tylos to save the world, but she was as slow to hear us as we had been slow to obey her. When the war subsided she finally appeared.”
“The three of us met together with the victor of that horrible war. Then Tylos appeared and she told us that the ability to create new magic had been taken from the world. We could no longer control the elements or create new abominations. We were saddened, but also understood. Then we were all cursed to repair what we had done and charged to make the world whole again. Three of us readily agreed, but the last, who had come only to demand our surrender saw this as his opportunity to cement his place as ruler of the world and returned with his army to his fortress.”
“You see, Scratch, he knew that even though he could not continue to experiment, he could still use the tools he had, and he knew or at least he believed that we did not have armies sufficient to resist him. Tylos cursed us three again, charging us that as long as he lived neither we nor the world would see any rest. What this means, in part, Scratch, is that I cannot age, or even become ill as long as he is alive, but it also means that neither can he. My other two companions were lost shortly after when we used our remaining resources to stop his armies, and for these hundreds of winters I have been trying to find a way to stop him.”
He did not continue. I knew he was allowing me to absorb everything he was telling me. “Then my father was helping you also, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Scratch. He was a very brave man.”
“But he loved my mother too much to finish it, didn’t he,” I said. I didn’t know what to feel about it.
“Yes, my boy, he did. But you must not hold that against him. Didn’t She tell you that it was his choice?” The wizard looked at me kindly. “Do not worry if you will fail like your father because he didn’t fail. And do not worry about being less than your father because in the end he didn’t succeed. So either way you can do no worse, even if you quit now. You’ve already proven to me that you’ve got what’s necessary to finish this, so you may as well try it.”
That rare compliment put my position in perspective in an odd way. I began to understand my purpose in that moment. As we continued west I often thought of my experience and Pascalli’s story but answers came only very slowly.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Two
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty
Posted by admin on April 24, 2009
Writing a poem everyday is a challenge that has been extended to me more than once, and which I have managed to fail at more than once. Usually it ends up more as a poem three times a week. Many of the poems that I have posted (and continue to post) here on this site are the results of my attempts at writing a poem a day.
Writing a poem everyday won’t necessarily produce the best poetry. It won’t necessarily generate volumes of memorable or fabulous poetry that moves humanity to new heights of inspiration and genius. Writing a poem a day, however, will make you a better poet and a better writer.
Like practicing anything else, writing as often as you can will help you to produce better content. Trying different forms, different words, or different concepts are all good ways to expand your talents and your mind. Even though many of the poems I have written aren’t that amazing, each of them has taught me at least one less that I won’t forget.
I challenge anyone who has any interest in writing to write every day.
Posted by admin on April 22, 2009
Your eyes sparkle on the tip of a laugh,
Dimples calling for an echo at last.
Your smile’s shadow stalks my mind,
A pleasant memory of happy times.
I endure the hated gulf of minutes
That keeps me from your side.
At last we meet, we touch, and I feel
The face that makes all my senses reel.
Posted by admin on April 20, 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 left a few coins with Kimlt before we left as payment for what the soldiers would eat during their stay. The farmer thanked us heartily, and filled our bags with bread and hard cheese. Induresk rode with us a short while to put us on the straightest path. “You’ve shown uncommon kindness, my lord Pandrake,” he said as he took his leave. He hesitated a moment. “I only half believed the word that the wandering Pascalli had returned, and I never believed that Halfspear’s son would come this direction. I’ll send word to see that you aren’t bothered, though there are those who will ignore me.” He handed Pascalli a sealed paper. “Give this to the soldiers at the next check point and you should be able to travel a little more freely.”
I enjoyed the ride north immensely. The Tulanders treated us with respect and I learned to enjoy their customs. The Tulandish word for place was thrull, and usually the place was called after some great ancestor. In every village we were required to take the finest rooms in the inn and served the finest food (all of course paid for with the finest gold). In the east we would have been merely another pair of rag-tags, and could easily have passed for such in the wild and continued un-noticed from village to village.
Tulanders in general have very dark or black hair, though a few have lighter tones. We reached Enbeck-thrull sooner than expected, and Pascalli directed us to a large inn near the center of town. “Go get us lodging,” he ordered, and I went inside without hesitation.
“My lord Pandrake requires a room for the night,” I told the portly man who ran the place.
“My daughter, Emmha will show you the way,” he said. “Do you need stabling as well?”
“Two horses. We haven’t much baggage.” A little girl, perhaps six or seven emerged to guide me to the rooms on the second floor. Her light brown hair seemed so out of place. It reminded me of my sister, and of Laural. I wondered how Laural fared since I left her. When I saw the girl’s face I realized that I missed the friends I had left behind.
The lord mayor of the village, a small, balding man whose thin dark hair hung below his shoulder in the back sat at dinner with my master the first evening we were in town. I believe, had Pascalli not warned me very carefully beforehand, that I would have probably caused us a great deal of trouble that night.
I can still see the mayor’s skinny face and sallow eyes that darted in every direction as he consumed every bit of food in sight.
“I’m sorry that the pheasant is a little dry,” mentioned the mayor to my master with a glance at the uneaten portion on Pascalli’s plate. His voice carried a tone of anxiety mixed with contempt. “I don’t know why the innkeeper chose to serve this. There are far better delicacies to tempt the appetite here.”
“Yes, it is quite disappointing,” replied the wizard. “Take it away,” he said and nodded to me. I had personally witnessed Pascalli positively inhale cooking much worse than that on numerous occasions, after all he did eat my cooking, and I knew something was amiss. I respectfully bent to take the dish and caught a stern look, which I knew meant I should pay attention, but which the lord mayor took to mean that I had better return with something more pleasing.
“Perhaps some dumplings, my lord,” suggested the mayor. “Our cook is famous for the sauce. I believe you will find it very good.”
“Thank you,” replied Pascalli. “Please find something better to drink.”
The lord mayor rose and I followed him to the kitchens where he met with the innkeeper. “What is this filth you serve?” he bellowed. “Do you not know I could lose my head for displeasing the nobility?” He grabbed the dish I held and flung it at the man. Then he stormed into the kitchens. Curious, I followed, which seemed to please him a great deal as he now had an audience. Quivering, the innkeeper followed us.
The cook was an ancient man whose wrinkled but stern glance commanded his domain with ease. At first he seemed little more than annoyed at the interruption, barely glancing up from his work until the mayor forced himself.
“What kind of trash do you think you are peddling here?” he hollered, instantly bringing all eyes to himself. For a moment I felt the cook would attack the man, but instead he slowly turned and folded his arms quietly. “That food is not fit for swine. I am serving a great nobleman whose tastes are far beyond the ordinary.”
The cook just stood there, looking almost amused but clearly without the fear that would perhaps have sated the mayor’s petty temper. “His lordship demands dumplings, and your finest mead.” The mayor glanced around at the frozen figures. “Get moving!” he shouted. When no one moved he took a step and pushed the nearest servant, a young girl. She scampered into a corner and the mayor backhanded the cook harshly. The old man stumbled back from the force of the blow but regained his composure quickly. When he raised his head a bead of blood formed at the corner of his lip and it began to swell.
“As you wish, lord mayor,” he said quietly, and turned back to his work. Instantly the rest of the kitchen staff began working furiously. The mayor went back upstairs to the fine dining room and I returned a short while later with a bottle of mead.
The master cook himself presented the next course. The dumplings tasted exquisite. Light pastries steamed perfectly with a balanced blend of meats and vegetables. Served with a delectable currant sauce whose particular zest I could not discern for the spices of the region were unknown in the east. The old man managed to catch Pascalli’s eye as he served the remainder of the meal. The mayor treated him with cold scorn. “Pray, dear fellow, that this is better than your last concoction,” he commented.
Pascalli picked indifferently at the presentation, and sipped the mead with quiet reservation. The mayor fidgeted nervously, but obviously did not wish to break the silence. The cook stood impassive, watching the scene unfold from the shadowy candlelight.
“This is the best the provinces have to offer,” said Pascalli to me with a slight nod to his plate. I did not know what to say so I held my tongue. Pascalli seemed to approve, and he continued, “I had hoped for better.”
“It’s that fool of an innkeeper,” muttered the mayor angrily. “He does not know his place. I shall deal with him.”
“How long have you been lord mayor here?” inquired Pascalli, almost casually.
“Twenty winters,” responded the mayor. “In all that time I have never been so disappointed.”
“Then you have obviously had plenty of time to deal with the innkeeper,” cut in Pascalli. His tone was darker now, not quite threatening but certainly ominous. “I am quite sure the innkeeper did not process this mediocre mead,” he suggested.
“No, of course not,” defended the mayor. “It is not a local brew. Ours is generally much better, but it has been a bad winter.”
“Naturally,” replied Pascalli incredulously. “That would explain the filth in your streets as well as the lack of discipline of the village guards. Our papers were not even requested when we entered the village.”
“The captain of the guard is not under my command,” said the mayor, growing a little defiant.
“And it is just as well that he is not, as you have set a poor enough example.” Pascalli was definitely angry now. “I noticed that your own house does not seem to have the same problems as the rest of the village. The trees there are quite green, and the fruit quite ripe. I wonder why you would put us here with these mediocre lodgings when it is quite obvious that your own estate is much grander.”
“I had simply thought you would be more comfortable here.” The mayor’s lie was obvious but inescapable.
“It is quite obvious to me that we will not be comfortable here,” replied Pascalli. His words carried an air of blunt iciness that left the mayor quite breathless. “I am still quite hungry, and very tired, and very much in need of a bath.”
“Of course I shall expect you presently,” was all he could manage as he rose.
The meal and entertainment that followed at the mayor’s villa were rather disappointing, that is to say the entertainment the mayor intended to provide. Pascalli, however, was still feeling quite the rascal and for some reason really wanted to harass the man. The following morning he insisted on seeing the entire estate, and spent a considerable amount of time examining the personal larders, orchards, and fields of the mayor.
“Quite impressive,” he said to the mayor as we went into the village that afternoon, and the mayor positively burst with pride. I believe he was somewhat deflated later when the village guard came calling in search of goods that had been illegally withheld or confiscated and which rightfully belonged either to the village or the provincial regent.
“I believe he meant to bribe us in the end,” said Pascalli as we left Enbeck-thrull a few days later. The village council found him guilty of theft and hung him in the village square.
“The place seemed peaceful. I don’t understand why they were so happy to see him hang,” I said.
“That is the way of petty tyrants. In their own way they can be more dangerous than bad kings. A man may see his king once in a lifetime, but he must live everyday with his local lord or mayor. Stamp out the oppressors when you can, Scratch, but do so carefully.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I agreed.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty One
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Nine
Posted by admin on April 17, 2009
The great advantage of being a scientist is that you see the world for what it is, as it is, and you maintain no bias one way or the other about how it is. The great advantage of believing in something is that no matter what you see or hear or are told, you will find what you are looking for. Greg’s advantage laid in a unique combination of belief and science sometimes labeled insanity. A thin, elderly man with only a few strands of gray hair, thick glasses, and a penchant for polo shirts; Greg hardly presented an imposing figure.
Seventy-three years is not too long a time to spend conquering a planet. Nearly everything imaginable had been invented during his lifetime, and each new product both created a new niche in his plan and fueled the fire of his disappointment in humanity. A race of people willing to spend their lives in front of a little box of glass and plastic is not fit to govern the planet I live on, or so he believed. The television and personal computer, however, were wonderful devices for restraining humans and Greg had every intention of utilizing them to their fullest potential.
The major side effect of wanting to dominate a planet populated by six billion people is that you either have to delegate some of that power, or you have to limit the numbers of slaves. This particular point had bothered Greg for several decades; at times even affecting his ability to work. Killing people (or anything else), was not something he was good at; it wasn’t even something he had ever done. In then end, however, he had given way to human nature and decided on the easy way out; eliminate the excess. So, down to brass tacks, start by eliminating (without destroying the planet) approximately six billion people. Step two; convince those who remain that you are the rightful ruler of the planet. Step three, live happily ever after.
Step one, as Greg viewed it, was the most difficult, (after all who wouldn’t want to follow him after everyone else was dead). Naturally if he didn’t plan on keeping anyone alive it would be much easier. Of course it would have been even easier still if he had amassed a following of individuals to help him. Once more the problem of working alone on such projects with a limited budget remained unsolved. This time, however, it would definitely work.
Greg had great faith in human incompetence, having experienced it first hand on several occasions. There is no fool like the one who believes the system works, he had often taught his children. Despite his efforts, however, they still paid their taxes and held down regular job.
Once more Greg worked furiously at his basement computer, attempting to simultaneously monitor the working of the World Health Organization (WHO), and NASA. Launching your own satellite into Earth’s orbit can be difficult; doing so undetected and without cooperative outside help took nearly a decade. Doing it twice more was, as Greg put it, “beautiful.” Others may have dubbed it insane, but then their vote didn’t count much at this point anyway.
With a nudge hand here and there, he had managed to keep news of his biological attacks in South America and Africa sufficiently shrouded in confusion as to render the opposition incompetent. Developing the proper virus to do the job was almost as difficult as launching satellites. Information is plentiful and easy enough to gather, but acquiring the proper chemicals can get you arrested, and Greg was passionate about his criminal spotless criminal record; not so much as a parking ticket (not that he drove much these days).
Greg’s attention diverted from the WHO to the internal proceedings at the European Union, and the United Nations. Cracking the control of a single government was easy enough; he had, after all, helped to break and built several countries over the years, but simultaneously eradicating government heads around the globe was a true challenge. The first key is unrest, always unrest. Start with the people and then slowly let the level of discomfort rise until those at the top could feel it; then remove the top. Full-scale cyber-attacks on the European and Asian economy would begin tomorrow. He had tested his methods in the past, gradually fluctuating the worldwide economy; a lifetime of preparation for this moment.
He smiled to himself, scratched his scraggly beard and balding head, and pressed the enter key.
To continue to divert attention away from events in the third world, Greg unleashed a pair of new electronic viruses that would distribute themselves throughout developed countries, keeping businessmen and employees equally busy for a few days. He transmitted an email to a doctor in the Congo (who by now was certainly carrying the biological virus), recalling him to his home in northern Europe. A similar message found a doctor in Nicaragua, and the doctor returned to Australia. Greg reached for his coffee mug, empty. All right, get some coffee and then tackle North America.
Greg got up from his swivel chair, his thin frame leaving a shallow impression, and stretched his arms and back. Books lay stacked all around him, notepads, pencils, files containing all imaginable information; and over all of it sat the strong odor of coffee and meticulous malice. Greg whistled quietly to himself as he skipped up the stairs. Eighty-six and still more fit than any television raised punk. At the top of the stair he met his daughter. “Going on a coffee run, you want anything,” he asked.
“Dad, its midnight, I was just headed to bed. Don’t wake the kids when you come in, ok.”
“Sorry, Mandy, I’ll be quiet when I come in.” Grandkids were great, if only their parents weren’t so annoying.
Thirty years ago a doctor twenty years his junior told him to give up the coffee, alcohol and late nights (he never did smoke). Greg sent flowers to the doctor’s widow, but secretly he didn’t feel much remorse. Destiny decides how long you live, and you decide how much you enjoy it. Greg was destined for greatness, and immortality. The garage was full of the keys to immortality. Experiment upon experiment latched together in a careful chain, all to produce panacea. The rats, dogs, and neighborhood bums who were now cured (one way or the other) of their ill health were all greatly appreciated. A super immune system combined with genetic anti-aging created an agent that cured just about everything, including the common cold and cancer.
The Go-mart, or whatever they called the place these days had the best coffee available at midnight (or any other time), and Greg found the crust on the nacho cheese particularly appetizing. The hired help, as usual, reminded him of the reasons behind his never-tiring quest, but then so did pretty much everyone else he met. He used his credit card to pay for the order, after all the transaction would simply ‘disappear’ by morning anyway. Greg sipped his coffee smugly on the way home.
Back at the lab he checked his resources and progress. He didn’t have enough money to manage a full-scale release of the virus in North America, or Europe, and a partial release would only give the Americans time to find a cure, so an alternative must be found. Fortunately, a lifetime of planning allows one to consider these possibilities beforehand. Greg rummaged around in his desk until he found the correct set of cables, and connected a small device to his computer. He quickly loaded a new program, and giggled slightly as the green light on his gadget sprang to life. Radiation emissions on computer and television screens around the world, but most heavily concentrated in the United States, would now reach toxic levels. By the end of the week video game geeks would be dropping like flies.
Enough damage for the moment, he decided. Time for a drink and some light reading. He found a bottle of beer in the mini-refrigerator, and opened a thick file labeled space exploration. The improbability of humans discovering extra-terrestrial life always amused Greg. If only they really tried. Of course, if they really tried I could stand them. Greg continued to peruse his various files for over an hour, lost in the possibilities of what could be. The world was finally becoming a unit bound by more than just gravity. The potential for world cultures to merge, language and customs to join, and new leadership to be defined was being fulfilled. All too slowly. With the right people, living forever, all of the waste and laziness and destruction would be eliminated. Six billion to find a few thousand; at least he had good odds of finding decent help.
Time for more nachos. Compulsively, he swiveled the chair around to check the progress. His chair bumped against the transponder, and the device fell to the floor. “Damn!” he exclaimed. Greg picked up the box, noting that the case had cracked. He shook it a couple of times. The rattling told him soldering was in order, and Greg let out a soft sigh. “I’ll fix it when I get back.” He left the broken equipment on the desk and stopped at the bathroom on the way out the door. The convenience store was only a few blocks away, and the night was warm, Greg walked, as usual. For a change, there was another customer, obviously in a hurry. The engine of their beat-up Toyota was still humming, and the lights were on. Some punk kid, as it turned out, harassing the clerk. Why don’t people just let people do their jobs, he thought. Greg opened the door and headed to the coffee.
“Hey old man, where you goin’” the punk accosted him. Greg gave him a stern look, failed to see the gun, and proceeded to the coffee. The clerk screamed, the punk fired, and Greg’s panacea failed to stop the bullet.
In other news, a doctor in the Congo discovered a cure for a mysterious virus believed to have been transported through insects in third world countries, saving the lives of thousands. He had received a message recalling him earlier, but stayed to finish the job anyway. NASA discovered yet another mysterious satellite, believed to have been launched by a terrorist group, and destroyed it. The department of defense announced a new cyber-security system. The European Union managed to quell fears of instability, and the United Nations reported that political unrest was at an all-time low.
Prospects for the world in general looked good, although crime in some suburban areas appeared to be on the rise.
THE END
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
Posted by admin on April 15, 2009
Sunday philosophy.
Monday desperately
needs Tuesday’s
bright sunshine.
Wednesday stands free
of good or evil.
Thursday destiny.
Because Friday’s
choice must be made
before Saturday.
Posted by admin on April 13, 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.
When we passed the gates of Anascrag I felt I had stepped into a vast ocean of grain. Everywhere, in every direction, kilometers of wheat, barley, or rye stretched green or golden with the ever-present wind blowing at our backs or into our squinting eyes. The highways cut wide and straight between the larger towns and cities while less well maintained roads meandered to the villages and large farms. Imperial guards monitored checkpoints and patrolled the roads with greater frequency and precision than anywhere in the east. Bricks and clay built nearly every building for both peasant and noble, though some of the wealthy had imported timber from the south or east.
“In the east, the vast tracts of wild land are largely unexplored except by the wild roaming adventurers,” explained Pascalli. “In the west the governors build great walls, hundreds or even thousands of kilometers long to block out the unknown. The Anascraggers call it the land beyond the wall, but it once was the very great kingdom of Tuland. Every young Tulandish man serves his time patrolling those walls or the great highways or filling some other lesser post in the imperial army. Adventuring, or doing anything out of the ordinary, is not only frowned upon, but requires exact, defined permission from the proper authorities. Acting without authority or outside of class boundaries can mean severe punishment or even death. They will make some exceptions, Scratch, because you are clearly an uncouth easterner, but only a very few. Do as I say, when I say it and all will be well.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
“Of course you will.” Pascalli smiled. “Keep your wits about you. The regent, here in the west holds more control over the local lords than the regent in the east. If he has chosen to find us for the emperor he will succeed.”
Almost as quickly as we exited Anascrag we joined a road going north towards the mountains rather than west towards the sea. A great wall runs north from the western gate of Anascrag and then after a few hundred kilometers it turns west and runs near the base of the mountains to the sea. Along the wall, centuries ago, many villages sprang up to support the guard towers and the many imperial troops who constantly patrol and repair the wall. Many acres of grain surround each village, far more than meets the needs of the local peasant population.
When I asked Pascalli he replied, “It goes to the Empire, Scratch. Just as the gold of east goes west, and the copper and tin of the south comes north.”
“What comes from the north,” I asked plainly.
Pascalli let out his familiar laugh and replied with a grin and a wink, “Nothing of great worth.”
“What do you mean,” I pressed. “The emperor is there in Dynwater, right? Isn’t that where the imperial army is?”
“As I said, nothing of great worth,” answered Pascalli with less laughter in his voice than usual. He must have noticed my look of dismay and disbelief. “That is not to say that there aren’t a great many wonderful things in Dynwater. Many great artisans and artists, poets, architects, and engineers practice and study there. There is a magnificent library and a huge collection of artifacts from before the breaking. Much knowledge, much pomp, much wealth. But you did not ask me what you could find in the north, only what comes out. None of that, or at least very little of it, ever comes out. And Dynwater is only one city. The rest of the north is the Northern Crown and it is wild, a place where wild things thrive and out of it come the Kaarum. So, as you can plainly see nothing of great worth comes from the north.”
Such as it was I could clearly see the truth in what he spoke, though I sensed there was more to it.
Once out of Anascrag we set a brisk pace north. Each day Pascalli ensured I completed my practice with my weapons, and he continued to expand my mind with stories and puzzles he had learned through the centuries. I was keen to learn more about defending myself without weapons, and after a few days of constant badgering Pascalli consented to teach me. “Fighting is fighting,” he said. “In general you will find that the principles are mostly the same. Use your feet to get a better position and strike when able. As always, the power comes from the hips and legs. You have to put your whole body into a strike, not just your fists or feet.”
“What happens when they sit on me?” I asked, after being tripped for the sixth time one day.
“There are ways of dealing with a larger opponent on the ground, but you must always be wary that they may have a hidden knife or sap. Indeed, if you are confident they are unarmed it is often easier to handle a larger foe on the ground where their longer limbs do not give them the advantage of reach.”
I discovered that grappling with an enormous man in dirt and rocks was not terribly comfortable and consented after a few short markets that I knew enough to at least stabilize myself until I could bring a weapon into play.
“We will continue this portion of your training when we have a proper chance,” said Pascalli with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve a notion it will be rather important to your future, but now is not the time.”
The remainder of our days we spent much as always, hunting when possible, or at the very least daily practice with the bow as we walked. Pascalli would pick a target and if I did not spot it quick enough, pull and loose, he would rap me sharply across the shoulder with his staff.
“Again you’ve got yourself killed,” he would mutter. “Now off and fetch that arrow.” If ever I reached the mark before his staff reached his, he would often say, “Good lad, now that’s one more life you can spare for another day. Now off and fetch that arrow.”
Once, as I rode out to find my arrow, I met a patrol of imperial troops. “Hold, boy,” their leader called. He was a stout man with thick bones that rode easily in the saddle. His uniform, though clean, showed wear around the edges. Tulandish soldiers did not wear beards, but he had a bit of black stubble on his face, and I noticed they carried tents and bedrolls. I stopped and waited. Pascalli slowly rode up to join me. “Hunting is a privilege of the nobility. Perhaps you have not learned proper manners in the east,” said the soldier. His voice was gruff and betrayed his impatience.
“Better manners than you, I see,” replied Pascalli. “This is my servant and knight, Sir Lanseg. I am Lord Pandrake of Gratterskeep. I believe it is the custom to properly identify any person before issuing a challenge. Fetch the arrow, Lanseg.”
I continued my search for the arrow as Pascalli handed the soldiers his papers. I retrieved the arrow and rejoined the wizard. “Your documents are correct,” said the soldier. “We don’t get many eastern nobles this far north, please excuse my rudeness. The bandit Edelo Cheshk has been raiding through these parts again, so we are closely watching anyone with a weapon.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Pascalli with a broad smile. “I know hunting for sport can be a tricky business in the west, but Lanseg and I were hoping to get something. If there are bandits in the area, perhaps you would offer us some protection, at least until we reach the next village?”
The soldier hesitated. “Captain Induresk, at your service,” he said as he forced a smile. “We would be happy to escort you to Enbeck-thrull. We can reach it tomorrow afternoon.”
“We are not merchants, but we will pay for your services,” offered Pascalli. At the wizard’s words, Induresk showed a genuine smile. “I expect you don’t get the opportunity to make an extra coin too often so far from Shelsmor.”
“Only too true, my friend,” agreed the captain. “The few authorized mercenaries that come through here take most of the merchants’ business. Few of the local nobles are willing to pay for a service the regent offers them freely.”
Induresk rode with three other soldiers, all of them tired from their extended patrol. They guided us toward a more traveled road where we would be able to move faster. Just as the sun began to set I spotted a patch of bent wheat field. I dismounted and investigated on foot. When Induresk noticed that I had fallen behind he called a halt.
“What have you found, my young friend,” he called. “If you’ve found a pretty girl hiding in the grass, you’ll let us know.” The soldiers laughed as I looked for prints in the dry ground. When I found what I was looking for I waved to Pascalli. He joined me, and Induresk followed him.
I pointed to a shallow hoof-print in the ground. “So a horse has been through here, what does that matter?” said Induresk. “We came this way a few days ago, and there are farmers and merchants about.”
“It’s not a horse,” I replied. “That is a cleft hoof.”
“So a farmer lost a goat. Let’s get moving. I want to find a better place before the sun completely sets,” said the captain.
“Lanseg has experience in these matters, captain,” said Pascalli. “I believe he is telling you that there are Kaarum in the area.” I nodded my agreement.
“How many, and how far?”
“Three. I can’t say how far, but they were going southwest, through the fields. I would guess they came through this morning or last night,” I said.
“How far to the closest farm or village in that direction?” asked Pascalli.
“Two days on a good horse,” answered Induresk.
“The sky is clear, so they will travel at night by the light of the stars and moon. You can come or stay as you please, captain, but we need to catch them before they reach the farm,” said Pascalli.
“We thought Edelo Cheshk was raiding the area. How could the Kaarum get past the wall?” said Induresk.
“The wall is very long,” answered Pascalli. A small band like this might sneak past unnoticed. Edelo may still be nearby, but he certainly won’t pillage as recklessly as the Kaarum.”
We rode after them as fast as we could without losing their trail. In the wide-open fields, they had few options for covering their tracks, and even in the dim light of the stars I had little trouble following them. We stopped and rested the horses a few hours before dawn, though I knew we didn’t have much time before they reached another farm.
“They need rest just like us,” assured Pascalli. “I also don’t think they will attack the farm or village during the day, so we may have some time.”
“You seem to know these beasts well,” observed Induresk.
“They ravaged through the east two summers ago. We both fought them then,” replied Pascalli. “We know them well enough.”
The horses smelled the Kaarum before we saw them, and broke their stride. Three black shapes rose out of hiding under the afternoon sun to ambush us on all sides. I shot one before it could charge, but the other two reached the horses with lightning speed. One Kaarum pulled a soldier from his saddle and they began to grapple in the hip-high grain. Under cover of the wheat, I couldn’t get a clear shot at the Kaarum, so I dismounted and charged with my spear. I reached the Kaarum before it could land the fatal blow, though it had already opened a horrible gash in the man’s side. Behind me Induresk wielded his cutlass expertly and came to the aid of his companion as quickly as he could.
“Let’s take him to the farm,” I suggested. “They should be better equipped to tend his wounds than we are.”
“That gash is deep and bleeding fast,” said Induresk. “He won’t last the hour it will take to move him.”
“Do you still have any bloodsap?” asked Pascalli. “It will slow the bleeding long enough to stitch him together.”
I cut away the torn cloth with my knife. “There is some in my bags,” I said. “Give me your canteen.” I cleaned the wound as quickly and efficiently as possible while Pascalli brought the bloodsap. “If you have anything to numb the pain, give it to him, Induresk.”
One of the soldiers produced a bottle of strong-smelling liquid and passed it to Induresk. The soldier choked a few mouthfuls down before I turned him on his side and went to work. My hands trembled as I pulled needle and thread. The bloodsap checked the flow enough that I could see to work, but I could tell from his paleness and labored breathing that he had lost a great deal of blood.
“As fine a field surgery as I’ve seen,” said Induresk when I finished. “Only Tylos can say if he will live or not, but you’ve at least given him a chance.”
I nodded my thanks and sank back into the soft grain to rest a moment. “We’ll ride on to the farm as soon as you’re ready,” said Pascalli. “We can find help there. We may be able to bring back a wagon to move him.”
“You’ve no need to do that my lord,” said Induresk. “I can send one of the others.”
“True, but time is pressing. Unless things are different here than I have come to expect, the peasants will give us less trouble than you. Rest some and eat while you wait. With luck we’ll make it back before nightfall.”
Our faces, and my unwashed hands quickly told the tale of our emergency when we reached the farm. “I’ll have Aldd hitch the wagon,” said the farmer, a thin man with a graying beard. He wore a simple straw hat to ward off the sun, but he carried himself with dignity. “You two come inside and tell us what happened.”
We gratefully dismounted and followed his wife into a simple building designed for comfort and efficiency. She offered us goat’s cheese and bread, which we accepted gratefully. “You keep a fine home, my good lady,” said Pascalli with his usual smile. “Thank you for offering us some comfort.” We recounted our story as the servants prepared the wagon, and Kimlt, the farmer, listened with more than idle curiosity.
“They will be amassing in the north, then,” said Kimlt. “I’ve not seen them for many winters, but when I was a boy they came through the west once. The nobles did nothing to stop them until they had ruined all the fields for many kilometers.”
“They attack swiftly,” said Pascalli. “If they come, it will be in the dead of winter this time. You would be wise to send word to those who will listen to take care where they secure their winter supplies.”
We worked late into the night bringing the wounded soldier carefully into the farm. Induresk and his men pitched their tents in the farmyard, while Pascalli and I slept in the barn. Despite the rigors of the previous night, I found myself restless early the following morning. “We need to reach the keep soon, don’t we,” I said to Pascalli.
“Yes, lad, we do, though not as soon as you may think,” he replied. “The Kaarum won’t come south until they need to. Rebels and strays forage south throughout the summer, and scouts report any weakness that can be found.”
“I still think we need to move on,” I said, and Pascalli nodded his agreement.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Eight
Posted by admin on April 10, 2009
Smiles soft as summer days.
Now red as if painted on.
The mark placed here will never fade.
Its twisted visage grows bleak
And almost streaks away.
Bubbling now this smile grows
To cover, blend in deathly haze
Running down, spreading out
This smile dances, smudges, plays.
A gross mark to end all smiles.
Posted by admin on April 8, 2009
I saw you walking yesterday.
Today you are in the newspaper.
Many times I wondered at your quietness,
And why you always sat so far off in the corner.
My frineds and I had lunch and talked,
While you usually ate apart,
Sometimes we discussed your quiet manner;
Your ways always seemed difficult to understand.
You and I were never really acquainted,
Although you were always just across the street.
And we met each morning and each afternoon,
I never thought we might actually talk,
Or say more than “Hello,” and “good-bye.”
Now I know that when I saw you walking yesterday,
I should have stopped and said something to help,
So that maybe you wouldn’t have killed yourself.
