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