The Writing and Thoughts of Kelly D. Tolman. “The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep” my Fantasy Novel, as well as humorous poetry and other poetry, science fiction and fantasy stories, as well as general writing and blogging information.
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.
Beneath Darnuth Keep lies a vast maze of passages and chambers, each originally built with a purpose long forgotten. Long since, those passages were covered in darkness and lost to human memory. We found them still and quiet. Fear gripped the occupants as they battled a silent war for survival in a place with few resources. I recognized immediately that we would be short of water and food without luck.
“You will probably need to try to gather water from the air,” suggested Pascalli. “As for food, we have some and the rest will be luck.”
The absence of light was unimaginable. Though I had lived with the Veldmen, delved in their caverns and dwelt underground for a long period of time, I did not expect that darkness. The thick blackness surrounded, smothered, threatened to completely consume us. I had no idea that such dreadful horror existed. The feeble glow of our lantern did little to push back the shadows.
Our first encounter came upon us suddenly. Though my senses were sharpened from long summers of careful travel and study I was not prepared when an unseen attack suddenly hit our lantern and I found myself facing an unknown foe in complete darkness. Not only was I completely blind, but whatever danger waited ahead of us came silently.
True horror grasped me. I felt as helpless as a babe. At my side Pascalli made no move, no sound. With great care and a steady motion I brought my spear to bear. I gripped the shaft and as I did a calm fell over me, for I had trained many times blindfolded or with my eyes closed. In that moment I closed my eyes and shut off the world of sight. I took a deep breath, slowly. Quite suddenly I caught the scent of our attacker.
Though it feared our light and could hear our every move, after long winters of solitude the beast no longer recognized its own scent, which reminded me of the smoke from burning buffalo chips.
The attack on the lantern had been sudden and precise, but there was no immediate follow up. I surmised that it had thrown or shot something at the lantern, and therefore must move closer. I took a half step backwards and away from Pascalli, putting a little distance between us.
I concentrated for but a moment, to beg the air to make a slight breeze so that we might be upwind of our adversary. Almost instantly the air gently began moving past my face, and I caught that odor again. Also on that breeze I caught a faint whisper of breath, more nasally and louder than Pascalli. If I could hear the breathing it must be very close now.
With a prayer to Tylos I thrust my spear in the direction of the sound, hoping Pascalli would not be in the way. The wizard, who was more adept than myself at stumbling in the dark, had created even more space between us, and just as I thrust I heard the dull thump of his staff connecting with something. My spear caught flesh, but any damage done was hard to assess, as my enemy remained utterly silent.
“Make a light,” said Pascalli. “If they are any still alive they will know where we are anyway.”
“The lantern is broken,” I replied.
“Use your head boy,” retorted Pascalli. “Or better yet use magic and that silly rock of yours. Heat it up enough to glow.”
By now I was so used to Pascalli’s remarks that I didn’t waste any time on anger. Instead I heated the rock until it glowed a dull red, though I sent it to hover an arms length away from me in case anything should try to attack it the way they had struck down the lantern.
By the dim light of the stone I could tell that the lantern had been hit with a small rock, probably a piece of rubble from some fallen wall. I said as much to Pascalli, and he replied, “Petrified dung.”
I don’t know that he saw my incredulous look in the half-light, but I held my tongue. The attack destroyed the lantern beyond repair. Not far away lay the body of one attacker. Its body was covered with green scales, and the short, squat creature reminded me of the Barak-dun. But it did not bleed red, but rather a green slime oozed from its wounds, and its eyes reflected a pale yellow.
“There will be more,” said Pascalli. “This kind is capable of breeding.”
Naturally Pascalli was right. Whatever those creatures were, they had multiplied tremendously in the darkness, and at every turn for what seemed like an eternity we crept along step by step expecting yet another attack. They huddled in the shadows, afraid of any light we brought, and attacked without warning.
Although we found many lanterns hung along the walls or from the ceiling most of them had been broken long before. The lamps were supplied with oil by some intricate system of pipes, but without wicks or shades, most could not function. Those that we could use we lighted, leaving a dim trail behind us.
“It will take a long time to clear this area this way,” I complained at some point.
“We aren’t here to clear the cellars,” stated Pascalli. “We’ve much more important business at hand.”
“And what would that be?” I asked.
“There is a curse upon this place, which does not belong here. Surely you have felt it,” he replied.
I had felt something malevolent since we entered the darkness. The lamps we lit gave off far too little light, and I was becoming more discouraged with each step.
“How will we lift the curse,” I asked.
“How should I know,” laughed Pascalli. “I’ve never been here before.”
I’m certain he winked at me in the darkness. I only half believed him, but because I had never known him to lie, I decided we were in more trouble than I had first guessed.
A mixture of the scaly green-blooded creatures we had first encountered, and a more tame variety of twisted animals occupied the first rooms. At least one boarger had ventured into the darkness, and a few large cats. In general the animals left us alone so long as we did not bother them. We would have time to come back and trap them or hunt them if we needed to later.
I can but imagine the countless hours that must have been spent carving and building these vast corridors. By comparison, the castle above us was a relatively small dwelling. The complex of tunnels and rooms loomed nearly as large as the city above us. Here and there water had been channeled down to run into pleasant fountains. These were always closely guarded, and our brief moments of respite were hard won against those who protected their way of life.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
Firelight reflected dimly from Garen’s face as he peered out from the deep woodland shadows. He tipped his hat lower to cover more of his face. In the meadow blazed a large fire, shedding a reddish hue across the glen. Around the fire a slim figure spun and swirled sharply, casting faint reflections of sliver buckles out into the night. From his place in the trees, Garen couldn’t see the figure’s face; only the buckles and the dance. The rhythm was almost hypnotic, the movement delicate yet complicated and intricate, following the subtle cadences of the evening breeze as image shifted through the forest boughs. Garen lost track of the pattern quickly as his gaze became welded to the willowy figure. Without thinking, he felt himself drawn toward the dance, and took one step out of the shadows towards the fire. The dancer made a last turn, and brought herself face to face with him, but when she saw the intruder, she let out a gasp and fled the meadow. Garen watched as she left; still captivated by the magic of the moment before he too finally turned and left.
In the blackness of the forest, Garen felt his palms grow sweaty as he reflected on the image of the dancer before the fire. He wandered slowly through the forest until he finally came to his own camp. Garen his father stooped over the fire, cooking the evening meal. “Didn’t find much in the way of firewood, I see,” said the grizzled man when he saw his son.
“I saw something tonight,” began Garen quietly.
“We all see things sometimes,” responded his father, handing him a plate of stew. “What was it?”
“There was a woman dancing around a fire in the evening light, but when I came near she ran off, like she was frightened of an ordinary woodcutter.” Garen took a mouthful of the stew and began to chew without tasting it.
“Really, now.” Garen’s father contemplated his son, and said, “you don’t suppose it was a wil o’ wisp do you? There are a lot of strange things out there, some of them just illusions sent to bend our minds.”
“No, father, she was very real.”
“Then what are you going to do about it, son. You can’t just go chasing vanishing females in the night. Better to think on it after a good meal and a good night’s sleep.”
Garen took his father’s words to heart, and ate the rest of his meal in silence, and bedded down without commenting on the scene again. But the image continued to return in his dreams, the dance, the shifting pattern and then the one shadowy glimpse of that mysterious face just before it vanished into the shadows.
The morning labor was much more monotonous than usual for Garen. Although he had been a woodsman all his life and he enjoyed the time he spent alone or with his father in the wild, that day he found something missing. “Pining away for the shadowy lass, are you,” said his father when he noticed Garen slacking in his labor. “Worry about the day’s work, son, and tackle the mysteries of the night another time.”
But Garen couldn’t clear his mind of the rhythm of her feet, or her swaying to the silent music of the forest. “I’m sorry father, but I just can’t forget what I saw. There was a look about her that I’ve never seen before. It was something sad, horrible. But beautiful too.”
“A forest spirit, son, forget her and be happy with the good things you have here. Tomorrow we’ll go into town to sell what we’ve gathered so far, and you’ll see that there are other girls to look at.”
That evening Garen returned to the spot where he had seen the dance. Once more the fire burned dimly in the darkening forest shadows, and once again the seeming patternless dance began. Garen watched, enchanted for several moments as she spun, slowly at first, and then more quickly and surely about the ever changing flames. Almost as if part of the fire, her body turned and twisted dangerously, and once more Garen was drawn from his hiding place beneath the darkened boughs. Three thoughtless steps, and he had crossed the clearing, and of their own accord his feet joined hers, marking the pattern, and for a few brief moments they danced beneath the rising moon. When the rhythm stopped, they found themselves standing breathless in front of each other, their faces filled with fear and wonder.
“Who are you,” asked Garen when he finally found the ability to speak again.
“My name is Arieta. I come here to dance for my mother. She was a daughter of the forest, and promised that if I would remember her, she would protect me. Do you come from the village?”
“No, I am a simple woodsman,” responded Garen as he looked for the first time into her dark eyes, and reached out to touch the dark hair that fell straight and soft to her shoulders. “My father and I gather wood and hunt or fish to sell what we find to the villages around. Why is your dance so sad.”
Arieta dropped her eyes quietly, and Garen felt his heart thump. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Arieta had already begun to cry softly, and turned to face the fire. In a very quiet voice between sobs she began, “I come to mourn my parents. They died from the sickness that passed through the villages. Now I care for the house of my brother. But he is a cruel man.”
Suddenly they heard the sound of a branch cracking in the distance, and Arieta’s eyes once more rolled with fright. “He is coming,” she said, “quick, you must leave.”
“But . . .” stammered Garen uselessly as she pushed him toward the edge of the clearing. “Where can I find you,” he whispered, but it was no use. Arieta had already returned to the fire, and begun the dance again. Wordlessly, Garen turned and went to find his father.
This time his father was waiting with their supper already prepared. “Visiting your dancing shadow again?”
“Her name is Arieta, father,” said Garen defensively. “She dances to mourn her parents who died in the plague that has cursed these villages from time to time.” Garen fell sadly silent with a dark frown on his face.
“So, she is no spirit after all.” The grizzled woodsman recognized the pain on his son’s face, and also fell silent. They ate together in silence for several moments before anyone spoke again. “Arieta is a gypsy name, son. What did she look like?”
“She has dark skin and dark hair, like the gypsies, father.” Garen looked into the fire, and chewed his food thoughtfully. “I know that the gypsies aren’t accepted in the villages father. . .”
“Not everyone thinks alike, son. Don’t worry about the shade of her skin so much as the nature of her heart. Tomorrow we will go into the village and see what we can find.”
Garen’s heart was heavy as they brought their goods to the village, as he knew that he would not have the chance to see Arieta that evening. The Fair had arrived once again to celebrate the year’s harvests, and everyone had turned out to celebrate with the farmers. Garen’s father decided to sell to their usual buyer, a middle-aged merchant who in turn distributed the goods to the villages further down the river. As usual, the price was only moderate, but more than enough to provide the two with the few supplies the forest hadn’t given them. By noon their work was complete.
“How about a turn around the Fair grounds to see the games, and maybe buy something other than new ax blades,” asked Garen’s father. Garen’s eyes lit up at the thought of spending a little time in the village. He wanted to look around, and maybe find a small gift for Arieta. “You go on alone, I’ve got another man I want to see on the other side of town.”
“You mean the pub,” laughed Garen, and his father smiled broadly.
“You can find me there a little later if you like, you know the place.”
Garen wandered off quietly, passing the booths of fresh produce that had once seemed so exciting. A few games were being played by stray children, and a strange tune wafted over the crowd from a young group of musicians. The music seemed almost discordant, yet there was a familiar rhythm about it. On the far edge of the fair grounds, Garen found a brightly painted wagon where an old gypsy lady was telling fortunes. The woman had a familiar look about her eyes, and Garen caught himself wandering toward the wagon.
“Shall I tell your fortune, child,” said the woman when Garen stopped and looked at her. “A good fortune you must have, one so strong and young. Surely there are great things ahead for you.”
Garen smiled at the woman, and nodded, “I’ll hear my fortune, though I doubt you’ll find much glory in it.”
Garen followed her into the little red and yellow tent set apart by the gypsies, his eyes darting every direction. A little wooden table was set in the middle of the tent behind a low stool. A worn tablecloth covered the table, and a large crystal ball was set up in the middle. “Be seated, child,” said the woman in soft, yet commanding tones, and Garen silently sat down.
As his eyes adapted to the dark, Garen picked out the frayed ends of the purple table covering, and the scratches on the crystal’s wooden stand. The stiff chair bit into his backside and Garen felt immediately out of place. He stared around in quiet confusion at the dimly lit, yet easily discernible tent interior. The carpet was almost shiny orange and yellow, and the walls were a contrast of green and purple that had been patched in several places with pieces of plain homespun cloth.
“The forces of the universe are gathered here to tell what might come,” intoned the woman in a quiet chant. The light in the tent became even dimmer, and Garen felt lost in strange shadows. A dim glow started at the base of the crystal ball, and began to brighten throughout the rest of the room. Garen crouched closer to the table, and leaned in to see the ball. “The power of destiny has been called,” continued the fortune teller, “look into the ball, and see what may become.” Garen peered into the soft glow of the crystal, but he couldn’t really see anything. “I see fame and fortune,” the woman said in a voice with a strange garbled accent, “greatness and riches beyond the simple life you have enjoyed.”
Garen continued to look into the ball, but his mind began to wander a little. The woman’s voice became a blur similar to that of the glowing ball as she continued in the strangely accented account of his future glory. Suddenly a movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a dark figure duck into the recesses of the tent with a brief flash of silver buckles. Garen stood up quickly, and dashed after the shadow, shaking the table violently, and nearly toppling the crystal ball on its stand. “Arieta,” he called, and she paused for a moment, half turning back to look at him. “Wait a moment, Arieta.” The fortuneteller stood up behind him with a strange, confused smile.
“Do you know this boy,” asked the woman.
“Oh, no,” answered Arieta, but her eyes gave away the lie. The fortuneteller raised a brow, and Arieta continued, “we met in the forest, Maelena, I was dancing the mourning of my parents.”
Maelena turned to Garen, “did you see her in the forest, child.”
“Yes, we met in the forest,” answered Garen, his voice choking a little, “we danced together under the rising moon.”
“Where did you learn the mourning dance,” questioned the fortuneteller, her voice taking on a tone of bitterness.
“My feet moved of their own accord,” said Garen looking at the ground, “I didn’t understand it all myself, I just followed the music the forest played.” Garen lifted his head and looked into Arieta’s eyes.
“Then you weaved the spell of willows to deceive him in the shadows,” said Maelena in a stern voice as she stared with cold eyes at Arieta.
“No,” mumbled the girl, her face downcast.
“What?”
“It was a simple dance of mourning. Though my heart desired comfort, the dance was simple. Nature . . . my mother’s spirit . . . the magic just happened,” stammered Arieta defensively.
Maelena’s face changed suddenly and her smile beamed brightly. “I just wanted to be sure, child. These are the true forces of the universe, Garen, not just the gibberish of fortune tellers.”
Garen reached out and took Arieta’s hand, squeezing it gently, and pulled her closer. “I don’t know what has caused it, but I love you,” he said.
A rough voice came from outside the tent, “Arieta, Arieta, where are you? The chores are not done yet for this morning.”
Arieta’s face lost color at the sound of the voice, and she looked around the tent for a shadow to hide in. “What is it,” asked Garen.
“Styven,” answered Maelena, “Arieta’s guardian and brother. You will have to speak with him if you really think you love her.”
A dark face with long mustaches poked through the flap at the back of the tent. “There you are, sister. What are you doing here?” Styven’s voice was tainted with unconcealed anger. Styven noticed Garen holding his sister, and the scowl on his face deepened, “who is this?”
Maelena reached a soothing arm out and pulled Styven into the tent. She gestured toward Garen, and explained, “Garen was brought by the powers of nature to ease your sister’s mourning.”
“The only forces of nature are those we create and control ourselves. His kind took our parents away. I will not allow this one to also take my sister. Come, Arieta.” Styven’s voice carried a tone of finality, and Garen had no response.
“I can’t leave him, brother,” said Arieta, “we were brought together for a purpose. Would you deny the blessings of our parents’ spirits.”
“That is nonsense for fortune tellers and fools. I forbid you to be with this creature.” Styven grabbed Arieta’s arm, and pulled her roughly toward the back of the tent. Garen reacted instinctively, and swung wildly at the other man’s face. His blow connected, and the gypsy fell back, tearing a hole in the tent and scattering Maelena’s mystic symbols.
“No,” called Maelena as she stepped in front of Garen, “do no more violence here, please. There are laws and customs. You can not take her by violence, and she would not go with you if you tried. Styven will set the terms, and if you accept and meet his terms, Arieta may choose you. By custom, he cannot forbid her, but you must be very careful.”
Styven fumbled his way out of the torn tent, and looked angrily at Garen. “Custom says you may meet the terms,” he said angrily. Styven grabbed Arieta and pushed her roughly out the back of the tent. “Come to your place in the forest tonight, and we will discuss the terms.” With that Styven turned and disappeared in the jumble of gypsy wagons.
Garen grumbled angrily to himself, and turned to leave the tent. “Garen,” said Maelena, “he will not give her up lightly, and although she loves you, she still loves him too. His terms will be difficult for both of you.”
Garen looked soberly at the gypsy woman. “I know.”
“Styven is a sort of magician among us, no matter what he says is about fortune teller nonsense,” continued the Maelena, “he may try to use certain spells.” Maelena held up a long dagger with leaves etched into the blade. “This will break any spells he weaves with his magic. It won’t affect any other spells, or be more than a knife if he doesn’t use magic, but it might help. Be very careful.”
Garen left the tent with a heavy heart, his head down as he wandered across the village to the pub where his father waited. The fair continued in all its frivolity throughout the afternoon. Gay tunes played in the evening air, and all around people danced merrily or played at the games. A bawdy song rolled out with the warm light from the pub, and the strong scent of alcohol and tobacco reminded Garen that time was short. He found his father with a group of local farmers whose faces were familiar from past fairs, singing merrily over pints of ale. Garen was handed a mug almost immediately, and was pushed into a stool beside his father.
“Welcome, son, and join the revelry. The harvest has been good to all this season . . .” but the merry look faded quickly when he saw his son’s eyes. “What is it, boy.”
“You can guess, father,” said Garen. His father nodded and frowned. “I have something to do tonight. It might be dangerous, I’m not sure.” His father looked into his eyes, smiled softly, and nodded again. Without touching the ale, Garen left the pub quietly, and wandered into the darkening forest. Behind him the party only grew louder.
The shadows lengthened significantly as night approached, until Garen could barely see to place one foot in front of the other. When he finally arrived at the clearing, the moon was high in the starless sky, shining only dimly behind the thin clouds. A fire burned brightly in the center of the clearing and a dull red light reflected like blood from Styven’s face as he waited for Garen’s approach. Behind him huddled Arieta in the black mourning gown, her hands bound by a white cloth.
As Styven began to speak, his voice was dark and menacing, and the fire seemed to burn hotter and higher as he continued. “So, you would have my sister, the gypsy princess, go with you to the life of a simple woodsman, and forsake the tradition of her people. Arieta, do you want this?”
The raven-haired woman looked defiantly into the eyes of her brother. “You know that I do. I cannot deny what has happened, or what I feel.”
“And you, woodsman,” sneered Styven, “are you prepared to pay the price.”
Garen stared defiantly back at the gypsy man, giving only a slight nod to indicate that he was prepared to accept the challenge.
“Very well,” continued Styven, “the terms are simple. We among the gypsies have a magical, a bond with nature. Within each of us is the spirit of a protecting force, which can change us and bond us forever with nature. If Arieta is allowed to bring out magic within herself, and bond completely with nature, you may have her.”
“What will happen to her?”
Arieta spoke up, tears coming to her eyes. “I don’t know, Garen, but I will be changed forever, bound to the forest.”
“Do you agree,” snarled Styven, those are the terms.
Garen looked away from the angry gypsy, and his eyes met Arieta’s. The tears had dried on her cheeks, but the look of fear was obvious. He could see something else in that gaze, though, the unmistakable look of passion, and Garen felt the sweat forming on his palms. “Agreed,” they said in unison, and Styven stepped back in surprise.
“Very well, I will begin the spell, but Arieta must finish it.” Styven began to chant in a low voice, and did a quick dance around the fire. As his voice oscillated, the fire rose and fell, and his body moved in a smooth rhythm. Seemingly from nowhere Arieta’s voice joined his in a high discordant tone. As the flames rose, and the red glow brightened, their voices formed a cacophonous union until Styven’s dance came to an end, and he collapsed in exhaustion to the ground. Arieta’s song continued to rise, and a soft blue glow, like an intense reflection of the moon surrounded her. As if compelled by an outside force, she lifted herself from the ground, and stood, looking into Garen’s eyes. The song rose higher, until the notes were like birds crying in the night, and the blue light became too bright to look into. With a flash, the crescendo died slowly into a lower hum until the light dissipated and the song was finished. Where Arieta had been, a beautiful white bird flapped its wings nervously, and then flew over to Garen. He took the bird on his arm, and as tears streamed down his face whispered, “Arieta.”
On the ground Styven writhed in perverse joy. “Behold, your love, the dancing bird of youth.” The gypsy’s face broke into a vicious grin, until he realized that his words meant nothing to the woodsman. Garen stood, enchanted, a look of joy playing on his face. Styven stood angrily, and let out a rough grunt. “You will never have her,” he cried, and leapt toward Garen. The woodsman turned to face the attacker, but he was too late. Styven tackled him, and they flew together toward the fire. Garen turned, and rolled away from the flames, preparing to defend himself, but Styven was no longer moving. Carefully the woodsman rolled the gypsy over, and found Maelena’s knife lodged near Styven’s heart. Behind him he heard a quiet sob. Garen turned to see Arieta kneeling and crying in the shadows.
“The spell is broken,” said Garen, as he embraced his beloved.
“Yes, and no. Under the light of the moon I am free to roam these woods, but I can never leave them, and when the moon is gone, I will be the dancing bird again.” Arieta sobbed, but Garen tenderly wiped the tears away, and embraced his dancing bird.
Two days without food is bad; even one always hurts. By the third day the headache is usually gone and the pangs lessen, but those first six days were utter agony.
For want of bread I left my home. The cottage itself was nothing special; little more than a few boards held together with mud and false hopes. The captain came, and promised bread, so mother put me out of doors with our last half loaf. The captain laughed, but he didn’t send any of us away. Even starved farmers in drought-ridden desolation can carry spears.
The early summer sun was my cloak and cap, while the stars and moon formed the walls of my tent. At once we marched from the tiny collection of ruined houses I had called home. Nearly every man from the village marched with us, and although I was the youngest of the lot, I could tell they all felt as thrown away as I.
The first night was not so bad. There were plenty of others willing to talk, and even some willing to share a sip of wine with an outcast boy. I took what they offered, and listened to their stories. Only a few of us had ever been beyond the last of the fields, but even they did not know the reason for the battles. “There must be trouble in the capital,” was all they could tell me.
“Is that where the king lives?” I questioned.
“Aye,” responded Syven, the shopkeeper, “and all of the princes and lords you could imagine. Not like Craverton. In Harperston, there are merchants and tradesmen, and people so wealthy they ride in golden carriages, and drink fine wine all day long.”
My eyes grew wide at the tales of fabulous golden carriages, and my bread turned to sawdust in my mouth at the thought of fine soft pastries and wonderful golden goblets.
The first day, a corporal in chain armor handed out long wooden spears, and exhorted, “these will save your lives. Obey the captain, and the horde will be conquered.” I didn’t have time to ask the corporal who the horde were, or why we were fighting.
The captain ordered us to march, and we continued on the north road, past the struggling fields of grain, and into the hills. When we reached the hills, the fields disappeared completely, and tall forests of dense trees surrounded us on all sides. The road continued north, and we marched in columns, each man carrying his own spear, and looking as much like a soldier as he could. Towards nightfall, the captain ordered us to create an encampment.
“You men from the village,” he growled, looking at our group of recruits, “you will be known as Eagle platoon. Anik will be your leader,” the captain pointed at the corporal, “do what he tells you to do. Is there a blacksmith among you?” Garold, the village smith raised his hand and stepped forward. “You will not be part of this platoon. Bring one assistant, and come with me.”
Garold looked around our group of village outcasts, and then stopped at me. “Come with me, boy, and do what you are told.”
I nodded, and followed Garold to where the captain waited. The captain nodded to the corporal, and then left the Eagle platoon. We followed him towards the center of the encampment, and he explained to Garold the company’s need for a blacksmith. “We have been without a smith for nearly a month. The last battle was very costly. The dark horde continues to grow in strength while our army continues to slowly weaken. We managed to salvage some equipment, and we took all of the tools from the shop in the village. We will get more iron with time. For now, we need more spears, and our swords need repair. As long as we march, you will march close to my guard. We cannot afford to lose another smith. Your assistant will be trained to handle arms when he is not with you. While we camp you will work. If you must work all night, then so be it. You may sleep in the wagons while we march.” We reached a wagon with a team of oxen nearby. “Set up your shop here. You will have to work as best you can. Treat the horses before the men, and the officers before the recruits. Have you ever made armor before?”
“I have repaired armor before, but I have never made it from the start,” replied Garold.
“And swords?”
“I have made some, a long time ago. I have been with an army before.”
“Make sure the officers have the best equipment you can provide.” As the Captain spoke, another man joined us. His hair was gray and curly beneath a round metal cap. “This is the Quartermaster, Ben. You will do what he tells you to do.” The captain left.
Garold waited, neither smiling nor frowning, until Ben spoke. “You will work at night while we are camped. The animals will be cared for first, then the officers. In two days we will reach a friendly town, where you will find better equipment.”
Ben walked away and Garold told me to help him unload the wagon. We began moving equipment and set up a makeshift forge as best we could. “All we will be able to do, for a while, is sharpen knives and shoe horses,” said Garold. “Pay attention to what I do and say and you will learn what it takes to be a good smith.”
I nodded despite not understanding.
“There will always be wars as long as there is evil in the world, boy, and as long as there are wars soldiers will need blacksmiths. You will learn soon enough that it is better to forge the blade than it is to wield it. You will thank me for saving your life.”
I nodded and said simply, “Yes sir.”
“Do what your officers tell you to do,” he continued as we worked. “How old are you now? Sixteen?”
“Thirteen.”
“Very young. Anyway, do what the officers tell you to do. Learn how to fight; to defend yourself, but do not get caught up in the battles. These men will die because they will fight. We will survive because we will not fight.”
I listened to Garold as he talked, not understanding half of what he said. I did not feel like speaking, so I listened as we worked. Late into the night, by the light of a lantern, he showed me all about horseshoes and all about sharpening knives. I learned about metal, swords, and about his times in the village. Garold knew my mother and my father.
Before daylight we packed everything back into the wagon and prepared to move on with the company. I had never felt so tired as I did after that first night and when the last of the equipment was in the wagon I fell asleep almost immediately.
The second day continued like the first. We marched, and as we marched, Garold and I slept. At times I woke and saw the dust and the soldiers and wondered why we marched. After noon Ben ordered me to drive the wagon. “Just follow the wagon in front of you and stop when they stop.”
Ben was about to leave when I asked, “What is the horde?”
Ben laughed. “The horde is evil, boy.” Then the stout man turned serious and looked at me in the eyes. “A thousand, thousand years ago the wizards conducted experiments in mountain castles far to the north, then they disappeared. The kingdoms to the north died. Starvation spread and the wizards were not heard of, except in stories, where they appear mysteriously to play tricks on good men. One of their number, Pasav, is said to wander the northern wastes. Now monsters issue from the mountains and destroy the towns and villages. The horde is a collection of these strange creatures. If we do not stop them, they will overrun all of our lands. The king has summoned armies from all corners to stop the horde.”
Twisted images of dark shadows crept over my mind as he spoke and I began to feel his fear grow in my heart.
There were no supplies the third day, so Garold and I performed our duties in hunger. My loaf of bread was long ago spent and I resorted to drinking water anywhere I found it.
By the fourth day, I found myself helping Ben during the day almost as much as I helped Garold at night. I slept when I could, and found my body growing weaker by the minute. When the company stopped on the fifth day I felt my spirits rise in hopes of a good meal and a warm place to sleep. Although we saw the village just a short distance away, we did not approach it, and I was not permitted to leave the camp.
A group of armored men on horses came into our camp on the afternoon of the fifth day, and a large man with a short beard went directly to the Captain’s tent. The rest of the horse soldiers stationed themselves outside the tent, and waited for their leader to return.
Another rider came a little while later and waved the guards aside with his hand. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and long beard.
Ben called me to assist him with the chores before I could see anything else, but he in turn was called away by the Captain before we had completed our tasks. I saw the last rider leave the Captain’s tent in a hurry. “Fools,” he said as he went, but he was gone before I could get a good look. When Ben returned, his face and voice were grim.
“The horde is heading towards this village. They will descend from the hills to the north, and overrun the village in the morning. Our general has developed a plan for the battle. We are to gather with the other foot soldiers to the west.”
The Captain had all of the men collected together shortly afterwards, and explained to us the situation. “We will strike the horde from the west, penetrating the flank, and throwing their ranks into disorder. After we attack, the Knights of our King will strike from the east, and together we shall drive a wedge between them. On the morrow, victory will be ours, and the horde shall be driven back into the pits of the north.”
The Captain’s voice gathered energy as he spoke, and the men’s spirits lifted. When he gave the order to march, everyone moved swiftly to obey, and before nightfall we were camped near the top of a hill to the north of the abandoned village below.
Night descended over the camp and the pit of my stomach had still not been filled. Exhaustion overcame me as I had never before felt. I collapsed in a tent near the wagon and did not stir until late the sixth day.
When I woke, the clatter of battle rang in my ears through the soft sound of falling rain. Men screamed and other things snarled. The ringing of metal on metal echoed and re-echoed in my head, mixing with the sounds of death and anger. I searched the barren camp for some spare crumb, but I found nothing. I drank from the tracks the wagons had left and shivered in the cold. Finally, without hope, I took up my spear and went to the top of the hill.
Below me the valley was a writhing mass of men and creatures. Black blood had turned the ground into gore and the gentle rain made the ground slippery and thick. The armies trampled the summer wheat beneath their feet. Untrained spears desperately attempted to hold back fangs and razor-sharp claws. At the bottom of the hill the Captain stood with his sword drawn, shouting orders, and urging the men to engage the enemy wherever possible. My heart sank and I could not bring myself to join the men in the field.
Across the valley, men on horses chased the horde from skirmish to skirmish. Everywhere the horses rode, fresh courage rose in the hearts of the men. I felt energy rising in my own weakened bones as I saw them ride. I was about to rush onto the field of battle when I discovered another great force. Far to the north, I saw a great black beast, dwarfing the horde around it, storm onto the field of battle. Around it fires sprang up and its roars and snarls could be heard easily from my position on the hill. Below me, the hearts of the soldiers faltered. They felt their empty stomachs and sore feet and their spears fumbled in their hands.
Seeing the new threat, the brave horsemen charged their way across the field of battle, leaving behind a trail of carnage. The details of the conflict were difficult for me to see through the rain and cold, but I knew when the general met the beast. A cry of anger rose from the horde, something like a thousand snarling, barking dogs, and the entire battle paused. Around the two, a wide circle opened and then, as if breathing out again, the battle re-commenced. The soldiers fought, and as they fought, the general seemed to gain strength. The horde weakened, but the huge beast seemed to ignore the fierce slashes of the horsemen’s swords.
Before the end of the afternoon, the general’s entire bodyguard had been slain. He fought alone and on foot against the giant beast. Exhausted men weakly lifted spears and swords to fend away the frenzied horde. Within moments, the general fell and the beast began to gorge itself on his crumpled form. The spearmen broke first and fled into the village or up the hill or simply fell where they were. Like a shiver, the fear rippled across the battlefield and men everywhere turned and fled.
In fear and confusion I gripped my spear, not knowing what else to do. Men fell beneath the hungry claws of the horde and within a few moments the black mass reached the desolate village.
When the first beastly form crossed the highway gate it was engulfed immediately in a searing flame. Snarls rang out as flames spread from that one form to every other member of the horde. Like a bright red wave the field became engulfed in fire. The rain turned to steam in the heat and I buried my head in my knees and held my breath to avoid the smell. Had I been able, I am sure I would have wretched a hundred times on the hillside.
When I stopped trembling I looked. Below the fields of wheat were ash and blood. Smoke rose and danced with the steam over the charred bodies of beasts and men. All around me I saw no one.
“You are safe now, boy,” came a deep voice from behind.
I started from my place and nearly fell with my spear down the hill. Behind me stood a tall man in a wide brimmed hat leaning on a sword in a fancy scabbard. I recognized his long beard and the tall horse beside him. I opened my mouth but no words came out.
“The horde is destroyed for a time,” he said. “We have been a long time trying to right our wrongs and today we managed a little. I am sorry that your general did not listen to my warning. Much death could have been avoided.”
I did not understand his words, but I could feel the kindness in them. Finally I muttered, “who are you?”
“Me?” he looked surprised. “I am one of the ancient power, come to dispel the evil we unleashed on this land so long ago. Your general . . .” the man stopped a moment, and looked at my face for the first time. “Of course you do not know your general,” he laughed. “I am a wizard. Pasav is my name. I have come to destroy the horde. What is your name?”
“Kyven,” I said. I looked into his eyes, and he seemed to read my very thoughts.
“Kyven, I have bread and cheese and many other good things for you. Come with me, and leave behind your blacksmith’s hammer. I will show you how to be a good man in the wide world, and how to best serve your village. You will not starve as long as you are with me, but you will earn your bread.”
With a gentle hand Pasav lifted me from the ground, and I let the spear fall. With a willing heart I left the battlefield, and returned only many years later to my village.
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 the towers of the keep first appeared through the forest canopy a stir of murmurs rustled through our group. Excitement and fear covered less powerful emotions, but all were affected in some way.
“Hardly looks touched by time,” commented Delvin.
“Keep to the group,” I warned. “The lower levels are still very dangerous. Wild animals and other things still stalk the streets. There are homes and land waiting in the higher areas, but it will take work to clear them.”
The city gate stood open as we approached. Pascalli watched us from the parapet overlooking the highway and waved a cheerful greeting. Twoleaf seemed surprised to see the wizard, though she didn’t say anything.
Pascalli appeared delighted that I had returned with a sufficient number of folk eager to make new lives for themselves. “This is quite a start, Scratch. Before long you’ll have yourself a proper domain.” I had no interest in having anymore domain then than the farm back in Dunston and I told him so. “Oh, Scratch, my boy, I’m afraid you’ve long outgrown your farm,” he said. “One day, perhaps, you shall return there, but when you do I think all you will find is sorrow.”
During my absence Pascalli spent a great deal of energy clearing out a living space within the palace. Most of the chambers, he explained, were unoccupied and left largely undisturbed, but many others had become the homes to the distorted remnants of ages past.
“There is something else that I was not expecting,” he said, his voice very grim. “I am not sure what it is, but the door to the lower levels, the area where the ancient wizards kept their magical secrets, is open but shrouded in darkness.”
“Have you been down there?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he winked. “I think it is something you will have to handle. Destroying the Kaarum is important, but clearing the evil from this place is why I brought you here. We should not delay any longer.”
I gave each family a house of their choosing, the order of choice by lottery. We allotted land according to profession and family size such that those who could produce food for us in the coming months had the most. I gave those who continued to demonstrate interest only in treasure the choice between establishing trade with the empire and systematically clearing the city building by building of unwelcome guests with a regular share of the profits to keep for themselves. I knew that most would not survive, but under Dina’s watchful eye I hoped they would at least do more good than harm. Laural found a sword and joined them, though her experience could hardly match any of them.
Our labor returned quick rewards. Though many of the fields in the valley had become overgrown and tangled, those nearest the city remained relatively clear and we were able to plow and plant these quickly. Within only a few markets’ time, we managed to settle all of the families into new homes. Though we continued to rely heavily on wild game for food, we planted gardens in the upper levels, and the fresh supplies from the south helped us all feel as if we were truly making homes rather than just camping in the wild.
Holding a spring celebration for so many people so far from the homes they had once known proved a strange experience for all involved. Everyone looked to me as not just a leader but also a king, though I had little experience organizing social affairs. “Let the women handle it,” advised Delvin. “Jiora’s already decided how it should be done, and I know Dina has her own ideas as well. Nod and smile, and you’ll be a happier man.”
We cleared the great hall at the palace and danced to tunes remembered from all across the empire. We used more of our flour and sugar than any of us felt was prudent, but nobody complained. The poor from every land love music and the old stories put into song. Delvin produced a small fiddle, and Jiora convinced me to teach Brevedia the dances we had danced in Dunston. Laural pulled me into a lively jig whose beat I did not recognize, but which was easy enough to learn. Twoleaf played the tune from her home in the far south, where none of the rest of us had ever visited.
As I sat and rested a new voice sprang up, slowly, but without effort. All eyes turned as one and fixed upon Dina as she startled our hearts with a slow but not quite melancholy song. She sang my father’s story as the great musicians in the imperial courts had sung it, though with unexpected passion and sorrow. At my side Laural turned and tried to ignore the song, but I felt myself drawn not only to the haunting music but also to the singer. Though she wore no stately dress, she could not hide her noble heritage. I watched and knew and felt and could not turn away from her.
Pascalli drew me aside after most of the settlers had gone. The only item of real interest we found in that time, aside from a few forgotten gold coins, were a pair of small gold rings, set with diamonds. They had been left untouched on the thrones in the great hall. He pressed the rings into my hand.
“They belong to you now,” he said. After a moment he added, “The time has come, Scratch, for you to come with me below. There are some evils that should not linger a moment longer than required, and this city holds some very ancient travesties.”
“Just us,” I asked.
“Bring anyone you like,” he responded. “I suggest you place your trust carefully. Remember our journey will take at least a five market, perhaps two, and the city will not rest in your absence. Some of the wilder ones may try to take advantage of our absence.”
I formed a small council to govern the city in my absence. Dina, who had been acting as my steward in everything, already seemed the natural choice to continue governing. Laural had also showed incredible energy and remarkable intelligence and had done very well leading a small group in the efforts to drive creatures from the city. She did not wish to sit in counsel. Instead she wanted to join me. “I would rather seek glory with you than stay here tending sheep,” she put it. I didn’t see the glory in going down a dark staircase to almost certain misfortune. On the farm we called that idiocy. Master Delvin agreed when I asked him, though he admitted he did not feel adequate to the post. I left the fortune of the city in their hands, hoping for the best. Halfway through spring with most of the planting completed I entered the darkness.
Once more, but not for the last time, I felt that I was leaving behind a home and family forever. I would miss Dina, and her eyes spoke the silent fear that I might not return to the sunlight world. In a way she was right, for I did not return the same young man as when I entered. Often as we hid in the silent darkness, resting, my thoughts returned to her. Indeed, I believe it was the memory of her face that saved me in my most difficult moment. Darkness has the power to change a soul either for great evil or great good. A man cannot pass through shadow unchanged, either he will shrink or grow.
The staircase seemed innocent enough. Behind a larder in a back corner of the castle stands a large hardwood door, neither oak nor of any wood I recognized. The door is very dark, nearly black in color. A large gold knocker in the shape of a dragon’s head hangs in the middle. Circling the knocker in gold Darkunder runes are the words (roughly translated) “Davmandius’ magical laboratory, enter those who would lose themselves.” I came to learn much later that the phrase “lose themselves” could have many meanings, from the simple “perish” or “die” to “be changed” or even “find meaning”. I am certain that Davmandius thought himself quite witty with the phrase’s many meanings. Probably he meant it a warning for others and a promise of new knowledge for himself.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
Days like this they let us wander the courtyard. I see the clouds sometimes. I look away from my shadow, up where the sun kisses the concrete towers, and a diamond wells in my eye and wastes itself on my face. Randy said we are all diamonds in the eyes of God. The warden had all the trees cleared here and I’ve been told not to talk about them or Randy. I don’t much, but sometimes when a voice touches me out of the spring breeze, or I catch the meadow larks in the fading sky.
Hard to say if we were pushed our or pulled in. I believe we just wanted to see the mountains, like always, so we went. Spent so long up there, poaching, living like Jeremiah Johnson, off the land, the moon and the stars and cloudy nights erased electric lights and T.V. Met a bear once, just like in the stories, only Randy and me. Damn near killed Toby. Toby was the dog, a little good for nothing mutt Randy insisted we bring along. Black and yappy, ate mushrooms, could always trust him to find good mushrooms. Me and Randy took off, but that mutt stayed and yapped; one swipe and no more yapping. Good thing it was just one swipe, or it would have been permanent.
Those were good days for us, living and breathing, no commercials or loud lights jumping out after bullfrogs in the dark. No more school teachers with their x’s and y’s and square roots of Shakespeare to interfere with hunting and fishing and watching out for Sasquatch. We moved the lodge after the incident with the bear. Its pretty hard to find a good place anymore, away from tourists, even then we had trouble, but we found a cliff spot, not far from High Lake, the nicest place in the world, and nobody ever came there, a bit of Eden lost by technology. Must have passed about ten or twelve years before anyone showed up, and like I always said, society is the cause of all our problems.
We heard society panting through the pines under the August sun, forming a mosquito trail two hundred yards long. Summer time shorts and shirts, and backpacks. How they convinced that woman to carry that much, I don’t know. The funny of it is that for all she carried they still couldn’t light a fire between them. Randy smelled perfume and clean skinned civilization. Womanscent on the mountain like a drug and he said, “been a long time since I had a swim, the lake looks nice under the stars,” and a lot of other similar trash.
“You’ll kill the fish,” I said, “I got long hair, and a long beard, but there are no twigs in my memory. People is trouble, Randy. You go to that lake, and the woods will cut you off permanent.”
Clouds slipped under the stars, but I was ready when the night barked out, and Toby nuzzled his way back from the lake shaking all over. I still wonder, did Randy walk up, hair matted with pine needles, smelling like Big Foot, just say “Howdy,” and they pulled out guns. Or did they laugh and smile because they were drunk and couldn’t see if it was a man or a bear or what, and tried to kill it before it killed them. Or maybe he had a beer with them before he forgot what society was and did something dumb, like the whole thing wasn’t dumb to start. He came back, said there had been trouble, like I didn’t know, and I knocked him down and called the dog, and walked away.
Ten more years passed until I walked into a logging camp they built that I didn’t know about. I got picked up but I didn’t say nothing to nobody, ‘till now. They say I killed Randy, but I know that it was just the diamonds inside him what he couldn’t find, so he done it himself. I know he watched the blushing clouds over the lake, and heard the lake spitting him out, the mountain rolling away, and he knew then he could never find his diamonds again, because they was streaming out his face already, so he done it. Me, I don’t want no trouble, so I don’t talk to nobody, be gone soon anyway.
Moira Hatfield twisted a shadow for the first time while watching television on her night off. She enjoyed working nights. Daylight offered so little for her imagination. Even as a child she never used the pink nightlight her parents gave her. Instead she preferred to let the subtle light of the stars and moon filter through her windows.
Moira pressed the mute on the remote and looked again at the corner of the table. No she wasn’t imagining it. The shadow actually lifted off the wood. Now that was cool, just the sort of thing her mother would warn her about.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s see if you can do anything else. How about a little twist?” The black fragment of nothing turned as she concentrated. Moira felt a rush of excitement. How long had she been reading about the shadow plane? Wow! She raced to the bookshelf to see if anything there could offer an explanation.
Moira spent the rest of the night alternately perusing for answers and trying to lift more shadows. By the time her roommate, Jill, got up she could cause a shadow to turn or lift at will but nothing more. Unfortunately no one seemed to have written a guide about how to control shadows, so she resolved to hit the library after class.
Jill and Moira shared two classes, and as usual she caught a nap during the American History lecture. The tests all came out of the book anyway. Almost all general courses today. Why did engineers have to take history again?
“You coming to class tonight?” asked Jill. Jill stood a stout five feet even of solid athleticism. Moira couldn’t help but be a little jealous of those baby blue eyes and the bouncy blonde hair. Her own hair never seemed to do anything right.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Moira.
“You really seem to be getting into it. Who knew martial arts would be your thing,” said Jill.
“It’s fun, but it’s a lot more interesting since Dane starting coming,” admitted Moira.
“You better get some sleep if you want to impress him,” said Jill. “You look like a zombie. Are you sure you can handle working nights? There’s an opening at the greenhouse, I’m sure I could get you in.”
“It’s no big deal. I got to get to the library before I catch my nap. See you later.”
Moira had no luck at the library, just a few vague references about the fourth dimension, but nothing about actually controlling shadows. Her personal collection of books centered more on fiction. At least they sparked her imagination, although they offered nothing more than possibilities. Eventually she gave up and drifted into sleep.
Hank’s Kenpo Clinic squished between a narrow side street and a condemned bookstore across the alley from The Pancake Emporium. On a good night two or three people could find decent parking. Tonight Moira decided to walk the ten blocks rather than fight the evening pancake crowd. Crime near the university generally tapered off during the cold months, and November offered plenty of shadows for her to play with along the way.
If only she could carry a shadow with her, it would save time and give her something to do during history. Of course she had a shadow. Everyone has a shadow. Why not? She stopped just at the edge of a streetlight and looked at her own shadow.
“Okay,” she mumbled, looking around to see if anyone was watching. She concentrated on the outline of her hair. A few wispy strands lifted off the concrete. A tingling sensation shot through her head. She caressed more of her shadow off the pavement. The tingling became an itch. When the tip of the shadow of her head finally slipped from the sidewalk she felt something slap the back of her head. Pain shot through her eyes and she staggered, losing control of the shadow.
She turned around as quickly as she could, but saw no one behind her. No footsteps. No sound of any kind. In the parking lot across the street a man held the door for his date. The pain in her eyes felt real enough. Either her mind had loosened a bit too much or something about playing with shadows could hurt her. No point holding back.
She held out her hand and concentrated on the shadow of her pinky. As soon as the shadow lifted from the ground a sharp pain shot through her finger. She immediately let the shadow return to normal, and massaged her pinky. Lesson learned; don’t mess with your own shadow.
The pain in her head subsided by the time she joined the class.
“You’re late,” said Jill when she came in. “I’m glad you made it. None of the other girls showed.”
Moira knew what a pain it could be sparring with some of the guys in the class. Most of them treated her nice. They went out of the way to be helpful. Tonight, though, Moira spotted a couple of the regular jerks. At just over six feet Matt had longer reach than anyone in the class, and he liked to spar hard. Neither he nor his friend Ty worked hard enough to develop the skills to handle more experienced opponents, so they preyed on the weaker and newer students whenever possible.
“I wish Hank would just kick those creeps out,” said Moira.
“They pay just like everyone else,” replied Jill.
“That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it,” said Moira.
“At least it’s practice in case we have to deal with some guy on the street.” Jill winked. She always had a way of finding something positive. “Let’s get warmed up.”
That night they practiced throws and close quarter defense against attackers trying to grab from different angles. Moira worked through the moves automatically, not really thinking about it. By no means had she become proficient and she knew she should be trying harder, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her discoveries.
“Sorry to break you up, ladies,” said Hank with less than ten minutes of time left. “Throwing around someone your own size is one thing, but if you want to be able to handle someone bigger than yourself you’re going to have to practice it. Are you up for it?”
At first she paired with Dane. He started coming to class less than a month ago but had already passed all of them.
“You sure learn this stuff fast,” she said. She couldn’t help looking him over. At five foot nine, he wasn’t overly tall, but he had a confident muscular build that he carried easily.
“I’ve trained in some other places,” he said. “There’s no wrestling team or boxing team at the college, so this is my way of working out the stress.”
He guided her through the motions of the moves they had been practicing. Somehow his touch seemed electric. Maybe she just imagined it.
“Time to trade up,” said Jill. She leaned over and lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “Your turn with the beast.”
Jill had been paired with Matt. Moira glanced over at the clock. She could handle two minutes, besides Jill was right, if she wanted to be able to deal with a creep on the street she needed to learn to deal with one here.
They practiced defending a basic grab from behind. The first time he groped her, it could have been an honest mistake, but nobody makes that mistake twice. Moira fumed. She opened her mouth to swear at him when she thought of a better idea.
As they clinched again she concentrated on the shadow near his foot. Angrily, she bent it off the floor. Matt gasped in pain and dropped to the ground. He rolled away grasping his foot and cursing.
“Foot cramp?” asked Moira innocently. “You should drink more water.”
Moira sipped some water as class wound down. If bending someone’s shadow off the floor could do that, what else could she do? Jill wandered over.
“You really are out of it,” said Jill. Moira realized she had been daydreaming again. “Want to get something to eat?”
“I got work,” said Moira, a lie, but she needed time to digest what just happened.
Moira waited for Jill to leave before picking up her backpack. The moon outside had risen full and pale, but bits of cloud covered it from time to time. The wind smelled of snow, the first warning of winter, but the air felt clear and cool. Moira cut through another alley behind a couple of small stores. Everything seemed a little more quiet than usual, but not much happened in this town.
“Interesting work,” said a voice in the darkness. Moira stopped. Her heart jumped. She didn’t recognize the voice. It rang out low and resonating. “Shadow bending is nearly a lost art in this world.”
Moira watched as Dane stepped from the shadows about ten feet ahead of her. She hardly recognized him. His vacant eyes stared past her, and his skin appeared pale. Perspiration clouded his face.
When in doubt, ply for time. “What are you talking about?” she asked, checking the distance to the end of the alley. It would be closer to turn around if she decided to run.
“No need to play games,” said Dane. No, not Dane. That was definitely not Dane’s voice. “We felt the energy shift and have come to negotiate.”
“We? Who are you? Where did you come from?” asked Moira. She shivered. “What is it you want?”
“I gather you have seen through the disguise, your powers must be greater than we thought.” Suddenly Dane opened his mouth and exhaled a thick gray mist for several seconds. The last of the mist escaped and Dale collapsed on the pavement. A misty, legless figure, almost the shape of a man with glowing eyes hovered before her in the alley.
Her mind raced. She choked back a scream. She glanced at Dane, but she couldn’t tell in the half-light if he was breathing or not. Whatever this thing was apparently it thought she knew more than she did.
“That’s better,” she said, trying to sound confident. “Now what exactly do you want?”
“We want you to join us, of course,” said the figure. “We seek allies in the shadow war. We are, of course, prepared to barter.”
“First of all, I don’t know who you are. Secondly, I don’t know anything about any war, and even if I did I don’t want any part of it. You have the wrong person.” Moira tried not to sound panicked, but her heart wouldn’t slow down. Instinctively she looked to the shadows in the alley. The creature had a faint shadow that shifted as the mist within its body billowed.
“My name is not important,” said the creature.
“It is to me,” replied Moira.
“Very well. Call me Kierzax. Enough games. Name your price.” Kierzax definitely sounded impatient now.
“Look Kierzax, I already told you, I don’t want any part of your war. I’m going home now, and you should to,” said Moira.
“I’m certain we can reach a bargain,” said Kierzax. He pointed a misty finger at Dane. “I can offer you him. I believe you find him appealing.”
Moira thought for a moment. Whatever was happening had gone beyond serious.
“Is there something else you would prefer? Perhaps some sort of influence here in your home world?” said Kierzax.
“Anything worth that is definitely something I don’t want to do,” said Moira. “For the last time, go home. Find someone else.”
“We cannot allow you to join the others,” said Kierzax. “I have been fair. If you cannot be persuaded, then you must be eliminated.” Kierzax’s eyes flared with a sudden inner flame, casting a dim red glow across the alley.
No point stalling now. Either fight or run. Moira hesitated only a second before ripping his shadow from the pavement in one swift thought. Kierzax groaned as his shadow now stood next to Moira, but seemed otherwise unharmed. He opened his mouth, and fire erupted towards Moira. She dodged behind Kierzax’s shadow, trying to find some cover. The flames hit the shadow and Kierzax wailed in agony. Smoke peeled off his shadow. The smell of sulfur and burning trash filled the alley.
Desperately Moira tried to think. Some good Hank’s self defense techniques did now. If an assailant breathes fire, do I try a wristlock or a hip toss?. One shadow stopped his fire, so maybe a lot of shadows could stop him. She pulled the massive shadows from the buildings together. All around, she quickly wove a semi translucent wall of darkness. For the moment it seemed to be working. The barrier stopped a second spout of fire.
Time could not be on her side. Kierzax started to rise into the air. She built her wall higher, but he just moved faster. Soon he would be over the buildings. She added a ceiling to her wall, and instinctively stretched the shadows to add three more walls, effectively sealing Kierzax in. What would happen if those walls suddenly collapsed in? Could she crush him, whatever he was?
Keeping the box together as she collapsed it proved to be more difficult than first imagined. Shadows by their very nature tend to move, and managing the complex geometry of a shrinking cube required skills she hadn’t yet mastered. At the last instant, just before the walls completely closed in Kierzax managed to thrust out one smoky claw and grab Moira’s shirt.
The shadows closed in on themselves and Moira found herself spinning, flattening, and lost to any reality she had ever known. She didn’t lose consciousness, the pain felt too intense. She closed her eyes and covered her ears against a powerful blinding wind that battered from all sides. Finally she dropped onto the cold hard pavement.
She opened her eyes. Kierzax had disappeared, but the faint scent of sulfur hung in the air. Dane was gone. The alley looked different, felt different. The buildings loomed black and flat, not just dark, but blacker than any night she could remember. No sounds came from the street behind her. Moira walked back towards the Kenpo Clinic.
Everything appeared washed of all color. All of the buildings, signs, even the litter varied from black to gray or darker gray. The streetlight switched from one gray dot to another, emitting no real light. Moira saw nobody else anywhere. The silence felt so complete she heard her heart beating and the soft rhythm of her breathing.
A chill wind broke the silence, making her shiver through her winter coat. Nothing moved with the wind. The few scattered autumn leaves, the dead grass, and the litter ignored the breeze. Even her hair seemed unaffected. The moon floated overhead a pale disk shedding no real light.
She ran to the Kenpo Clinic, then to the Pancake Emporium. Flat black and gray cars cluttered the parking lot, but no people filled the restaurant. Suddenly a car door opened. A dim shape, like an erased pencil drawing seemed to get into the car, or did she imagine it. The door closed silently. A few seconds later the car backed out of the stall, though the engine made no sound. The car pulled away and melted into an unseen fog. After only about fifty feet it completely disappeared. When she looked back, the car had returned to the parking stall.
With this many cars, people had to be eating in the restaurant. Moira went to the front door. Through the glass she saw nobody. She pulled on the handle, but it refused to move. It didn’t feel locked. The deadbolt would have at least wiggled a little. She simply couldn’t move it.
“I see you are new to my world,” said a voice behind her. Moira turned and saw a figure cloaked in blackness. It had a humanoid shape, but she couldn’t make out any distinct features. She half expected to see it carrying a scythe, but it had no real hands and held nothing. Two large black dogs with sleek bodies as if cut from pure obsidian waited only a few feet behind the figure.
“Where?” asked Moira, but she had a feeling she knew exactly where she was.
“The realm of shadows, of course,” replied the figure. “Odd that you would not know where you are. Most visitors come here with a purpose.”
“It was an accident,” said Moira. “I was fighting Kierzax and then I was here.”
“The legion is not welcome here,” said the figure. The dogs spread out from the figure, baring black teeth.
“Who? I don’t know anything about any legion,” said Moira.
“Unlikely,” replied the voice. “All who enter this realm know of our long hatred of your war.”
“I’m not fighting any war,” said Moira desperately. Realization of her situation seeped in slowly. Somehow Kierzax must have pulled her into the shadows. “I just want to go back.”
“You have brought your war here.” The voice rang sinister. “It will end here, for you.”
The dogs slowly circled into range to attack. Moira thought quickly, and saw that the dogs did not cast any shadow, nothing here cast a shadow. She grasped one of the dog’s legs with her mind. She focused so intently that she didn’t notice her hands come up to make a twisting motion, as if she held the leg in her hands. The shadow substance conformed to her will. The creature let out a hollow, haunting howl as its leg warped suddenly out of shape. The second dog leapt at her, but she pulled it out of the air with her mind and sent it painfully to the ground.
“A bender with some skill,” said the figure. “You could abandon your war and help me here.” The two dogs melted into nothing as it spoke.
“I don’t have a war,” said Moira. “I don’t want anything to do with your war. I’m going home.”
“If you intended to leave you would already have gone,” replied the voice. “If you aren’t here for the war, what is it you want?”
Before Moira could respond, the powerful odor of sulfur washed over them all. Kierzax seemed to appear out of nothing just a few feet from the figure.
“You can’t have her, Vorgos,” said Kierzax. “If she will not join me, then she will join no one.”
Kierzax opened his mouth. Moira expected fire to stream out. Instead he began coughing violently. Vorgos raised a hand and a sudden black shape slapped Kierzax in the head.
“You will find that fire requires elements we do not have,” said Vorgos as Kierzax wheeled backwards. “Your war is unwelcome here.”
Kierzax collapsed into a thick strand of smoke and dodged the blows of the nearly shapeless shadow weapon. Moira chose this moment of distraction to flee around the corner and back up the alley towards her apartment. If those two wanted to fight she wasn’t going to get in the way. Behind her a roar of rage and frustration rang out, but she couldn’t tell which of the two it came from. As the roar died down, Moira hit a full sprint.
Five blocks later she slowed to a jog, and eventually a walk, breathing heavily. “Starting tomorrow, I am definitely doing a cardio program,” she thought. She stopped and leaned against a building to catch her breath. What had Vorgos meant? Clearly he, or she or it, thought Moira could leave at any time.
Moira milled this thought over for a few seconds until a column of sulfurous smoke streamed up the street behind her. Moira caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to face Kierzax as he took shape. She didn’t have the energy to run anymore.
“You can still join us,” said Kierzax.
“Not interested,” replied Moira. She was starting to breathe a little easier now.
“You were a fool to bring us here. Vorgos will hunt both of us now. You’ve trapped both of us into a fight that neither of us needs.”
“So,” she said. “I can’t take it back now. What do you want?”
“A temporary alliance,” said Kierzax. “Together we might be able to escape Vorgos.”
“No thanks.”
Kierzax swung a smoky fist towards Moira’s face. Instinctively she dodged the blow, grateful she had at least learned that much in class. He tried again. This time she pulled the sign from a storefront, using her mind to make the shadow block the blow. Moira gathered substance from all around the street to defend the constant onslaught of sneaky attacks. Bit by bit she tore up the street as she backed her way up the block.
Suddenly a black shape took hold of Kierzax. Another of Vorgos’ dogs materialized behind him. Kierzax writhed in agony as the creature clamped down where his leg should have been. Then he pounded the dog’s head with a smoky fist, forcing it to release the hold.
Moira used the opportunity to think. Obviously Kierzax couldn’t escape or else he would have by now, which meant that her instincts were right. He was just trying to use her. That didn’t tell her how to get out, though these two seemed to think she should be able to. An idea finally came to her. Vorgos walked into view behind his dogs. The dogs kept Kierzax fully occupied, so once again Moira slipped away down a side street.
Thinking back to her first encounter with Kierzax, she thought how the process could be reversed. Starting with the ground, she pushed all of the shadows away, building an empty black cylinder around herself. Light broke through the bottom of the cylinder, nearly blinding her after the constant darkness of the shadow world.
Once again she felt herself falling, being pushed, and thrown into a new world. Intense pain shocked her again as she found herself sprawled on the sidewalk. A hundred different smells seemed to reach her at once, but not a hint of sulfur. Snowflakes glittered in the moonlight as they drifted down the lazy breeze. Moira stood up slowly and dusted off her pants and coat.
In a building’s shadow across the street, she thought she heard a muffled growl. Tired or not, she broke into a sprint back to her apartment. She slowed once to catch her breath, but didn’t stop until she reached the door. The door was locked. Moira fumbled for her key. Inside she found Jill watching television with the lights off.
Moira flipped the light switch, causing Jill to blink a little. “Who do I need to talk to about that job?” she asked. “I think I’m done working nights. I need a little more light in my life.”
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 sent Thorn back to lead the wagons and headed deeper into the forest alone. I followed the trail all that day and into the night, until exhaustion demanded I stop for at least some few moments. I found a sheltered spot with my back to a tree surrounded by high rocks. I dozed for only a moment when the sound of something enormous moving off to my right in the darkness startled me awake. My first thought was that an elk or mountain buffalo grazed nearby looking for bits of early spring grass. Then my horse cried out in terror. I saw an eye catch a moonbeam and drew and fired an arrow on reflex. For once Pascalli’s training paid off and I caused the shaft to burst into flame as soon as it left the bow. The fiery arrow showed me an enormous fanged boar’s head atop a body twice the size of the largest shaggy brown buffalo I had ever seen. The legs ended in enormous bear claws.
The shaft bounced harmlessly off of the thick skull, though the fire singed the fur slightly. I had done little more than attract its attention. My horse bolted. I dropped the bow and stood with spear in hand against a giant far beyond my expectations.
A wizard cannot communicate with the elements without concentration and focus. Pascalli forced that lesson home day after day. Everything else must fall to silence and oblivion except the voices of the elements. Staring at that angry boar’s head with those enraged, hungry eyes melted my will. I felt my grasp on my courage slipping. Never before had I truly known such fear, the kind of fear that causes a man to forget everything else and only want to hide himself from the entire world. I felt I could not breathe, and I tried to take a step backwards. I stumbled on the rocks and fell, though I did not hurt myself beyond a few minor scrapes.
For my own part I had given myself up for lost. My heart would not allow even the thought of survival. Providence, however, gave me a second chance. Suddenly a distant whimpering cry broke the air. “Help! Someone, please! Help!” caught my ear. The beast also heard the cry, though its gaze did not leave me. Such a simple cry filled me with a wild desperation beyond any normal courage I could muster. I might be able to let myself go, but nothing in me could ignore the suffering, however well deserved, of another person.
Though many would call me foolish, even courage drawn from misplaced ideals can work wonders. I came to my senses with indignant rage. On instinct I summoned all of the magic I had practiced and conjured a violent whirlwind between the creature and myself. A little startled, but hardly frightened it let out a low grunt like a bear and lowered its tusked head. I regained my footing and brandished my spear. The enormous animal lunged through the swirling dust and debris and I retreated behind my tree. I pelted it with as many small stones as I could control, infusing each with hot fire. Annoyance turned to rage and the beast again lunged for me. I darted aside again, but realized that this game could only end in disaster for me. I threw my spear so that it lodged high in the trunk of the tree and jumped to reach a lower branch just in time to avoid a wildly swiping claw. Without waiting to see what my adversary would do I climbed high enough to retrieve my spear.
Suddenly the tree shook with the force of an earthquake. Far below me the boar’s head raised and backed away. Quickly it lowered again in preparation for a second run at the tree. The impact nearly knocked me loose even though I braced against the trunk with all my strength. I felt the roots creaking beneath me. A bird’s nest dislodged and bounced off of my shoulder. Twice more the giant boarger, as we later came to call these beasts, charged the tree, but the sturdy pine held. I thought for a moment that I had escaped when it gave up that strategy. My joy quickly turned to desperation when I realized it had clearly dealt with treed quarry before. It circled around, ignoring my constant ineffective onslaught of molten stones until it reached a point of high rocks. Then, with all the agility of a cougar it leapt into the tree, shaking both root and limb. I clung wildly to the upper branches as the tree swayed precariously under the heavy pressure. To my amazement the tree did not snap, though the trunk bent sharply. Fortunately the boarger had not landed quite high enough and did not manage to get a decent foothold. Branches snapped beneath its weight as it slowly slipped back down the trunk. I felt the tree right itself, but I knew it could not withstand a second onslaught of that force.
Angrily the boarger growled at me, its vicious mouth fuming over gore-stained tusks. I took a breath, whispered a prayer to Tylos, yelled insanely and dropped spear first towards the boarger’s mouth. I poured every bit of energy into the tip of the spear until the shaft burned my hands, but I did not let go. I cannot say if fate, luck, or skill guided my hand, but the spear point entered the beast’s filthy maw and drove the shaft in more than half way. I bounced off of the creature’s head, but it managed to take a vicious swipe with one enormous claw. My buckskin shredded instantly, but the chain links beneath held. The force of the blow sent me sprawling across the rocks. I knelt, covering my head for safety.
The boarger howled and screamed and clawed at the weapon protruding from its face. I drew my sword and cautiously slashed at the thick hide. My weapon glanced away harmlessly. I need not have worried, though, for the spear had done enough damage already. The boarger trampled into the woods, bleeding and ignoring me. I trailed it until it collapsed. Though it still breathed, I tightly gripped my spear and pulled it free, setting the creature into a fit of rage and blood. I did not stay to watch it die, but instead returned to try and track down whoever had called out for help.
With a clear starry sky to guide me and a sufficient dose of excitement to keep me awake I quickly tracked the hoof prints I had been following to a dead horse. From there I followed a set of footprints to a tree whose bark had been seriously damaged. My entire encounter had taken place less than a hundred meters from the end of the chase. I looked up and found Laural, pale and frightened, staring back at me in disbelief. Though my horse had bolted in fright I managed to find it quickly enough and Laural slept behind me as we rode to rejoin the wagons.
I cannot say the remainder of our journey passed without incident, but at least we did not lose any more lives. Laural had been wounded when her horse was killed, though not beyond my skills to mend.
“There are many strange beasts around,” I commented to her as I applied a poultice. “I am sorry that you were injured.”
“But you warned me, didn’t you,” she replied defiantly. Her eyes mocked me, but somehow I didn’t care.
“Yes,” I replied, and to my surprise my voice was soft and kind rather than condescending. “I am not angry that you didn’t listen. I want these people to have a safe life, but we aren’t safe yet. I need the courage of everyone, especially those brave enough to challenge the wild on their own.”
She smiled weakly at the compliment, though a bit of doubt still clouded her eyes. “I should have stayed in Dynwater,” she muttered, though I don’t think she meant for me to hear.
“Is that where Quivain left you?” I asked, though I immediately regretted it.
“Yes,” she spat. “That filthy spawn of Hieron cheated me of my half of the reward.” Her face turned immediately bright red. I guessed that she had said something she hadn’t meant for me to know.
“What reward,” I pressed, though I guessed already the answer.
Her eyes flickered a moment as she contemplated a lie. “We had information for the emperor,” she said quickly.
“Very valuable information if the notorious Quivain Blackhand is willing to risk his life for it. I am amazed they did not hang him.” I said.
“I wish they had,” said Laural angrily. “A full pardon he asks. The regent in Havensod offered ten thousand imperial gold coins and he says, ‘I only wish to have my name.’ What dung.”
“Ten thousand, just for a little information,” I prodded. “I had no idea my name was so valuable.”
Her cheeks burned, both from anger and guilt. To my surprise she began to weep. “I am so sorry, Colter. I didn’t know, I didn’t understand.” I felt something melt inside me though somewhere in the back of my mind I worried this might be some trick. “Can you forgive me,” she sobbed.
“There is nothing to forgive,” I said. “Quivain would have done his worst with or without you. At least you’re not back at the Blue Dragon.” I chuckled, and she smiled a little.
So I learned that Quivain had betrayed me, though Pascalli had long before warned me he might. Any return to the east would be barred, and perhaps my journey through the western realms as well. I understood Zaban’s desire to arrest me better. I realized how strong Dina’s influence over her brother must be.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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.
Yunath and Zaban spoke privately with Dina before they parted company the following morning. I waited quietly outside, watching the troops prepare to move south. The village felt suddenly empty as we watched the long lines of soldiers march south. “We best be about our business,” said Dina as the line disappeared in the distance.
“We’ve much to do if we want a good harvest,” I agreed. “Is everything all right with your family?”
She looked at my face but didn’t respond for several seconds. “Things have changed between my brothers. We didn’t win the support expected at the festival. Yunath wanted to use me to help make an alliance with the east. The emperor is growing old, and already some of the powerful houses are talking of war.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I replied. “I just want to build a home again.”
“Building a home takes more than hands and bricks,” she said. “It also takes planning, and if it comes to it, blood. Torbridge has grown in influence in the east. He’s managed to garner favor with Lord Favisham, regent of all the eastern lands. Favisham is very close to the emperor. We’ll need to make the city strong before he decides to act. We need to prepare, not only for the harvest, but for what may come after.”
Dozens of opportunistic and desperate folk had risked their lives already to see if the rumor that someone had opened the gate was true. I had little difficulty finding souls willing to return with me, souls hungry for land and chances of their own where they could leave behind shattered pasts and missed opportunities.
The village had a few taverns, and the largest seemed to be the gathering place for most of the outsiders. I decided we should try it first. Inside I found an unexpected smile.
“You’ve come a long way, lad,” said Master Delvin. “We heard rumors that you had traveled west. Is it true that there is land to be had in the north?”
“We didn’t expect to find much here,” added Jiora, her face breaking into a wide smile. “A chance to start over is just what we need.”
“Yes, there is plenty of land for those willing to work it,” I said. “What happened to your farm?”
“Some lord or other found out about my helping you and sent troops to arrest me. We led them a bit of a chase, but they gave up soon enough. We had some trouble getting through Anascrag, but the eastern lords have been pushing to get their troops west since you came, and the festival had all their attention. The empire’s a hotbed of confusion right now.”
“I’m glad you made it,” I said, and smiled. “We’ll need all the good men we can get. Are there any others with you?”
“My family, of course. I’ve a brother as well. He brought his family too. Most of the rest I’ve seen are ruffians and rascals, though no doubt we can find some as know how to work,” said Delvin.
“Hello, Scratch!” A familiar voice suddenly called over the din of people. I turned and saw Laural waving at me from across the room. She wore a new silk blouse but the same tight riding leathers I had seen her in before. I waved back, conscious of Dina’s questioning look.
“I see you’ve traveled a lot,” said Delvin.
“She’s a friend from before I came west,” I said. Laural crossed the room. Half a dozen rough men watched her movements, and I remembered my fight with Bracken.
“I see the rumors were true after all,” said Laural with a smile. “I knew you were crazy, but even I didn’t figure you would try anything this wild. I hear there’s land up there. I know a few men looking to ride with you.”
“If they are willing to work they are welcome,” I said. I caught a sidelong glance from Delvin. “We need farmers, Laural, and skilled workers. If they can handle a spear there will be a chance for that too, but don’t expect gold. I’m planning on building a city, not tearing it apart.”
“It’s a dangerous city,” said Dina. Her eyes drew into a scowl. “You may find it less hospitable than you expect.”
Laural winked and smiled. “I can handle myself. Don’t worry. We’ll make out all right.”
The final tally added up to nearly a hundred people, with more women and children than I had expected. Most of the men came to escape the law, but I knew that would be the case. Men don’t leave a comfortable life without good reason. Delvin’s daughter, Brevedia was now growing into a fetching young woman, and she took to Dina like a sister. Dina proved invaluable at organizing the group. I hadn’t realized how much I relied on Pascalli’s judgment until then.
We bought horses, food, and tools all at higher than expected prices. The village was not prepared for the demand, but I wasn’t willing to take any risk of running short before harvest came. Without a manageable road, we would have to pack everything on horses or mules, which meant I needed men who could handle them without trouble. A few of the less pleasant men who joined us came only because I needed the help with the teams.
It took us four days to gather everything together with everyone working as hard as they could before we were ready to leave. As Garret ordered the gate shut behind us I knew that some of us would not reach the keep. We had only two others who were experienced in the mountains apart from Delvin and me. Thorn, an old scout for the Eastern Watch rode with me and learned the trail quickly. His companion, a Darkunder called Twoleaf, kept mostly to herself, though I noticed she watched the mountains and didn’t miss a trick.
Ten days into the journey Thorn pointed out footprints left by a very large creature. The claws resembled those of a bear, but the impression in the ground was much bigger and deeper. The next day Twoleaf showed me some of its dropping, which were shaped more like a horse rather than bear scat. I ordered the fires to be kept burning all night after we found two large pine trees that had been mauled where the beast went to clean its claws. The marks reached a full meter higher than I could touch standing on my toes.
“Keep your families close together,” I warned the men. “Keep near the light, and don’t put out the fires. Whatever it is, it won’t be afraid of men. No man has been through here in centuries. I’m hoping it’s just curious and passes us by.”
Every group naturally has those who dissent or who seek to push the boundaries of the leadership as far as possible. Laural approached me alone. “Some of us want to ride ahead. We’re moving too slow. Carns and Talbot can find the way easy enough.”
“We need to stay together as much for safety as anything else. The trail can be tricky to figure out further north. Besides, I don’t think you want to find Pascalli alone in the city,” I said.
“I don’t think we want to wait,” she replied.
“You’ve been warned. I won’t stop you. I will do what I can to help you when you run amuck, but I will not enjoy finding your carcasses,” I said.
Two men and Laural left the main party the next day. Two days after that we found three boots and one badly mauled and now bloating horse. I made a quick scouting effort and found a second dead horse as well as the trail of the third. The beast’s tracks clearly followed the third horse.
I don’t know if I made the best decision, but I felt the wagons would be safe for a day or two without me. Something inside of me told me I had to hunt this menace even if I could not save the last rider.
“Lead the others ahead to the city,” I told Dina, though I dreaded parting company. “That last rider could still be alive.”
“That’s Laural’s horse,” she observed. A frown crossed her face. “She is too careless.” I sensed that something about Laural’s manner bothered Dina deeper than she would say.
“I can’t let her die out there,” I said.
“Just come back,” she replied. I did not expect the tenderness in her voice. “I’ll worry while you’re gone.”
“Thorn should be able to find the trail easy enough. Just keep heading north. I’ll catch up in a day or two.”
