Posted by admin on May 29, 2009
Live and serve,
Love and give.
This is what He taught us.
That pain and hate,
Spite and hurt
Have grief and sorrow brought us.
Work until the work is done,
Love until love alone goes on,
Suffer for His suffering,
Try, do impossible things.
Then when its done,
Through and through.
Hope will come, the strife will end.
The new age begin,
Millennial hope come,
When born up in the first resurrection.
Welcome back to Darnuth Keep.
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Posted by admin on May 27, 2009
Gorbon sat under the shabby stone bridge, contemplating. The late sun had just set, and the world was settling into a calm, dark quiet. A large trout broke the surface a short distance upstream and the songs of frogs along the bank were rising with the clouds of mosquitoes. The troll sighed and frowned and looked up at the bridge. His wide, yellow eyes noticed the moss over the stones and the broken gate with the tumbled toll sign. The once white paint was chipped and worn where it was not covered with moss and lichens. The troll put a stumpy fist under his warty chin and slipped into misery. “No one uses my bridge anymore,” he sighed.
At length, when the stars were high in the summer sky, and the moonlight danced on the stream, Gorbon sat up straight and exclaimed, “I’ll get ‘em to visit me.” He fished around in the dark for a moment, until he caught a slimy treat, and then, with a wink at the dark he clambered his way out of the ravine.
To the east lay a wide field of wheat set on gentle slopes. To the west was the dark forest where the woodsmen went to labor. “I’ll find the way the woodsmen use,” thought the troll as he turned north along the river, following close to the forest. A mile or two was all he traveled when he found another bridge. In the dark he heard a ruckus louder than the frogs, so terrible it shook the ground. A mighty nose snoring beneath the bridge. Undaunted, Gorbon went ahead, until he saw the fiend, a squat green troll with a mangy mane asleep beneath the bridge.
The gate on top was clean and neat, and the stones were painted bright. The roadway up was paved and even. A high railing had been set along the bridge to keep the travelers safe. “Isn’t that sweet,” growled Gorbon to himself, as he set about his work.
In the dead of night, until the light of dawn, Gorbon labored on his bridge. He scraped the moss and mended the gate while the stars twinkled in the cloudless sky. But the next morning no one came to his bridge. Angrily, Gorbon spat and growled at the lazy stream. “I’ll show ‘em yet,” he cried, and that night once more he went upstream.
The nose continued to sleep an easy sleep, but now Gorbon turned mean. With the stealth of a master thief, he crept to the enemy bridge, and one by one he moved the stones. At the base of the bridge with his mighty arms, Gorbon undermined the foundations. At last, with a shout of glee, the bridge began to tumble. The nose awoke with a start, but too late, as the bridge toppled over him. Gorbon giggled to himself as he tore down the gate, and broke the paving stones. And then he wandered home.
In the early dawn, a steady clop, clop was heard on the roadway overhead. Gorbon awoke with a start, and rubbed the sleep from he bleary eyes. “Who is it that disturbs me sleep he called, on this misty morning?”
The woodsman stopped his cart, and stared about in fright. “I am but a simple woodsman,” he said, “and meant no harm. I come to cut a living for myself in the woods beyond.”
“Simple or not, the toll is for all. A penny to cross, or I’ll eat your bones.”
“A penny,” said the woodsman, “I’ve but half that much, and must get to the woods to live.”
“The toll is fair,” replied the troll, “and will be justly used.”
Sadly the woodsman turned away, and the clop was heard fading in the distance. Gorbon giggled to himself in the water under the bridge. The day was cool, and the muddy banks seemed merrier than they had been in years. “Torment is gladness to my heart,” he laughed, “and the woodsmen will soon pay tribute to me!”
Not an hour passed when more carts clopped their way along the newly paved road to the troll’s painted gate.
“Who is it that disturbs my peace,” growled Gorbon angrily.
“We are but simple woodsmen,” came the shaky reply, “come to seek a living in the woods on the other side.”
“A penny each wagon,” said Gorbon, “and you shall see the other shore. Or I’ll eat your bones and cook your skins for my dinner.”
“We’ll pay, we’ll pay,” the woodsmen cried, “don’t eat us yet.”
Gorbon laughed aloud on the muddy banks below, and giggled as he lifted the lever to open the gate. The clink of cons hit the box, and Gorbon frolicked in the water. All that day Gorbon laughed, and as the woodsmen came, or the hunters on their proud horses, he growled and snarled, and made them all drop in their copper penny. When night came he washed the bridge and mended the stones, and locked the gate tight.
Then under the bridge in the dank shadows he slept, more peacefully than he had slept in years, and dreamed of new torments for his visitors. In his sleep he giggled, and snickered out loud. The frogs became annoyed with his sounds, and moved their songs to other parts. The fish and the night birds took their homes to quieter ground, and left the troll alone. Gorbon paid no head to them; glad he had scared them too.
Each day the woodsmen came, and each day the toll they paid, and if they argued, Gorbon laughed and growled, and scared them away. For a week or so, Gorbon was happy and content. Then one night as he slept, he heard a scrape and a laugh. He woke in time to see the last stone pulled, and the bridge came tumbling down. He heard a raspy, nasal voice, “now, thief, that’ll teach you to meddle with my things.” The raspy laugh disappeared, and Gorbon was covered in rubble.
The woodsmen came in the early dawn, as Gorbon crawled from ruin. “We’ll pay no toll,” they cried, “to a master who cannot keep his own.” And in the dim gray morning they steered their carts to the north.
Gorbon looked on the wreck of his home and snarled at the sky. His broken bones felt sore inside his body, so he found a cool pool in the shadows beneath the stones and nursed his anger. Gorbon waited, and rested for three days while his bones mended. His mind was busy planning a fitting revenge. “That old nose will pay,” he grumbled, and the men will mock me no more.”
In the cool of the night, Gorbon built up his bridge again. He labored carefully, and kept a watch for any enemy who might try to stop his work. Deep in his memory he sought the learning of his youth and all the craft of the ancients was poured out into the bridge. At long last, when summer was failing, the bridge stood tall and strong. Gorbon paved the road, and raised a new gate, and waited for the woodsmen to come.
The dawn brought no one. Gorbon waited, plotting carefully. “The nose has them,” he grumbled, and slept the rest of the day.
That night he stole his way along the woods to where the nose was hid. The enemy bridge stood tall, though less tall than it once did. The gate was broken, and moss grew where the paint once was. Gorbon looked with surprise on the scene, and approached cautiously. The frogs and night birds sang heedless of the troll, and nowhere could the nose be found.
“Nose or no nose, the bridge must go,” hissed Gorbon angrily. Gorbon knew that he must hurry, for already the night was getting old. He heaved at the rickety stones, and clawed through the mortar. At first the stone resisted, but soon the foundations fell. The gate toppled last, and Gorbon slipped silently back to his home.
The morning dawned, and soon thereafter the wagons came. One by one Gorbon stopped them, “a penny, or I’ll munch your bones,” he growled.
“You’ll munch nothing, troll, and soon you’ll see that it’s better to leave simple men alone. We’ll pay today, but tomorrow you had better be gone.”
Gorbon laughed loud and long at the frightened men. With a growl he sent them on their way. “Tomorrow I’ll be waiting,” he scoffed, “and tomorrow you will also pay.”
He watched and waited all through the night ready for any enemy. No one came. With the sun, the woodsmen returned. Their frightened faces told the tale, and Gorbon collected his penny from each. Giggling he found a cool shadow beneath the bridge and fell asleep. Gorbon kept one eye half open, though, and both ears cocked for danger.
The afternoon brought a clatter to the bridge, and Gorbon started awake. “Who is it that stomps on my roof,” he growled, “and ruins my daily rest?”
“’Tis I,” rang a proud voice from above, “Sir Derrol, come to avenge thy wrongs to the simple woodsmen.”
“Go away, human, before I eat your bones,” snarled Gorbon, “I’ve no time to waste on you. It is a penny to use this bridge, now pay or go away.”
“I will not go until you take down your gate,” said Sir Derrol.
Finally Gorbon clambered his way from beneath the bridge, squinting in the sunlight. “I gave you warning,” he said, “now I’ll eat your bones.”
Sir Derrol waited on his charger, with his lance and sword ready. Gorbon licked his lips, and cracked the knuckles in his fingers.
“Your large nosed friend was as discourteous as yourself,” said Sir Derrol, “but I’m sure you’ll give me no more trouble.”
The knight charged, and Gorbon leapt out of range of the lance. With lightning speed, and granite arms, he grabbed the horse’s hindquarter, and threw him to the ground. Sir Derrol came away unscathed, and drew his sword. The knight moved quickly, and his sword bit into Gorbon’s leather hide. Undaunted, the troll continued the attack.
“Yield, troll,” Sir Derrol cried, “and I’ll spare you and your bridge.”
Gorbon hesitated, but he caught the pant in the knight’s voice, and noticed the slowing of his blows. “I am no nose,” he growled, as he leapt one last time, and Sir Derrol fell.
In the morning, the woodsmen came, and found the troll laboring at the gate, removing the last stains of the battle. “A penny from each wagon,” he growled, “to cross my land and abuse my labor.” The woodsmen looked about in fear, but at last they paid. Over time they grew used to the growling troll, until they came to expect his angry voice in the morning. Never again did Gorbon wander from his happy bridge or let it fall into disrepair.
THE END
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Posted by admin on May 25, 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.
Midsummer’s day of the eighth winter after Kyven Halfspear’s victory under Narnal marked my first midsummer away from home while I was still under the tutelage of Captain Torbridge. Two winters later I had managed to stay alive long enough to write another letter home. Though I didn’t expect the letter to arrive, I sent it east with a grain merchant traveling to Anascrag. Though I had certainly added length to my legs and outgrown the clothes my mother sent me away in, even I could see the real growth had little to do with size.
My arms and back became strong under the daily strain of work and practice. I knew how to read strangers and the value of holding my tongue. I could read a trail and trusted myself in any circumstance. In spite of all the changes I still often wondered about my father, and about the curse he left me. We had few chances to find books along the way, but Pascalli encouraged me to read anything we found, and listen to the stories told by locals.
“How long has it been since you came through Last Gate?” I asked Pascalli the night before we reached the gate.
He winked at me before lifting his eyes and staring off into the horizon. “I come this way now and again to check the pass, though never through the gate. You will be the first to come with me since the breaking.”
“Didn’t my father ever come this way?” I asked, surprised.
“No, Scratch.” He said, very simply. “His business would have brought him here eventually, but he left the path before that.”
I understood.
Dina was not with us that final night. She went ahead with the wagon to make preparations at the guard post. I imagine that she wanted to spend at least one night in the comfort of a bed, but I am sure she also knew that I at least would want to have some time alone to sit and think. Dina did not speak to me much, not until we reached Darnuth Keep, and when she did she had taken to calling me Scratch, just as Pascalli did. Some part of her could not let go of the fact that I had been raised a farmer.
“Who was the demon my father slew?” I asked Pascalli quite suddenly enough to startle myself.
“You’ve heard the tales,” replied Pascalli. “Surely you know the story by heart.”
“I want to hear it from you,” I said firmly. “You know the truth, and I feel that you owe it to me.”
“I owe you nothing,” replied Pascalli in a sharp tone that sent a shiver through my spine. He was not angry. After a pause he smiled and set me at ease.
“I will give you freely what you ask. I think it may help you.”
“As you well know there are a number of deities, each struggling for power over our world. But they are bound by the will of mortals to choose for themselves their destiny. Though they may tempt us, we ultimately have power over ourselves. Some servants of the dark deities have tempted mortals to invite them into this realm to wreak havoc in return for greater power. One such demon was invited here by a powerful Kaarum shaman who made a pact with this demon lord.”
“At first we thought it was just another incursion of Kaarum coming down from the north. As usual I headed them off, and sealed the pass, but they broke through and the empire had to raise an army in great haste. Your father was recruited in much the same way that you were. He was literally begging for food when they came looking for conscripts and he just came along.”
“I did not actually meet your father until much later in his career. He was very astute, and very skilled at the art of war. By surviving long enough he rose through the ranks until he commanded a small company. About that time I finally managed to discover the presence of an unnatural force, though I could not tell what was behind it. At Narnal’s direction I gathered volunteers. Your father was the first to offer his spear.”
“I led them over the Northern Crown, and into the land of the Kaarum. He brought us out again, by his wits and cunning and sheer force of will. At every step we were hounded. I was not prepared to face a demon and it forced me to flee. The first time in so many hundred winters Pascalli fled a battle. I think that Tylos visited him during that time of our separation and told him of the spear of Udelf and of its power over the demon. I cannot tell you of your father’s adventures to retrieve the spear because he went alone and he returned alone. When he returned he no longer needed armies to fight his battle. He no longer needed me. Indeed his power far surpassed my own.”
“The war fared poorly for the empire. Many thousands of Kaarum had gathered along the wall north of Anascrag. There he came and began destroying them. Then, in the middle of the commotion a great blackness appeared. The demon rolled out its weapons of darkness only to be repelled by your father’s courage and light. Men and beast fell on both sides from the shock. Finally he thrust the demon down and broke its link to our world.”
“Your father did not speak for many days after that. He never told me what he felt or endured. The spear of Udelf had lost its power. It is the weapon you now bear, now no more than a bit of metal on the end of a pole. He went home, although I believe only I knew where his home was.”
I realized as he spoke that I was crying. So many questions still fluttered in my mind. Suddenly I felt very much like a child and I chided myself. Now I should be a man.
“You haven’t told me why killing the demon wasn’t enough to satisfy Tylos,” I said.
“That is because I don’t know,” answered Pascalli.
Confusion rocked my senses. Pascalli knew everything. He knew the names of little children he could not possibly have ever met before. He knew how long rocks had sat undisturbed in lonely mountain passes and when the last rabbit crossed a given path or when it was likely to return again.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I asked.
“Just that. I can only guess. I did not become aware of the curse Kyven endured until well after he returned to the imperial service. Only then, winters later, did he confide in me, and it was I who told the village council at Dunston after he refused.” He caught the fire in my eyes and cut me short. “Do not be angry with me. I tried to save him from himself, and I have done my best to save you as well. Judge me later, when you’ve learned enough to judge me properly. I’m not a saintly man, but at least I know my purpose and I haven’t yet wavered from it.”
“Well, if you don’t know, can’t you at least guess?” I asked.
“Anyone can guess,” he said. “In this situation guessing wrong could mean throwing this world into darkness.”
“But you’ve already guessed, haven’t you,” I mocked.
“Yes I have,” he said sharply. “You are going to prove me right or wrong, and I hope before it is too late.” He waited for me to ask the obvious question but I did not give him the satisfaction. “Very well, my guess is that somehow one of the other gods has managed to allow magic to be controlled again in this world and Tylos wants it remedied.”
“But how can that be true?” I said incredulously. “If magic could be controlled again, then you should be able to do any sort of miracle, shouldn’t you?”
“We are talking about guesses, aren’t we?” he scoffed. “Of course the way we learned may not be the same way that magic is controlled today. Tylos may still hold enough power to keep mine from returning. I don’t fully understand the extent of Tylos’ curse on me. Take the priests of Tylos, for example, their ability to heal wounds is clearly magic, but it nothing of the sort that I understand. Their power comes directly from Tylos. They have no power to actually do any healing. It is entirely up to our Lady.”
“I thought it was just automatic,” I replied. “I was healed back near Havensod.”
“Yes, I heard about that,” said Pascalli. “Quite remarkable actually. Most of us are not healed automatically, and then it is usually just enough to keep one from dying. Your experience was unusual to say the least. Either way, there was no control present.”
“Oh, well, yeah,” I said. “Well how did you used to control it, in the old days I mean? If I wanted to make a pig fly, for example, what would I have to do?”
“You mean short of building a catapult?” laughed Pascalli. I laughed with him, and our hearts grew suddenly lighter. “Come with me. Now look over here, you see this leaf.” He held up a broad oak leaf, clearly dead. “Now try to do as I say, although I don’t expect any results as I have already tried it myself a thousand times since I first came on this theory and it didn’t work. Look at the leaf, concentrate on its shape, form, color, smell, texture.” He waited for me to concentrate, which I did as hard as I possibly could. I tried to take in every aspect of the leaf, although I must admit it very quickly grew tedious. He set the leaf on the ground. “Now concentrate on the air around the leaf, how does it move, how does it taste, smell, sound.” I did as he asked. I tried to remember each time I had ever walked through a forest, every time I had played with a fallen leaf or tossed an acorn aside. “Now, listen for the voice of the leaf and the voice of the air, like a murmured whisper in a language you do not understand coming from far across the mountains. Do you hear it?”
I listened for a moment and had opened my mouth to say “No,” when I caught a faint something, like the wind blowing through the boughs of a great tree, but it was coming from nowhere. I knew it came from the leaf. “Yes,” I said.
I did not see Pascalli’s reaction. I had not broken my concentration. The intensity of the leaf’s calling seemed to grow as I yearned to understand it. I bent my thoughts and will towards it. Pascalli’s voice quivered as he spoke. “Reach out with your mind and heart and ask the leaf to lift. Ask the air to push it.”
I asked, I concentrated, and suddenly the leaf began to hover a few centimeters off of the ground. My jaw dropped. My concentration shattered.
“I don’t believe it,” said Pascalli.
“Was that magic?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“It wasn’t a catapult,” he replied, his tone somber.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Six
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Four
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Posted by admin on May 22, 2009
Another kind of heat
that turns a would be
man red. The fire is
all inside and hurts worse
than the flame of death.
the burning of hell it
seems would be less
than the pain I cause
myself by the burning
of embarrassment.
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Posted by admin on May 20, 2009
I wrote you off a week ago.
But I prayed and you came back.
Again, I scratched my list of
things to do, your name gone.
A voice said no.
When I called you didn’t
want to talk to me.
My mind said fine, I’ll go.
It felt good to be free of
you, but the voice says
No.
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Posted by admin on May 18, 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.
I returned to the forge for the next few days while we waited for a new smith to arrive, half sulking, half worrying that everything would not be in order soon enough. During that time I scraped and cured the hides, which were covered in tough, but workable silver-gray scales. Dina left to take the message to Daturk-thrull and I did not expect her to return. Four days later she did return, leading a wagon carrying the apprentice to the smith of Daturk-thrull and his new bride and all their belongings. He was glad to find a shop ready and waiting. I reluctantly let him take his rightful work.
“We’ll be off then, bright and early,” said Pascalli to Tarkin when he saw the wagon. “Our work here is finished and we have tarried over-long I think.”
Tarkin was overjoyed at the success, so much so that he gave us a wagon and filled it with food, a new tent, extra blankets, anything we could ask for. Leaving that farm felt like leaving my own farm all over again. My heart nearly broke for I had come to love Tarkin as I loved Master Wilder, and the servants were like my friends from Dunston.
The next morning, as we left Dina rode up alongside the wagon. “Imperial guards will not harass you while I am with you,” she said. “I can make your trip go much faster I think, if you will consent.”
Although she spoke to Pascalli, she cast me a glance, and his eyes followed hers. “What do you think, Scratch, my lad, can you handle a finicky lass such as this?” I think her jaw must have broken it dropped so hard. I know I at least cracked a smile, though I probably laughed as Pascalli’s habit was wearing onto me.
“I’ve no doubt she’ll want no help from me, but she’s welcome in my camp,” I replied, meaning it.
“Good boy,” said Pascalli. We rode on, and Pascalli took his matter-of-fact tutor tone with Dina and for once I had a bit of a rest from the old man. “You’ll understand, my dear, that we have been traveling incognito for several winters now, so our names are generally not our own. The lad you can call Scratch, or whatever you deem appropriate”. He cast me a sidelong glance. I shrugged. “Me, you will call Pascalli, or Master.” She looked horror struck. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. “Your father calls me Master Pascalli and I will take no less from his third daughter.”
“You know my father?” she asked incredulously.
“Of course, silly girl,” he laughed. “Why else would he call me Master? Either way I would thank you to not betray our presence here in this part of the empire until we are north of the wall and well into the wild. Are you planning on coming into the wild with us, my dear?”
“I, uh, I don’t know,” she stammered.
“I shall take that as a yes, for you have already shown that you intend to do this foolish thing. Very well, just don’t give out our real names and all will be well. After Darnuth Keep, assuming there is an after, you may do as you please.”
“Must I take orders from him?” she asked, her voice full of dread, indicating me.
“Must you?” laughed Pascalli. “I should certainly think not.” I rolled my eyes. “He is my charge, and I shall decide when it is time for him to give orders, which is rare enough and not yet with lives as important to our purposes as yours. You are your own spirit, child, free to do as you please. But I can say this much for Scratch. He’s a good lad and he won’t lead you astray which is more than I would say for nearly any other man you could find.”
“He’s not a man,” she grumbled.
“No, he’s not, and you are not a woman,” he replied. Her face burned red. I thought for a moment she would ride away, but she didn’t. “Stick with us and you will turn into one.” His voice was not a promise, but a warning.
The journey to Last Gate, as the village guarding the north gate into the wild is called, took some two markets, perhaps a day or two more. During this time Pascalli seemed driven to verify that I had learned anything in the last two winters. Although we kept up a maddening pace in his rush, each moment of it he prodded me to recount all he had taught, especially of the plants and creatures of the wild.
“We will be without civilization for a very long time,” he warned. “For much of that time you will be on your own, Scratch. Worse, you will be required to feed all of us, provide meat, especially fat, for the winter, and hides. You are responsible for the safety of Dina, or you will be when I am not around. We have much to do before the snows begin to fall, and now we will find out if you have been paying attention at all during our travels.”
“I can take care of myself, Pascalli,” said Dina. “I don’t need anyone watching me.”
Pascalli grinned, but he didn’t quite laugh. “Of course, but I will feel more comfortable knowing Scratch has learned at least something.”
Dina kept to herself when she was not busy navigating us along the road or rushing us through an imperial checkpoint. I finished her pair of boots by working under the stars or moon, and she accepted them with cautious gratitude, but I did not see her wear them. She spoke almost always to Pascalli, although I could tell there were a thousand questions burning behind her eyes. Pascalli continued to train me day after day with both sword and spear. Dina took little interest in my lessons.
“You can join us if you like, my dear,” offered Pascalli. “I’m sure your brothers showed you the use of the cutlass, but a little practice never hurt.”
“The bow is my weapon,” she said to Pascalli. “The weapon of a true huntress.”
“I can shoot,” I said, even though she was not looking at me.
“My family trains the greatest archers in the land. I learned to hunt when I learned to walk.”
I really wanted to bring that prideful chin down, just once. “Pick a mark,” I suggested.
“I’ve no need for childish games,” she replied.
“Too true,” agreed Pascalli, but with a wink in my direction. “We’ve no time for such frivolity just now.”
A few nights before we reached Last Gate we camped just off the imperial highway. Dina volunteered to take an equal watch with the rest of us, but I woke up early out of habit and joined her. Alone, in the dark, with the fire burning low I saw her eyes mix with confusion.
“What is it?” I asked. I hadn’t often spoken directly to her since Tarkin’s farm. Pascalli kept me busy. He was probably trying to keep us separated for a while in case there was any lingering animosity. I tried to smile. “I know you have a lot of questions. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Who are you?” she asked. “I have heard of Pascalli before, although I thought he was just a legend, but who are you?”
“Colter Halfspear,” I replied.
“Son of –“
I cut her off. “Kyven Halfspear. Yes.”
Her face filled with a kind of wonder I had never really noticed before. “If I had known,” she began, “I would have-“
Again I cut her off. “You would have been wrong. I was born the son of a farmer.” I did not look at her as I spoke, but I could feel her eyes on me. “I did not know my father well. I was born in a village in the eastern empire. I left behind my plow with the most bitter remorse. I hate fighting. I hate killing. Sometimes I think I hate Pascalli, but the truth is I would be lost without him.”
She sat quietly for a time, not daring to ask anymore questions.
“Do the boots fit properly,” I asked, more to break the silence than anything. She didn’t answer. “I’m glad you came along, it’s nice to have someone besides that old windbag.” She chuckled a little, and then after a few moments went to sleep.
In the morning I noticed that she was wearing her new boots, though she still had not decided if I was safe to speak to.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Five
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Three
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Posted by admin on May 16, 2009
So I came across this little online game the other day and I’m having a lot of fun with it. Its called My Brute. Basically you make a little character and then beat up everybody.
Naturally I named my character after Colter Halfspear the main character in my online novel. Amazingly enough he went undefeated in his first six bouts (you only get to do six the first day and then you have to wait), which I thought was pretty cool.
If you want to check it out go to http://colter-halfspear.mybrute.com/ If you decide to fight Colter you can become his student and gain experience and learn new skills.
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Posted by admin on May 15, 2009
Don’t worry about it.
I say that a lot.
What I mean is,
Ignore me while I
Gather my thoughts.
Don’t embarass me
Right now. I know
Its not your intent,
But I feel so ashamed
That you’ve uncovered
My heart. I just
Can’t bear for you to
Tear it. What?
You like me anyway?
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Posted by admin on May 13, 2009
There is a burning inside
of me. So unlike the heat
I felt before. It lends no
strength, no courage gives,
to conquer or to win.
Driven, I am mad with fire
almost. But only close.
No power, no force, only
longing to douse the flame.
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Posted by admin on May 11, 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.
I worked at the forge until late in the evening. I found Tarkin, Pascalli, and Dina just finishing a fine meal. “Sit down, lad,” invited Tarkin. “You’ve worked yourself over-hard since you came. I can never repay such kindness. Enjoy some of this roast.”
I knew that I smelled of the forge and that my unwashed face must have appeared rather unruly to Dina. I became conscious for the first time of how graceful she truly was. She had tied her hair in a tight knot at her neck. Her eyes were a penetrating shade of jade, almost like a cat’s that still glared at me across the table. In her boots she stood as tall as me. I noticed that she kept her cutlass and bow close by.
“I believe that you have not been properly introduced,” said Pascalli casually. “This is my knight and protector, Sir Lanseg.” She nodded. “And this is Dina, third daughter of Lord Taradurk.” I bowed deeply, remembering my manners.
I had not learned to speak with much grace and I felt my cheeks flush, so I did the only thing my mouth was good for and stuffed it with food.
“Her ladyship has come to avenge the loss of the blacksmith, Sir Lanseg,” said Tarkin. “She is a very great hunter of evil, both of men and creatures.” The farmer seemed genuinely excited about the arrival of that surly girl. “She was just telling us of a particularly nasty creature. Please continue.”
“There really isn’t much more to it,” she replied. “We came upon them just after dawn and slew them quickly.”
“What sort of creatures were they?” asked Tarkin.
“Beasts that walk like men, with horns and claws. One had the head of a dog, the other the head of a goat. Both were covered in black fur and scales.”
I opened my mouth to say Kaarum, but caught Pascalli’s eye and stuffed it with food instead.
“When was this?” asked Pascalli.
“Two markets ago, near the great wall,” she replied.
“Do you hear that Lanseg?” he said. I nodded. “We will have to make haste. We must be at our destination before winter arrives and already the hills grow dangerous.”
“After we solve the murder,” I said bluntly.
“Oh, of course,” he continued casually. “We were just discussing the matter when you arrived. I have done some scouting, and I believe we will be able to take care of that problem without too much trouble in the morning. Then it will be a small matter for the farm to find a new smith and we can be on our way.”
“Where are you going?” asked Dina.
“Why, to Darnuth Keep, my dear,” said Pascalli as casually as if we were taking a summer stroll to go fishing. My jaw dropped. My fork dropped. I did not have the presence to even hide my surprise my stuffing my mouth again. Winters now of traveling in secrecy and he just spouted it off.
“You are joking of course,” replied Dina, her voice betraying her shock. “That place is haunted, filled with deadly evil beasts. Legend has it that it was cursed from the breaking and can never be made whole again.”
“Never is a very long time,” said Pascalli. “Despite the dangers we are going there. I am surprised at you, Dina, frightened of mere stories when you have yourself fought and conquered evil. I should think you would want to come with us.” Now I really was struggling to keep myself composed. The last thing I wanted along was a silly girl who couldn’t take care of herself, let alone help out in a tight spot. But my fears were unfounded.
“I have other duties,” she replied. “I am not always free to chase my quarry or to follow fools into darkness.”
“Of course,” replied Pascalli, and as far as we were all concerned the matter was closed. The conversation turned to more mundane topics until I drifted to sleep at the table from exhaustion.
The morning found us looking for over-sized gopher holes. “What we are looking for, are holes about this large,” described Pascalli very carefully. He held his hands apart to form a circle about the size of my head. “They will be surrounded by the burrowed out dirt, and probably by a sort of yellow slime or yellow dirt. I have already marked three of them, but there should be a few more, possibly as many as ten or twelve.”
“What do we do when we find them,” I asked.
“Just mark them with a stick, like this, and a bit of cloth.” He handed each of us a few strips of cloth. “Whatever you do, do not put your hand or foot inside one of these holes! The creatures inside can be very dangerous, as you will soon see.”
As Pascalli had guessed, the work was relatively quick and easy. Both Tarkin and I had experience hunting vermin of this sort in the fields, so we knew what signs to look for. Dina learned quickly what we were searching for, and in less than an hour we had all nine burrows marked.
Pascalli gathered us together with several of the other farm workers. “Now for the fun part,” he said. Each of you put a generous amount of this powder down a hole, all except one hole, which Lanseg and Dina will watch with their bows.” He passed a generous round of reddish powder to eight different willing parties. “When I give the signal, put your torches to the powder. Mind you be careful, and if you see any creature coming out of the hole run back away and call out for assistance.”
“What are we to do?” asked Dina.
“Shoot them as they come out, of course.” Pascalli winked. “I did say this was the fun part, didn’t I. Oh, but be careful not to get bitten. I believe you will find that they move spectacularly fast when frightened, and their venom is quite deadly.”
Just as planned, eight torches set off fire and smoke in unison and a few short seconds later out crawled seven enormous lizards. I call them lizards but truly they were more like giant centipedes with lizard-like heads. They sported just one vicious fang, almost like a horn. Their mouths opened with rages of fear, pain and anger as they emerged, and their bulbous eyes blinked in the morning sun. One by one we shot them with our arrows as they emerged. Most of them required more than one shot to stop. They had some inner desire to keep moving, to keep attacking that went far beyond normal instinct. The last one very nearly reached Dina’s legs before I put an arrow through its eye. She gave me a grudging thank you, and turned to survey the situation.
After a few moments, the fury was over and I began skinning one of the creatures. “What could you possibly want with that,” asked Dina, a look of disgust on her face.
“New boots,” I suggested, indicating my worn footwear. I’m not sure what made me continue, “I can make a pair for you if you’d like.” The words seemed to escape my lips before I knew I was even speaking.
She looked at first taken aback, and then wary, then replied, “I’m sure you’ll be long gone before you can finish them. Besides I have business.”
“Then I will send them to your father as a trophy of his daughter’s triumph.” To my surprise there was no note of mockery in my voice. She had done very well that day and I did want to make up.
“Thank you,” she stammered. I believe that was the first time someone had sincerely complimented her in her life, if not, it was certainly the most powerful. She was used to the idle prattle of hangers-on and the expected kindnesses of servants.
“Taking trophies already I see,” interrupted Pascalli. “Wonderful. I could use a new belt, but mind the fangs and let me know if you see any of their eggs.”
“I’ll be careful,” I grumbled. “The hides are already spoken for.”
“Oh well, another time then,” responded Pascalli cheerfully. “Ho, Tarkin, come see what we’ve managed.” The farmer was already halfway to us of course. “Now mind you that we may not have gotten all the eggs. If we didn’t you’ll see a few young come out in one or two markets. The young will be looking for mice or frogs, whatever they can get. I suggest you set some traps around the burrows at night. Go ahead and plug as many as you can.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Four
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