Posted by admin on July 1, 2009
When a lanky seven-foot troll, albeit small and clad in mail, pushed open the door to the Bouncing Archer, Vera hardly gave him a second glance over her serving tray. In general, trolls in the nearby wastes had bluer skin and a stockier build than the deep green and warty complexion of this one.
The astounding woman with the deep green skin at his side caught more than a casual glance, not only because at nearly six feet she stood taller than the gentleman who followed her, but also because even beneath her well oiled armor the patrons could see that nature had endowed her magnificently. The gentleman, who was dressed in expensive, custom-tailored traveling clothes, led the group. His steel-blue eyes seemed to take in everything in the room. Vera knew every rogue and adventurer in the country, and hardly expected anything unusual from them.
The man waved at Vera, who politely smiled and called, “One moment.”
The troll stared nervously around the room. His yellow bloodshot eyes blinked in the smoky lantern light. After the autumn harvest, more locals than usual crowded into the room eager to catch a tale from some stranger. Dock workers and riverboat hands gambled and drank away their wages, filling the normally calm tavern with raucous, lively laughter.
“Do you have a back room?” asked the man when Vera finally managed to reach them. “Someplace a little more private and less exciting. My friend gets nervous easily.” He gestured to the troll.
“I’m Vera,” she replied. “Follow me.”
“Harbeard,” said the man. He pointed at the troll who appraised Vera as she expected a man would judge a steak. He glanced at the troll. “He’s Turogg, or just Rogg. This is Maritz.” Harbeard jerked a thumb towards the woman. “Just point, we’ll find it.”
Vera pointed across the room to a doorway atop a short set of steps. “In there.”
Harbeard handed her a gold coin. “We’ll have some special needs later. For now send in a barrel of ale, and some wine for me and the lady.”
“Anything to eat?” she asked.
“The best you have,” he replied. As they walked away, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t bother cooking Rogg’s.”
They found the back room both cold and empty, though tinder and kindling lay ready to light in the fireplace. They placed their packs along the back wall. Casually, out of long habit, Harbeard helped Maritz with her chair, though she seemed unused to the attention. Turogg sat with his back to the wall opposite the fireplace, looking suspiciously at the unlit logs. He had some difficulty managing the sword strapped across his back and finally removed it.
“So far so good,” said Maritz. A hint of music carried in her accent. She pushed a few strands of sea-green hair behind her delicately pointed ears after placing an elegant longbow in the corner. “I can’t believe you brought him here.”
“It’s not like we had anything else to do,” said Harbeard. He tossed a bag onto the table, and the coins inside clanked. He smiled back and relaxed with his elbows on the table. He kept his own sword within easy reach and sat where he could watch the doorway. “He was getting worse, and we need supplies anyway.”
“I thought you had a house in town. Why bring him here?” asked Maritz.
“I also have neighbors,” replied Harbeard. “Some would object to trolls, and some who would tell others that I am back.”
“Eat,” growled Turogg.
“You’ll eat soon enough,” said Harbeard.
Three young men wheeled a large barrel up to the steps and with the help of a dolly placed it next to Turogg’s chair. They placed three sturdy mugs on the table and Harbeard handed each of the men a coin as they left. Turogg sniffed the barrel. Before Harbeard or Maritz could stop him, he smashed an enormous fist through the top of the barrel.
“That comes out of your share,” said Harbeard with a chuckle.
The troll either didn’t understand or didn’t care. He eagerly dipped his mug and gulped the ale, casually spitting out the splinters. In the next room a table of dwarves with thick beards and bright clothes watched the action with envy. The Bouncing Archer always met the needs of its guests, and Harbeard noticed the shorter table and wider chairs fit the dwarves comfortably. For a moment Harbeard thought the nearest dwarf, a happy fellow with a finely combed blonde beard, might venture to fill his own mug at Rogg’s barrel, but after a second glance at the troll he turned back to his conversation.
“I see you managed to open it yourselves,” said Vera as she brought in the wine. She put a tray with two loaves of bread and a large cheese on the table. “I can bring some fruit if you like. We have harvest stew ready, or we can bring you steaks if you would prefer to wait.”
“Fruit please,” said Maritz.
Harbeard sniffed the wine, and carefully tasted it. “I believe I asked for your best,” he said. “This is second grade, and I happen to know that Tomlin keeps a much better vintage for those who can pay.” He placed another gold coin on the serving tray next to the wine. “A meal we don’t have to scrape together ourselves sounds wonderful. I see the harvest is in, do you have anything to serve with the meat?”
“Anything you like,” said Vera, smiling broadly.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a vegetable,” said Harbeard.
“Nor I,” agreed Maritz. “Anything you have, but no beans, and no soup. I’ve had enough of your road stews to last a lifetime.”
Suddenly Turogg reached a long arm out and groped Vera’s rump. “Goura,” he growled excitedly.
Instantly Harbeard’s sword flashed out of the scabbard. With precision born of long training and harsh experience he brought the blade down, severing Turogg’s arm just below the elbow. The troll howled in pain and anger as he picked his hand up from the floor. Harbeard’s sword burst into flame. “Try that again and I’ll make it permanent.” Turogg whimpered and shied back from the flames. He carefully held the twitching arm to the bleeding stump.
“Thank you,” said Vera. “I see you’re a gentleman.”
Maritz took the towel that Vera tucked into her apron and began to clean up the mess.
“Don’t bother miss, I can do it,” said Vera.
Maritz waved her away. “You’re working hard enough,” she said. “An expecting mother should take her rest.”
“Am I showing already?” A proud smile crept onto Vera’s face. “I knew it would sooner or later. Time flies, as they say.”
“Only if you know what to look for,” replied Maritz. “I’ve no children of my own, yet.”
“Time enough for that miss.” Vera winked. She bent in and whispered in Maritz ear, “He’s a nice looking gentleman you’ve got there.” Maritz blushed and giggled. “Now I am forgetting myself. Steaks all around. Will there be anything else?”
“You better get Rogg something sooner,” suggested Harbeard. “A pig’s leg or something.”
Vera excused herself and disappeared among the crowd in the main room. Harbeard watched her leave, and scanned the room for familiar faces.
“Anybody you recognize?” asked Maritz.
“Of course, but I’ve changed since I left.” Harbeard did not look at Maritz as he spoke. He noticed a man wearing fine black velvet toss dice with a group of riverboat workers in a far corner. Harbeard brought his attention back to the table, but looked out on the other patrons from time to time.
“I don’t believe that Rogg’s the only reason you didn’t want to go home,” said Maritz. She grinned. “Nobody with a clear conscious acts the way you are.”
“Purely habit, my dear,” he lied. She rolled her eyes in frustration. “Fine, I’ll tell you. There is a lady here, and I very much do not want her to know that I am here.”
“I didn’t know you had a woman,” said Maritz. Her eyes danced mischievously as she spoke.
“Only among the trolls do the women decide who marries whom,” said Harbeard. “We have more civilized ways.”
“Such as?” Maritz teased.
“Such as my parents choosing for me,” he replied.
Vera returned with another bottle of wine and a large rack of uncooked ribs, probably pork. “You must have been in the wild a long time to consider food here a change for the better,” she laughed. Turogg began chewing the ribs practically before they reached the table.
“I’ve been away for a few years.” Harbeard sighed. “There are some new warehouses near the docks. Trade must be good.”
“That it is,” replied Vera. She smiled a broad smile. “I myself only settled down about a year ago. I did some wandering before that.”
“Wandering can be lonely, can’t it Harbeard?” said Maritz. She half concealed a laugh. Turogg tossed a rib into the fireplace.
“Let him finish his dinner, at least,” said Harbeard.
“I’m sure he will be easier to handle with a full stomach,” said Maritz.
“Your dinners will be ready soon,” said Vera. “I am sorry, but we are much busier than usual.”
“No hurry,” said Harbeard, glancing at Turogg. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy them more after he has finished.” The troll appeared unaware of the conversation.
“You might as well make arrangements now,” said Maritz. “It won’t take him long to finish eating.”
Harbeard gave her a sideways glance and sighed. “Does Tilly still operate her business next door?” he asked Vera.
The waitress blushed in spite of herself. “I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” she replied.
“Nonsense, it’s no secret,” said Harbeard. “Just get her word that our friend here is lonely. We can’t very well take him through the font door of her place, he’d go wild.”
“A troll!” said Vera much louder than she intended. The shock clearly showed on her face.
Harbeard reached into the bag and took out five gold coins. “Just tell her. And bring him some more food.”
“Will there be anything else?” asked Vera. Maritz choked down her laughter. Turogg tossed another bone into the fireplace. The gentleman in the corner left his dice game. Harbeard thought he saw the man look his way as he stepped out the front door.
“I’m sorry to upset you,” he said, bringing his focus back to the table. “He’s been pining lately. Practically no use to us at all.”
“I’m not as shocked as Tilly will be. No girl in her right mind would. I can’t even think about it,” said Vera.
“I wouldn’t try,” said Maritz.
Vera slipped quietly away from the table. Maritz used Vera’s towel to push some of Turogg’s ribs away from her portion of the table. She noted that his arm had healed nicely.
“I think your friend at the dice game recognized you,” said Maritz.
“I didn’t know you were watching,” replied Harbeard.
“You hoped I wasn’t. You know better. Do you think she will cause trouble?”
“You’re assuming he went to tell her about me,” said Harbeard.
“Isn’t he?”
“Probably.”
“It’s my fault for talking you into this,” said Maritz. “We shouldn’t have brought him into a town, he’s not ready yet.”
“He’s doing fine,” said Harbeard. “My troubles have nothing to do with him. And yes, I think there will be trouble. The question is whether she will wait until morning to start it.”
“She must really hate you.” Maritz laughed. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing,” said Harbeard. He could tell by her look that she did not believe him. “Honestly, I haven’t done anything to her. I just haven’t married her.”
Maritz nearly choked on her wine with laughter. A few faces looked up at them from the next room. “You skipped your wedding? If you tried that with a troll she’d hunt you down and eat you alive. If you tried that with a troll she’d hunt you down and eat you alive.”
“I’m afraid it’s not much better with our women,” said Harbeard. A frown spread across his face. “I didn’t actually miss the wedding. I left right after it was arranged, long before we were to be married.”
“Of course that makes it all better,” said Maritz as she rolled her eyes again. In spite of himself Harbeard found her teasing attractive.
“She doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry her. Our parents arranged it,” said Harbeard
“Then why not just break the arrangement?” asked Maritz.
“Because she can’t legally inherit my property unless we’re married or I’m dead,” said Harbeard. “From what I’ve heard, she moved into my estate as soon as I left town.”
“Strange customs you humans have,” said Maritz.
“I’m not entirely human, thank you,” said Harbeard. “I doubt anyone would notice. I’ve even managed to fool you, and you’re quite the expert on the mixed races.”
“Being half troll doesn’t make me an expert,” said Maritz.
“But being half elf should,” replied Harbeard. The wine tasted good, and he felt lighter in spite of the situation.
Vera returned followed by a plump dark haired woman with a motherly face. “Tilly sends her regards, Harbeard,” said the woman.
“I had no idea you were still in the business, Ann,” replied Harbeard with a smile.
“I help manage affairs now. I finally scraped enough together and bought a share of the place.” She smiled pleasantly. “You’ve not introduced me to your girl.”
“This is Maritz,” said Harbeard.
“And a handsome lass at that,” said Ann. She bent down and kissed Maritz on the cheek. “Keep your eye on that one, miss, or you’ll lose him. More than one girl has tried to tie him down.”
“I hope you aren’t being literal,” said Maritz. The women laughed while Harbeard fumed and turned red.
“Can you help my friend?” asked Harbeard, trying to steer the conversation.
“He’s a regular beast, isn’t he,” observed Ann. “Won’t be cheap. Ten gold will buy you an hour, if he’s civil.”
Harbeard drew the sack from the table and counted ten gold coins. Then he stacked ten more next to them. “He’ll finish when he finishes,” he said. Harbeard counted out ten more coins. “He knows eat, drink, and goura, which is troll for woman.” He counted out ten more coins. “Keep him fed, drunk, and away from any fires. When you think he’s done, you’ll be able to find me. Charge what he eats to my bill here.” He scooped the coins into Ann’s pouch and then added a few more.
“I see you’ve done well for yourself,” said Ann. “To bad you didn’t hit it off with Darla. I hear she’s been looking for you everywhere.”
“You’re too late to try and sell your silence,” said Maritz with a laugh. “But if you stay around you might be able to watch the fun.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Ann. She smiled and laughed a little. “It’s been good to see you again, Harbeard. I’ll keep an eye out for Darla just in case.”
“Tomlin won’t like it if you start trouble in his place,” said Vera.
“I won’t start anything,” replied Harbeard. Ann led Turogg through a side door. Vera knelt at the fireplace and replaced the tinder and kindling.
“You’ll want a fire,” she said. “Night is setting in to be cold.” She lit the fire with a candle. “Your dinner should be just about ready.”
Vera left them alone. The dwarf with the blonde beard approached with his empty mug. “Mind if I have a dip,” he asked, gesturing to the half-empty barrel.
“Help yourself,” said Maritz. “Take it all if you like.”
“Hey lads, give me a hand,” called the dwarf. A half doze of his companions jumped up and together they carted the barrel into the next room, sloshing ale into their beards. The dwarves broke into song as soon as they set the barrel down.
“What did you have to do that for?” asked Vera as she set down their meals. “All I need is a pile of drunken dwarves.”
“They’re helping celebrate Rogg’s birthday,” said Maritz. “It’s not often a troll remembers he has a birthday. He needs all the help he can get.”
They ate quietly, savoring the simple taste of good food they had not enjoyed for many months. Vera scooped the remaining ribs into the fire. The comforts of civilization did not dull Harbeard’s senses so much that he did not notice Vera lingering at the fire longer than expected. He caught Maritz’s eye but she had already noticed.
“Perhaps we should join the party,” suggested Maritz. Someone began piping a lively tune, and the free ale had spread beyond the dwarves’ table. Harbeard hesitated only a moment before catching Maritz’s hand and pulling her into an energetic dance. Though she did not know the steps, and had never heard the song before, loud cheers greeted their performance for the locals loved all things exotic and exuberant. Harbeard found himself carried into happier times when dancing and music marked the end of a hard week’s labor, and he fought only for recreation with the other wild youth in town.
“I never knew you could dance,” said Maritz when they caught their breath.
“Once my dancing was the talk of the town,” replied Harbeard. “You caught the tune quickly yourself. I had no idea the trolls had such entertainments.”
“They do not, as you well know,” said Maritz. She frowned at the thought of Turogg dancing. Then she winked. “Among the elves we have many dances for many occasions.”
“I had no idea you were with them for so long. When I found you I would hardly have guessed you could be so refined,” said Harbeard.
“I was born among the people of the moon, and I lived a gentle life until my cousins, the descendants of my father, raided the village.” Maritz spoke as one who had seen and done enough in life to accept its tragedies.
“And then I destroyed your cousins.” Harbeard did not know whether to be proud or sad. “All but Turogg of course.”
Maritz laughed out loud. “That lout better be having the time of his life, or we’ve wasted a lot of hard earned money.”
“If I know Tilly, he’s in good hands.” Harbeard winked. “Besides it’s all coming out of his share. Another round! We’re celebrating my good friend’s birthday!”
Nobody cared whose birthday they celebrated, only that someone else bought the drinks and that the music hadn’t stopped. The local music gave way to a resonating dwarfish melody when a pair of bearded merchants began playing long stringed instruments that neither Harbeard nor Maritz had seen before. They stopped to listen only long enough to catch the rhythm before joining the dwarves in their own strange dance. Local musicians competed with foreign singers and dwarfish players until Harbeard and Maritz found themselves sitting back at their table with Vera. One remaining dwarf attempted to out-drink Maritz. The other patrons had either left or fallen asleep on the floors.
“Tomlin will charge them a copper for staying the night,” laughed Vera. “Less expensive than going across the street to a real inn, but certainly not as comfortable.”
“Liquor doesn’t affect her the way it does you and me, my friend,” warned Harbeard uselessly.
The dwarf attempted a reply, but collapsed after managing to say, “Nobody drinksh.”
“What about you two?” asked Vera. “Shall I add a copper each to your bill, or will you cross the street?”
“Join us for some wine and conversation,” said Maritz. “Surely you aren’t in a hurry to find the straw pallet Tomlin lends you.”
Vera looked at her, but didn’t ask how she guessed. However Maritz found out her situation could not be changed. Instead she opened a bottle of the less expensive vintage and poured a glass for each of them.
“What happened to your husband?” asked Maritz. Though he generally preferred to avoid personal entanglements, Harbeard listened with interest.
“He died in a duel,” said Vera. “It seems so foolish. My old friends have returned to the adventuring life, but I can’t, not with my child.”
Harbeard noticed a strange shape, like a bony pig’s head, steadily forming inside the fire. Several of the discarded bones appeared to be slowly stretching and bending to create other sinister forms. A low growl erupted from the flaming pig’s head.
“Somehow I don’t think this is entirely healthy,” he said, pointing at the fire. Vera choked back a gasp.
“I had no idea this would happen,” said Vera.
“So this is what you were doing with the fire,” laughed Harbeard.
“I was just trying to get rid of the stuff. Brolas gave me a coin to put it in your wine,” replied Vera.
“Any idea what it was?” Harbeard directed the question as much to Maritz as to Vera.
“You’re the local,” said Maritz with a smirk. “None of the poisons I use would do that.”
A tiny skeletal pig with an oversize head jumped out of the fire and snapped its fangs at Harbeard. He pulled his sword and swatted the creature back into the fire. The bones shattered against the stones at the back of the fireplace, but immediately began to grow together again.
“Inconvenient,” said Maritz when she saw the bones reforming.
“I’ll say,” agreed Harbeard. “If I ever get my hands on Brolas I’ll …” Harbeard trailed off, unable to find a suitable solution.
“Hit him with a thick cheese?” suggested Maritz.
“Funny.” Harbeard scowled at her as he swatted another skeleton back into the fire.
“Why would Brolas want to hurt you?” asked Vera, lifting an axe from the sleeping dwarf so she could help bash skeletons.
“I’m engaged to his girlfriend,” answered Harbeard. He kicked one of the animated bones back into the fireplace.
“I thought he was just trying to get me into trouble,” said Vera. “He’s been harassing me since my husband challenged him.”
“He’s the one that killed your man?” asked Maritz.
“No, he isn’t man enough for that. He is good friends with Darvuth, the swordsman,” said Vera.
“Perhaps we should visit Brolas,” said Maritz. She smashed the last of the pig bones with a chair. “That was a very annoying trick.”
“I would like to get some of my own back,” agreed Vera.
“We shall need your largest sausages,” said Harbeard with a wink. “As I recall Tomlin cures his own hard summer blend.”
Vera gave Maritz a questioning glance, but the taller woman just shook her head in confusion.
“I’ll be sure to add it to your bill,” said Vera as she went to the kitchen.
Harbeard handed Maritz her pack and then shouldered his own. They waited for Vera in the common room. Before heading into the cool autumn night, Vera handed each of them a pair of enormous hard-cured sausages. Harbeard led them quietly through the dark streets. The occasional dog barked at them or the other passing scoundrels. Nobody gave them a second glance; the town seemed busy for such a late hour.
“Unless I am mistaken, Brolas will have joined my fiancé for the evening. I know a hidden way in the back,” said Harbeard.
“You seem to know a lot about the estate,” said Vera.
“I should, I grew up here, and unless the laws have changed I still own it,” replied Harbeard.
He led them through a hole in the hedge and down a hidden path behind the stables. Though the horses caught their scent, either the stable master did not notice, or more probably did not care about the noise the horses made. The door to the cellars creaked loudly when they forced it open, but nobody from the house came to investigate. Harbeard lit a candle, and Maritz and Vera followed him through the cobwebs and shadows to an old wooden staircase.
“Now for the tricky part,” he whispered. “Step where I step. These stairs can make a noise like a banshee.”
Carefully he placed one foot on the first stair. It made no sound, so he tried the next. Slowly they climbed to the top.
“I see you’ve done this before,” whispered Maritz to Vera.
“I haven’t always worked for Tomlin,” she replied softly.
The bolt on the door at the top of the stairs had rusted through and Harbeard opened it easily. Harbeard poked his head out and checked that none of the servants had heard anything. He waved them forward, and they quietly crept down the hall to the master bedroom. He signaled to Maritz to listen at the door. After a few seconds she placed her hands next to her head to indicate that the occupants were sleeping.
“Now to give them the drubbing of a lifetime,” said Harbeard as he raised his sausage.
Harbeard tore back the covers, and the women commenced hammering with their improvised weapons. They managed a few solid blows before Brolas disarmed Vera. He attempted to strike back, but Harbeard’s sausage caught him directly in the temple and he staggered to his knees. After a brief flurry the fight ended, saturating the room with the smell of cured meat.
“I believe you will find that infidelity breaks the contract,” said Harbeard to Darla, who was nursing a welt on her cheek where Maritz had connected. “This is my house, and you are unwelcome guests.” He menaced his sausage once before Brolas and Darla scrambled to the front door. Maritz and Vera broke into wild laughter as they watched.
“Now what?” asked Vera.
“Now I am going to bed,” said Harbeard. “Ah, look here, a nice feather bed conveniently empty.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Maritz gave Vera a wink.
THE END
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Posted by admin on June 15, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
My first impression of Darnuth Keep remains forever implanted into my memory. The great towers, like icicles rise triumphant from the mountainside. True to the name, the towers are constructed of ancient clear-white crystal that shoots into the sky like diamond. A winding, narrow road that has remained undamaged cuts a path up the edge of Mount Hansfor. After hours of labor in thinning air we turned a final sharp corner and saw it rising both ominous and beautiful over the valley and pass bellow. The Hansfor River begins atop the mountain and runs swiftly down, cascading over steep falls before it fills the lake in the valley and races south and west towards the empire and the sea.
“Our destination,” said Pascalli thoughtfully as he scratched his beard. “Perhaps not a destination,” he contradicted almost immediately. “Perhaps a starting point.” He seemed to be lost in his own world for a long moment, until Dina began moving her horse forward. “You’re right, there’s no point standing outside. After all I’m sure we’re expected.” He winked and grinned viciously.
As though time did not exist in the valley or on that mountain, the gates stood tall and clean against the autumn sun. At least three times the height of a man, the polished white crystal of the main gate seemed impregnable at first.
“How do we get in,” asked Dina. I was glad she had asked the question, though it echoed my thought.
“By walking, child, of course,” replied the wizard. “Unless you have learned to fly, which I doubt.”
I managed to fake a cough in order to stifle my laugh, but Dina gave me an angry glare anyway. Pascalli lead us very close to the wall and over to a path, just wide enough for one horse to go at a time. The path ran directly beneath the battlements with the sheer face of the wall on one side and a steep slope up the mountain on the other. I observed that although an army might attempt to approach the fortress from behind, the steep edges sloped just enough that the best they could hope for would be to slide down to the path we now walked where they would be crushed by boulders or burned with oil from the parapets.
At the very back of the keep waits a door just large enough to admit a horse, if it is not a large horse and it is not carrying a great deal of bulk. Pascalli produced a key and opened the door and we began the time consuming task of unloading our horses to get them through the door. The door leads through a dark tunnel to another door, which opens into Darnuth Keep.
Many dozens of buildings without roofs lined the barren streets of the lowest level, bearing silent testament to the greatness of the city’s past. Small doors opened directly into small rooms within the outer city wall. I estimated that the wall spanned some thirty meters across at the top. The ancient city guard must have had their barracks either in the low buildings near the wall or in the small rooms inside. Not a single stair or ladder of any kind graced the sheer surface outside of the wall, the only way up or down came from the inside. Many pools and fountains still danced in the setting sun as we entered, and I felt as if the ghosts of an age long past laughed at us through the water.
“At last, a bath,” said Dina.
“Yes,” agreed Pascalli. “Though the water will likely be icy cold.”
“No fires then,” I suggested.
“Here in the lower city we probably haven’t been spotted yet, although to be perfectly honest I’m not sure what or who watches the surface these days.” Pascalli once again seemed distracted, as if calculating a difficult sum in his head.
“I would very much like a warm meal and a warm bath,” said Dina.
“At what cost,” I said sharply, though she had not been speaking to me.
She turned abruptly to face me. “I am not your charge,” she said. Needles seemed to pierce me as she spoke. “I do not need your counsel.”
“It seems, my dear boy, that the lady will not be denied her pleasantry,” said Pascalli. His tone neither mocked nor condoned, but simply stated a fact. “Go and fetch some water, Scratch, and dig up a pot for heating it. I should like some proper dinner as well, see what you can do about that, lad, if you don’t mind.”
I opened my mouth to disagree when I saw Dina’s look of triumph, but shut it again quickly. “Will you at least help with the fire,” I asked.
“Sorry Scratch,” he said. His voice was suddenly quite serious. “I’m off scouting for a bit. There are plenty of dry timbers around that should burn well enough. Seasoned wood burns the best.” I grabbed my spear and started towards the nearest building. “Find a place with half a roof if you can,” called Pascalli behind me. “Don’t get into trouble.”
By then I absolutely fumed inside. Dina proved to be a hindrance in every possible way. She outright demanded I build a separate fire for her in a separate building where she could heat water and bath herself properly. She did not move a single finger to help. I realize now that once again Pascalli was giving me a simple test of self-control. The danger of our situation was no less now than before, but I guarded the camp alone.
Rather than use two buildings, I waited until Dina seemed content and then built our cooking fire just in front of the abandoned house she had chosen. I stacked our gear just outside the door and began preparing a stew of dried meat and herbs. Dusk already began to drift over us as I began to light the fire, and the shadows seemed to bring with them a quiet that even stilled the tinkle of running water. Dina hummed an unfamiliar but content tune from within the house. My stew simmered very quietly. I heard the soft scrap of something on a stone.
I crept as quickly as I dared, making no noise and grabbed my bow. Finally, after what had seemed like ages of practice I could move almost silently when the need arose. I peered through the depths of darkness for the enemy that surely stalked either my fire or Dina. Dina would have no weapons, and even an unintelligent attacker would deem her the easier target. I went inside the house.
I heard Dina finish her humming and fumbling around for a buffalo hide. She saw me against the light of the fire and shouted. “Scratch, get out of here! I’m bathing.” When I didn’t move she became really angry, and I think she reached to find something to throw at me. Truthfully I couldn’t say what she did because at that moment I caught the movement in the shadows along the roof that I had been looking for. I loosed an arrow, and a piercing shriek, very similar to Dina’s, tore into the night. Something large and black fell into the building and growled in pain. I sent a second arrow past Dina and into the enormous black cat.
“Supper is ready,” I said, and turned and walked out.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Ten
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Posted by admin on June 8, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
We lit no fires. Dina complained about this the first night, until I warned her that we were being watched. At first I think she wanted to argue the point until Pascalli nodded his agreement with my assessment. “Don’t be foolish,” he whispered. “He may be a farmer, lass, but he knows the wild.”
After we abandoned the wagon I did not see any signs for two more days. I thought that whatever was following us had lost interest.
We huddled together for warmth, our backs to each other taking turns nodding off in the night. I saw a flicker of luminous green in the dark. Then it disappeared. An eye most likely, reflecting the dim moonlight. I gently prodded Pascalli and Dina. Pascalli prodded back. He also had noticed something, a shadow perhaps. Dina breathed in sharply and jerked her bow up off her knees. It must have been her sudden move that drew the attention of our attackers because they concentrated on her.
The attack came sudden and precise with all the cunning of a master bandit. Four shapes blacker than the darkness came at us, their pale green eyes the only warning a split second before fangs and claws tore into us. Dina’s arrow caught one in the chest, while mine found a mark in the throat. Behind me I heard Pascalli crack his staff hard into a third. The fourth had caught Dina across the chest with a claw and she fell hard onto the stony earth.
I knocked and loosed a second arrow without hesitation, before it could either flee or attack someone else. The creatures were similar in body to the tigers of the east, with cat-like claws and long tails, but I did not understand the elongated bear-like faces and fangs. Neither bears nor cats hunted in packs, and certainly they would not take unknown prey like this.
“They are not entirely animal,” said Pascalli. “Look.”
Before my eyes the dead began to shed portions of their furry skin. The faces melted into something almost human, black like the monkeys of the south, but still with the pale green eyes.
“What evil is this?” asked Dina between painful breaths.
“A remnant from the breaking,” I answered. “This is why we have come, to make things right.”
Fortunately, Dina’s wound was not as serious as it could have been. The claws had cut cleanly enough, but I knew that I would not be able to see the source of infection and sickness until after it started. I found my bag of herbs and began cutting bandages.
She still did not trust me, and when I moved to help her she shied away. “I will be fine,” she said. “I am not hurt badly.”
“That is something for the healer to judge,” I said. The teeth or claws had rent her leathers and I could clearly see the wounded flesh beneath. “We do not know these creatures. There may be poison in the wound. It needs to be properly cleaned anyway to prevent sickness.”
“I wish we had a proper surgeon,” she said.
“Scratch has experience enough with mercenaries and outlaws,” said Pascalli. “I’m sure he can manage to stitch together a lady.”
I had never before laid eyes upon a woman’s breast, and I daresay that I was very glad for the dim, shadowy light of the one candle Pascalli allowed me to work by. I discovered that she was very beautiful, although I had never really thought about it much. I treated the wound with much more care and tenderness than I believe I had planned, and I am sure she was grateful for that care in the end. I had a bit of tyrnwood that I used to make a poultice to deaden the pain and soak any poison. I am sure that in the cold night air my indelicate fingers did not feel pleasant, and I regretted not having something better for the pain. Three cuts ran around the edge of her left breast, claw marks, and all three required stitches. Afterwards we bundled her in several blankets and sat back to back watching over her the rest of the night.
Once again the wonders of tyrnwood proved useful. By morning Dina practically bounced out of the blankets. Though her arm was still too weak from the torn chest muscles to properly manage a bow, she willingly helped with chores she had complained about only the day before.
After that incident Pascalli pushed us harder to reach Darnuth Keep. All thought of practice or training of any kind vanished. For the first time in what seemed forever I did not rise each day to be soundly beaten by a solid oak staff. Pascalli knew that we would need the protection of the battlements as well as a base from which to hunt and gather supplies for the coming winter. Dina had often hunted for sport with her father and brothers but was unused to surviving in the wilderness without the comforts of her station. She did not know how to cook, though most of our food at the time was cold. She did not find sleeping under the stars comfortable and did not understand that we would be easy prey inside of tents.
“I don’t think Dina is made for the wild,” I observed to Pascalli on evening. “I don’t know if she is strong enough to make it out here.”
“Don’t judge her too swiftly Scratch. There’s a strength there that you don’t see yet. Remember all that you’ve done and seen since leaving home. There were times I wondered about you,” he said.
“I’ll do my best,” I murmured.
Pascalli smiled at me. “A friend is a friend and a good friend even better. She’s a part to play yet. Give her time. Someday you may come to understand the sacrifice she has given to join us. She has freely left behind much that others would struggle their whole lives to gain. We’ll reach the keep in another day. I’ll be relying on your help when we get there. Make sure your head is clear.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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Posted by admin on June 1, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
We sat, both of us staring at the leaf for a long time. I wondered what it meant, how it was possible, and if Pascalli would teach me more. I can only imagine the thoughts he had as the full realization of the power of the curse he had been given settled on his mind.
“At a glance I could have destroyed a forest,” he mumbled bitterly. The look in his eye burned with a hatred that sent shivers down my spine. I had never before seen him filled with dread or indignant anger. That moment was the only one in which I feared for my safety while in his presence, but the moment passed quickly. “Matters have changed, Scratch,” he said with a finality that brought me quickly to attention. “Now you must become fully my apprentice, at least for a short time, until I can find a more suitable master, which I am afraid may not be possible. Clearly Tylos thrust you upon me to break my heart again.” He winked. “On a more serious note, if it is possible to be more serious, I must take you even more into my confidence now. First, you must not share this experience with anyone, ever.”
I already knew that much, and had not intended to tell anyone anyway.
“Second, you must understand that this means that the enemy can use magic.”
That too was obvious.
“Also that these enemies, for there will be more than one of them, will have had probably eighteen or nineteen winters more than you to learn magic. That is to say that there is at least one Kaarum shaman in this world who has been practicing magic since before you were born.” He seemed completely distracted as he spoke.
“What does all this mean for us here and now,” I finally asked him. “Are we still going to Darnuth Keep?”
“Yes, my boy, oh yes,” he replied. “We very much need to get there, now more than ever. You’ve managed to get a decent handle on that pig-poker, but unfortunately I won’t have time to really train you up properly in case of a real duel. Pray, lad, pray. In the meantime our plans do not change, other than you will have to work extra hard.” He caught my resigned sigh. “I don’t mean cooking and cleaning, Scratch, although there will be plenty of that to go around. You’ll find that these old hands can be useful sometimes, and we’ve a third pair now. I hadn’t counted on using magic until now, so you’ll have to learn to deal with that before you’re really ready.”
We rode into last gate early in the morning. The mud houses looked golden gray in the reflected sunlight. Smoke from cooking fires drifted through the still sky. Though a few dogs called out to each other, only our slow wagon stirred the streets. The village seemed as undisturbed by time as by our small intrusion. The enormous wall, built centuries before, loomed like a large dark hand over even the tallest of the buildings. A wide, worn highway wandered north and stopped abruptly at the enormous black gates. Soldiers sat idly atop the parapets, smoking pipes and watching our approach.
Getting the guards of Last Gate to open their ancient charge proved to be much more hassle than anticipated, but Pascalli took it all in with a laugh. Listening to Pascalli haggle with the gate captain did nothing to ease the building sense of dread inside me.
“The Last Gate has not been opened in over a thousand winters,” said Garret, leader of the guards. “Our law strictly forbids it.”
“I know the law,” said Pascalli. “By the light of Tylos, I made the law. I closed the gate. By the demons in Hieron I made the wall.” His eyes were a blaze of fury that quelled the other man. “Now open the gate or I will, and for good measure I’ll leave it open too. Send word to your master that a ragtag named Pascalli has run off with a bandit and the daughter of the great Taradurk through the Last Gate. Have me hunted if you dare, but do not impede me today.”
In the end Pascalli had his way of course. Only the very stubborn and stupid could repel him for long. The great iron gears, whose teeth were each larger than a man rolled painfully along a course they had not traveled in a millennium. A small crack, just wide enough for our wagon, and then they lurched and yelled and slammed shut, leaving us in silence to face a path that no longer led anywhere.
“I had hoped to go on ahead,” said Pascalli. “There is much to be done before winter, but I dare not delay your training Scratch.” He surveyed the broken, overgrown land ahead. The foothills of the Northern Crown lay covered with thick shrubs and tall unhindered timber. Finding a path for the wagon would be both cumbersome and slow. “We’ll try it this way for a day or two and see how it goes. Once there was a very great highway that ran through here, perhaps it has survived the test of time.”
Only long summers of hard labor would uncover the remains of that ancient thoroughfare. We managed to stumble on an occasional brick, but that was more inconvenience than help. The wagon proved to be utterly useless and an even worse hindrance than first thought. After two days the decision became clear. Either we abandon the wagon and make haste to Darnuth Keep or we keep battling the wagon and risk reaching our destination after the first snows. Either way we would be faced with a lack of critical food-stores.
“Well, what shall it be children?” he asked, though I am sure he guessed our thoughts.
“Ride while we can,” I answered.
“I am a huntress,” said Dina. “We can hunt food when we get there.”
“Perhaps we can,” said Pascalli. “If there is anything fit left to eat in these parts. So be it. Pack all of the grain and blankets, the salt, sugar, gear, and as much of the dried meat as possible. We’ll walk if we have to, but we must make haste.”
Something picked up our trail almost immediately after crossing the Gate. I imagine that our entrance into that solitary territory disturbed a great many creatures. I knew that a skillful hunter tracked us nearly from the beginning. A shadow would move, or occasionally a leaf shuddered against the wind behind us or off to one side. Never close enough to hear, always near enough to make me very nervous. Pascalli also knew immediately that we were being tracked. Only Dina appeared oblivious. The first day Pascalli tried to get me to concentrate on the air while we rode, attempting to repeat the same lesson as before. The lesson proved a complete failure as neither of us could divert enough of our attention away from our followers.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
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Posted by admin on May 27, 2009
Gorbon sat under the shabby stone bridge, contemplating. The late sun had just set, and the world was settling into a calm, dark quiet. A large trout broke the surface a short distance upstream and the songs of frogs along the bank were rising with the clouds of mosquitoes. The troll sighed and frowned and looked up at the bridge. His wide, yellow eyes noticed the moss over the stones and the broken gate with the tumbled toll sign. The once white paint was chipped and worn where it was not covered with moss and lichens. The troll put a stumpy fist under his warty chin and slipped into misery. “No one uses my bridge anymore,” he sighed.
At length, when the stars were high in the summer sky, and the moonlight danced on the stream, Gorbon sat up straight and exclaimed, “I’ll get ‘em to visit me.” He fished around in the dark for a moment, until he caught a slimy treat, and then, with a wink at the dark he clambered his way out of the ravine.
To the east lay a wide field of wheat set on gentle slopes. To the west was the dark forest where the woodsmen went to labor. “I’ll find the way the woodsmen use,” thought the troll as he turned north along the river, following close to the forest. A mile or two was all he traveled when he found another bridge. In the dark he heard a ruckus louder than the frogs, so terrible it shook the ground. A mighty nose snoring beneath the bridge. Undaunted, Gorbon went ahead, until he saw the fiend, a squat green troll with a mangy mane asleep beneath the bridge.
The gate on top was clean and neat, and the stones were painted bright. The roadway up was paved and even. A high railing had been set along the bridge to keep the travelers safe. “Isn’t that sweet,” growled Gorbon to himself, as he set about his work.
In the dead of night, until the light of dawn, Gorbon labored on his bridge. He scraped the moss and mended the gate while the stars twinkled in the cloudless sky. But the next morning no one came to his bridge. Angrily, Gorbon spat and growled at the lazy stream. “I’ll show ‘em yet,” he cried, and that night once more he went upstream.
The nose continued to sleep an easy sleep, but now Gorbon turned mean. With the stealth of a master thief, he crept to the enemy bridge, and one by one he moved the stones. At the base of the bridge with his mighty arms, Gorbon undermined the foundations. At last, with a shout of glee, the bridge began to tumble. The nose awoke with a start, but too late, as the bridge toppled over him. Gorbon giggled to himself as he tore down the gate, and broke the paving stones. And then he wandered home.
In the early dawn, a steady clop, clop was heard on the roadway overhead. Gorbon awoke with a start, and rubbed the sleep from he bleary eyes. “Who is it that disturbs me sleep he called, on this misty morning?”
The woodsman stopped his cart, and stared about in fright. “I am but a simple woodsman,” he said, “and meant no harm. I come to cut a living for myself in the woods beyond.”
“Simple or not, the toll is for all. A penny to cross, or I’ll eat your bones.”
“A penny,” said the woodsman, “I’ve but half that much, and must get to the woods to live.”
“The toll is fair,” replied the troll, “and will be justly used.”
Sadly the woodsman turned away, and the clop was heard fading in the distance. Gorbon giggled to himself in the water under the bridge. The day was cool, and the muddy banks seemed merrier than they had been in years. “Torment is gladness to my heart,” he laughed, “and the woodsmen will soon pay tribute to me!”
Not an hour passed when more carts clopped their way along the newly paved road to the troll’s painted gate.
“Who is it that disturbs my peace,” growled Gorbon angrily.
“We are but simple woodsmen,” came the shaky reply, “come to seek a living in the woods on the other side.”
“A penny each wagon,” said Gorbon, “and you shall see the other shore. Or I’ll eat your bones and cook your skins for my dinner.”
“We’ll pay, we’ll pay,” the woodsmen cried, “don’t eat us yet.”
Gorbon laughed aloud on the muddy banks below, and giggled as he lifted the lever to open the gate. The clink of cons hit the box, and Gorbon frolicked in the water. All that day Gorbon laughed, and as the woodsmen came, or the hunters on their proud horses, he growled and snarled, and made them all drop in their copper penny. When night came he washed the bridge and mended the stones, and locked the gate tight.
Then under the bridge in the dank shadows he slept, more peacefully than he had slept in years, and dreamed of new torments for his visitors. In his sleep he giggled, and snickered out loud. The frogs became annoyed with his sounds, and moved their songs to other parts. The fish and the night birds took their homes to quieter ground, and left the troll alone. Gorbon paid no head to them; glad he had scared them too.
Each day the woodsmen came, and each day the toll they paid, and if they argued, Gorbon laughed and growled, and scared them away. For a week or so, Gorbon was happy and content. Then one night as he slept, he heard a scrape and a laugh. He woke in time to see the last stone pulled, and the bridge came tumbling down. He heard a raspy, nasal voice, “now, thief, that’ll teach you to meddle with my things.” The raspy laugh disappeared, and Gorbon was covered in rubble.
The woodsmen came in the early dawn, as Gorbon crawled from ruin. “We’ll pay no toll,” they cried, “to a master who cannot keep his own.” And in the dim gray morning they steered their carts to the north.
Gorbon looked on the wreck of his home and snarled at the sky. His broken bones felt sore inside his body, so he found a cool pool in the shadows beneath the stones and nursed his anger. Gorbon waited, and rested for three days while his bones mended. His mind was busy planning a fitting revenge. “That old nose will pay,” he grumbled, and the men will mock me no more.”
In the cool of the night, Gorbon built up his bridge again. He labored carefully, and kept a watch for any enemy who might try to stop his work. Deep in his memory he sought the learning of his youth and all the craft of the ancients was poured out into the bridge. At long last, when summer was failing, the bridge stood tall and strong. Gorbon paved the road, and raised a new gate, and waited for the woodsmen to come.
The dawn brought no one. Gorbon waited, plotting carefully. “The nose has them,” he grumbled, and slept the rest of the day.
That night he stole his way along the woods to where the nose was hid. The enemy bridge stood tall, though less tall than it once did. The gate was broken, and moss grew where the paint once was. Gorbon looked with surprise on the scene, and approached cautiously. The frogs and night birds sang heedless of the troll, and nowhere could the nose be found.
“Nose or no nose, the bridge must go,” hissed Gorbon angrily. Gorbon knew that he must hurry, for already the night was getting old. He heaved at the rickety stones, and clawed through the mortar. At first the stone resisted, but soon the foundations fell. The gate toppled last, and Gorbon slipped silently back to his home.
The morning dawned, and soon thereafter the wagons came. One by one Gorbon stopped them, “a penny, or I’ll munch your bones,” he growled.
“You’ll munch nothing, troll, and soon you’ll see that it’s better to leave simple men alone. We’ll pay today, but tomorrow you had better be gone.”
Gorbon laughed loud and long at the frightened men. With a growl he sent them on their way. “Tomorrow I’ll be waiting,” he scoffed, “and tomorrow you will also pay.”
He watched and waited all through the night ready for any enemy. No one came. With the sun, the woodsmen returned. Their frightened faces told the tale, and Gorbon collected his penny from each. Giggling he found a cool shadow beneath the bridge and fell asleep. Gorbon kept one eye half open, though, and both ears cocked for danger.
The afternoon brought a clatter to the bridge, and Gorbon started awake. “Who is it that stomps on my roof,” he growled, “and ruins my daily rest?”
“’Tis I,” rang a proud voice from above, “Sir Derrol, come to avenge thy wrongs to the simple woodsmen.”
“Go away, human, before I eat your bones,” snarled Gorbon, “I’ve no time to waste on you. It is a penny to use this bridge, now pay or go away.”
“I will not go until you take down your gate,” said Sir Derrol.
Finally Gorbon clambered his way from beneath the bridge, squinting in the sunlight. “I gave you warning,” he said, “now I’ll eat your bones.”
Sir Derrol waited on his charger, with his lance and sword ready. Gorbon licked his lips, and cracked the knuckles in his fingers.
“Your large nosed friend was as discourteous as yourself,” said Sir Derrol, “but I’m sure you’ll give me no more trouble.”
The knight charged, and Gorbon leapt out of range of the lance. With lightning speed, and granite arms, he grabbed the horse’s hindquarter, and threw him to the ground. Sir Derrol came away unscathed, and drew his sword. The knight moved quickly, and his sword bit into Gorbon’s leather hide. Undaunted, the troll continued the attack.
“Yield, troll,” Sir Derrol cried, “and I’ll spare you and your bridge.”
Gorbon hesitated, but he caught the pant in the knight’s voice, and noticed the slowing of his blows. “I am no nose,” he growled, as he leapt one last time, and Sir Derrol fell.
In the morning, the woodsmen came, and found the troll laboring at the gate, removing the last stains of the battle. “A penny from each wagon,” he growled, “to cross my land and abuse my labor.” The woodsmen looked about in fear, but at last they paid. Over time they grew used to the growling troll, until they came to expect his angry voice in the morning. Never again did Gorbon wander from his happy bridge or let it fall into disrepair.
THE END
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Posted by admin on May 11, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
I worked at the forge until late in the evening. I found Tarkin, Pascalli, and Dina just finishing a fine meal. “Sit down, lad,” invited Tarkin. “You’ve worked yourself over-hard since you came. I can never repay such kindness. Enjoy some of this roast.”
I knew that I smelled of the forge and that my unwashed face must have appeared rather unruly to Dina. I became conscious for the first time of how graceful she truly was. She had tied her hair in a tight knot at her neck. Her eyes were a penetrating shade of jade, almost like a cat’s that still glared at me across the table. In her boots she stood as tall as me. I noticed that she kept her cutlass and bow close by.
“I believe that you have not been properly introduced,” said Pascalli casually. “This is my knight and protector, Sir Lanseg.” She nodded. “And this is Dina, third daughter of Lord Taradurk.” I bowed deeply, remembering my manners.
I had not learned to speak with much grace and I felt my cheeks flush, so I did the only thing my mouth was good for and stuffed it with food.
“Her ladyship has come to avenge the loss of the blacksmith, Sir Lanseg,” said Tarkin. “She is a very great hunter of evil, both of men and creatures.” The farmer seemed genuinely excited about the arrival of that surly girl. “She was just telling us of a particularly nasty creature. Please continue.”
“There really isn’t much more to it,” she replied. “We came upon them just after dawn and slew them quickly.”
“What sort of creatures were they?” asked Tarkin.
“Beasts that walk like men, with horns and claws. One had the head of a dog, the other the head of a goat. Both were covered in black fur and scales.”
I opened my mouth to say Kaarum, but caught Pascalli’s eye and stuffed it with food instead.
“When was this?” asked Pascalli.
“Two markets ago, near the great wall,” she replied.
“Do you hear that Lanseg?” he said. I nodded. “We will have to make haste. We must be at our destination before winter arrives and already the hills grow dangerous.”
“After we solve the murder,” I said bluntly.
“Oh, of course,” he continued casually. “We were just discussing the matter when you arrived. I have done some scouting, and I believe we will be able to take care of that problem without too much trouble in the morning. Then it will be a small matter for the farm to find a new smith and we can be on our way.”
“Where are you going?” asked Dina.
“Why, to Darnuth Keep, my dear,” said Pascalli as casually as if we were taking a summer stroll to go fishing. My jaw dropped. My fork dropped. I did not have the presence to even hide my surprise my stuffing my mouth again. Winters now of traveling in secrecy and he just spouted it off.
“You are joking of course,” replied Dina, her voice betraying her shock. “That place is haunted, filled with deadly evil beasts. Legend has it that it was cursed from the breaking and can never be made whole again.”
“Never is a very long time,” said Pascalli. “Despite the dangers we are going there. I am surprised at you, Dina, frightened of mere stories when you have yourself fought and conquered evil. I should think you would want to come with us.” Now I really was struggling to keep myself composed. The last thing I wanted along was a silly girl who couldn’t take care of herself, let alone help out in a tight spot. But my fears were unfounded.
“I have other duties,” she replied. “I am not always free to chase my quarry or to follow fools into darkness.”
“Of course,” replied Pascalli, and as far as we were all concerned the matter was closed. The conversation turned to more mundane topics until I drifted to sleep at the table from exhaustion.
The morning found us looking for over-sized gopher holes. “What we are looking for, are holes about this large,” described Pascalli very carefully. He held his hands apart to form a circle about the size of my head. “They will be surrounded by the burrowed out dirt, and probably by a sort of yellow slime or yellow dirt. I have already marked three of them, but there should be a few more, possibly as many as ten or twelve.”
“What do we do when we find them,” I asked.
“Just mark them with a stick, like this, and a bit of cloth.” He handed each of us a few strips of cloth. “Whatever you do, do not put your hand or foot inside one of these holes! The creatures inside can be very dangerous, as you will soon see.”
As Pascalli had guessed, the work was relatively quick and easy. Both Tarkin and I had experience hunting vermin of this sort in the fields, so we knew what signs to look for. Dina learned quickly what we were searching for, and in less than an hour we had all nine burrows marked.
Pascalli gathered us together with several of the other farm workers. “Now for the fun part,” he said. Each of you put a generous amount of this powder down a hole, all except one hole, which Lanseg and Dina will watch with their bows.” He passed a generous round of reddish powder to eight different willing parties. “When I give the signal, put your torches to the powder. Mind you be careful, and if you see any creature coming out of the hole run back away and call out for assistance.”
“What are we to do?” asked Dina.
“Shoot them as they come out, of course.” Pascalli winked. “I did say this was the fun part, didn’t I. Oh, but be careful not to get bitten. I believe you will find that they move spectacularly fast when frightened, and their venom is quite deadly.”
Just as planned, eight torches set off fire and smoke in unison and a few short seconds later out crawled seven enormous lizards. I call them lizards but truly they were more like giant centipedes with lizard-like heads. They sported just one vicious fang, almost like a horn. Their mouths opened with rages of fear, pain and anger as they emerged, and their bulbous eyes blinked in the morning sun. One by one we shot them with our arrows as they emerged. Most of them required more than one shot to stop. They had some inner desire to keep moving, to keep attacking that went far beyond normal instinct. The last one very nearly reached Dina’s legs before I put an arrow through its eye. She gave me a grudging thank you, and turned to survey the situation.
After a few moments, the fury was over and I began skinning one of the creatures. “What could you possibly want with that,” asked Dina, a look of disgust on her face.
“New boots,” I suggested, indicating my worn footwear. I’m not sure what made me continue, “I can make a pair for you if you’d like.” The words seemed to escape my lips before I knew I was even speaking.
She looked at first taken aback, and then wary, then replied, “I’m sure you’ll be long gone before you can finish them. Besides I have business.”
“Then I will send them to your father as a trophy of his daughter’s triumph.” To my surprise there was no note of mockery in my voice. She had done very well that day and I did want to make up.
“Thank you,” she stammered. I believe that was the first time someone had sincerely complimented her in her life, if not, it was certainly the most powerful. She was used to the idle prattle of hangers-on and the expected kindnesses of servants.
“Taking trophies already I see,” interrupted Pascalli. “Wonderful. I could use a new belt, but mind the fangs and let me know if you see any of their eggs.”
“I’ll be careful,” I grumbled. “The hides are already spoken for.”
“Oh well, another time then,” responded Pascalli cheerfully. “Ho, Tarkin, come see what we’ve managed.” The farmer was already halfway to us of course. “Now mind you that we may not have gotten all the eggs. If we didn’t you’ll see a few young come out in one or two markets. The young will be looking for mice or frogs, whatever they can get. I suggest you set some traps around the burrows at night. Go ahead and plug as many as you can.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Ten
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Posted by admin on May 4, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
At some point between villages, far to the west, but not yet as far as Darnuth Keep, my horse threw a shoe and forced me to beg the use of a forge at a remote farm. The farm was large enough to almost be a village, and we were sure our luck would be good. Naturally events didn’t go quite as expected. The good man of the farm was willing enough to accept our gold, but explained that their smith had died, and no one else knew the art for some kilometers around. I explained that I could do the work myself if only they would lend us the forge, at which point he became both intrigued and much friendlier.
“You see, Galin, the smith, was murdered just two days ago, and we’ve not had word back yet from Daturk-thrull if their smith can come and do some work here, or if his apprentice is ready or willing to come,” said master Tarkin.
“I don’t imagine anyone would be willing to take his place until the murder is solved,” I said. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Well, no, actually.” Tarkin scratched his head and shrugged. “I would love to, but the truth is none of us knows. Galin just went into the woods for a bit of an evening stroll down by the creek and never came back. In the morning we found his body.”
“How did he die? Do you know what killed him?”
“There were three wounds, one on the back of his left leg, one in the heart, from the front, and one on his right shoulder, all deep cuts like those from a dagger. There was a rumor a few markets back that Edelo Cheshk’s bandits may have returned to the area, but there aren’t any signs of a struggle, and he was a large strong man who would have at least hurt one of them. I’m assuming there were more than one since one man would have had to be very skilled to take Galin like that and not get the same in return, armed or not.”
Pascalli, who had listened quietly to our conversation interrupted. “We will offer your farm some protection until a new smith can be found. Young Sir Lanseg has the ability to act as smith for a short while. He was once apprentice to a very great smith. Although his specialty is weapons, he can handle horseshoes just as well.”
Once again I found myself laboring at the forge. This time I gave direction to a boy even younger than myself. The work became a pleasant distraction to the questions that had plagued me earlier. I discovered for the first time in my life the true wonder of being master of a small domain and I found I was happier then than at any time since leaving the farm. Pascalli seemed to disappear for the next two days until a new rider appeared on the farm. She was a young woman, perhaps two or three summers my elder dressed in rich hardened leather and sporting a solid bow for hunting. At her side hung a traditional Tulandish cutlass. Her hair fell dark and straight from beneath the solid metal cap atop her head.
Too rich for a bandit, too surly for a beggar, I knew instantly that she was trouble. She moved with an enchanting, self-assured grace that immediately drew attention from all within eyeshot. I, however, did not notice her immediate arrival. Tulath, my assistant pointed her out.
“You there,” she called to the first person she met. “Go and fetch me the master of this farm.”
Before turning back to my work I noticed that her horse did not quite walk properly. I knew that it had cast a shoe and would be lame if not properly tended soon. Sure enough she rode directly towards the forge. She stopped short of the shop and dismounted.
Tulath began to step aside when I ordered, “Mind your fire, we’ve work yet to finish.” I did not bother to look up from the plow-blade I was mending.
“You there,” she called. I knew she would be angry, I had known enough of her breed to smell them a kilometer off. “My horse has cast a shoe. You will replace it at once.”
Tulath had slackened his pace at the bellows. “Mind your fire,”I ordered. My voice was more gruff than intended. I glanced up long enough to look her over. “That hoof will need a day or two of rest before it can be worked. Stable your mare and I’ll take care of her when I’ve a chance.”
“I am in haste. I am Dina, third daughter of the house of Taradurk; you will not keep me waiting.” She was brandishing her horsewhip rhythmically.
Pascalli had told me of the Regent Taradurk who served as lord over all the west, but the lessons of Iven were cast more solid into my soul than any fear of a title. “Surely the daughter of Taradurk knows when a horse is lame,” I replied. She swung with the whip, but the blow never connected. She had not expected my reaction, and in one swift move I stepped inside of her wide swing and grabbed her wrist. Then with a hard jerk I flung her over my shoulder and sent her sprawling on the ground beneath her horse.
“You will die for that, peasant,” she said icily.
“Not at your hands,” I replied coolly. “And if you had the brains of your horse you would have realized I am not a peasant.”
A moment of doubt quickly flickered across her eyes. I was certain she did not entirely believe me.
“He speaks the truth, daughter or Taradurk,” said a voice I had not heard the last two days. Pascalli wandered up next to her horse and was examining the leg.
“Who are you?” she blurted. “Why should I believe you?”
“Better you should ask what truth I was referring to,” he replied. I immediately burst out in a laugh and turned back to my work. “You see, my dear Dina, he has, after all, told you several things, all of which are true, and you seem rather obstinate about not believing any of it. And my name is Lord Pandrake of Gratterskeep, not that it will do you much good.” His voice was unusually kind though slightly condescending. He extended a hand to help her to her feet. She took it cautiously, and together they followed Tarkin into the farmhouse.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Ten
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Posted by admin on April 29, 2009
“The horde is not mindless,” said my master abruptly. “Each creature within the writhing mass can think and act, and each bears deadly weapons. Like men, they have fears and desires. They can be manipulated as easily as the kings of your land.”
“I’ve never know a king,” I replied. Pasav chuckled to himself.
“Of course not.” He paused, looking amused as he walked. “I have known too many.” Again he laughed, “and each one a bigger fool than the first.”
Pasav delighted in confusing me. We were far from any land I had ever known before. Day after day we rode through forests and over hills. We rested some days, and some days we did not. “Why don’t we take the plain roads,” I once asked.
“Because there is nothing of interest for us there,” was the reply.
The old man spoke in riddles or spouted legends. But his food was plentiful and easy enough to cook. Despite his strange ways and lofty manner, I like the old man. He was as kind as he was mysterious, and his discipline came only when necessary.
Truly I did lose interest in the affairs of the villages we passed. My own home in Craverton faded into a distant memory, where my withered mother’s face looked out on the dusty streets, waiting for a change that would never come. Pasav taught me to hold my spear, and to ride tall in the saddle. When we camped, he handed me a practice sword, and bade me learn to use it properly. Aged though he was, Pasav moved faster than a cat, and I found myself gently bruised by his hard teaching.
“There is no softness in the blade,” he chuckled. Then he put his arm on my shoulder and held up my chin. “Pain is everywhere in the world. We all feel it. The sword is hard, but the healer’s hand is soft and strong, stronger than the mightiest steel.” Then he showed me how to tend the bruises with herbs found in the hills, and where to find blossoms that brought hope and comfort. Day after day the lessons continued, tirelessly. Each moment he opened my mind, and each moment I found that I knew less than I ever thought possible.
After three weeks’ journey, we reached the foothills of the Tarangorn Mountains, far to the north of my village. By now I rode comfortably in the saddle, and the practice sword felt as comfortable in my hand as the crumbs of bread I used to crave. The end of summer was upon us, and the weather turned each hour a little colder. Before me the peaks rose blue and then white. A chill wind crossed our path, and I shivered in the saddle.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Nuriath, the ancient north realm,” responded Pasav. “No one lives here now.”
I looked about the barren hillsides all around us, and confirmed his assertion. “Where are we going?”
“A long time ago King Eirionoth built a fortress on the very edge of the mountains. He called it the Keep of the Black Crag. After our fall, the Horde overran the keep, and the kingdom fell into ruin. Many foul things lurk in the lower halls of the keep, but the upper portions are still well maintained. We will dwell there for some months this winter. I have a large store of provisions waiting there, and it is better housing than this open land. The Horde will move again this winter, and we must be prepared to meet them.”
I held my peace, although many questions still lay heavy on my mind. In another two weeks we came to the first of the mountains. In a narrow pass, high on the eastern face of the cliffs overlooking the valley sat a black fortress. Its dark spires stabbed into the sky like black spears pointing angrily at the gods. A narrow road cut into the face of the mountain and worked its way to the edge of the pass. The sunlight seemed to disappear into the shadows of the fortress, and no sound came from its dark windows.
“Once the keep was a fair place, full of laughter and feasting. Eirionoth was a powerful wizard in his time.” Pasav seemed lost in his deep memories as he spoke. “In those days the mountains were not as cold as you see them now. We worked many wonders in our seclusion from men, and they treated us with proper respect. Freely we shared with the kings all that we knew, indeed, the very foundations of the Keep of the Black Crag are imbued with mystical powers; and kings ruled from here freely. No army could ever assail it. In later days, though, its power failed. My brethren failed.” My master looked suddenly sad, and he stopped his horse and stared blankly at the castle above us.
“What happened?” I asked. “Did the Horde finally break down your defenses?”
Pasav half smirked and half sighed. “The more powerful of our order were able to summon servants from other spheres or to imbue dead things with life, or alter existing creatures so that they could learn intelligence. These servants were employed to build the keep, as well as to discover many new secrets. The gods blessed us as long as we were kind and gentle, and did not attempt to bring evil into the world. Some were tempted for greater power. The strongest of us, Niersath, summoned demons that taught him how to twist and torment the flesh of men and beasts. Together with some followers who also sought power, they created the creatures of the Horde. In the end, all of our creations turned against us. Our power failed, and their wills were made their own. The creatures overran all of the mountains. Most of my brethren were destroyed. Those who remained were summoned by the power of the gods to the Oracle deep in the mountains. We were charged with undoing what we had done. ‘You shall remain in this realms until all are destroyed’ they said. So we began to walk the earth in search of the Horde, attempting to undo our wrong. As long as even one of the creatures remains, the wizards do not age. But many of my brethren have been destroyed. I am the last of our order to continue, unless the rebel Niersath still lives. The horde has a power that I do not understand to continue to thrive. Each year thousands are destroyed, and each year their power grows.”
My master stopped speaking, and urged his horse up the narrow path towards the castle. I followed quietly, and watched the valley floor grow steadily further away. The roadway was broad enough for the two horses to walk side by side, but I chose to ride behind, as close to the mountain as possible. The pavement was black, and polished as if it had been laid just the day before. No fence or wall had been made to protect the edge, and the stone of the cliff face had been polished smooth as glass to the height of several men above the road. A chill wind beat against us from the north as we reached the top, and I pulled my cloak over my face. In the sky overhead, thick gray clouds gathered.
Pasav rode straight up to the castle gate, and finding it open, passed inside. I followed cautiously, but found no danger inside. “Shut the gate, Kyven,” he said. I dismounted, and began to labor with the enormous metal doors Pasav continued up towards the castle entrance itself, and soon disappeared inside. I managed to close the gate, and let down the bar to lock it shut before going inside of the castle myself.
My master had lit torches and built a small fire in a small room near the entrance. “There are many inhabitants of the castle now,” he warned quietly. “Most of them will not trouble us until we trouble them. They know that I use the upper portions of the castle, and are afraid to disturb me. Do not go down to any of the stories below for any reason.”
I nodded that I understood, and began taking out provisions to prepare a meal at the fire. “How long will we stay here?” I asked.
“We will stay through the winter. There are only a few passes through the mountains, but from here we can watch them all. In the ancient days, we built two other fortresses, greater than this to watch the other ways. Ardinan Tower and Castle Tirimbil are both still held by living kings. The Horde does not challenge those paths often anymore, for the warriors there are valiant and cunning. When you are ready, perhaps you will got to Ardinan Tower and train with the king’s guard.”
“I do not wish to be a warrior,” I replied. “I would rather be a cook.”
Pasav laughed, as merrily as I had ever heard him laugh. “Then you had best practice a great deal more.” He gestured at the fire, and the meal I was preparing. Rarely did anything I cook taste very good. Suddenly his manner changed, “but I am glad to hear your words. There is wisdom in them. Choose always not to want to be a warrior, even when you must take up a sword.”
“I had no trade before, though I was apprentice blacksmith for a while. What trade will I learn from you?”
“I also have no trade,” replied Pasav. “I am a wizard, a scholar, a thinker of great things.” He laughed out loud, “and mostly now I am an old man. You will learn no useful trade from me. I will teach you to be a warrior because I do not want you to be killed by the Horde. But I require an assistant for a time. You will know when you have learned enough, and then you will find your own way in this world.”
“Then I will learn to cook,” I replied. I finished preparing the meal, and we ate together in comfort. The dark castle was the first roof I had felt in several weeks, and I was glad for it.
“In the morning, we will find more comfortable quarters,” said Pasav, “but we will probably have to relocate some of the current inhabitants of the castle. With luck, we will have a few more weeks before the Horde tries to move south for the winter.”
The morning found the castle courtyard covered in a light layer of snow. There was no sign of any other creature beside us outside, and no sounds came from within. Pasav showed me around the ancient rooms and halls. He carried a set of keys, with which he opened several doors and showed me where he had stored provisions. The throne room was barren except for the ancient throne, and a few other chairs. The bedrooms were also empty. In a far corner of the castle, he showed me a locked door.
“The stairs beyond go down,” he said sharply, “do not go down them.”
The tower stairs and ramparts were free and clear, and from the highest towers the entire valley below for many miles was visible and open. Pasav had me put our gear in the bedrooms, and showed me where the kitchen was. After a tour and another lesson with the practice sword, Pasav took me to the north wall.
“From here we will see the approach of the enemy. The snow has come early, so we may expect them very soon. I hope that there will not be so many because of the losses they suffered in the summer, but we must try to destroy them all in this one pass. If any escape, then we will have to hunt them throughout the south all winter long.”
“Don’t they know that the pass will be guarded?” I asked.
“Of course, but they must chance it. Their numbers increase so rapidly that some of them must leave sometimes. In the winter, food is scarce for them, so they come south. We will stop them here. Come with me.”
I followed Pasav to the back of the castle, where the rampart met the mountain. A small path wound its way up the mountain, and eventually into the snow. The snow and ice grew deeper and more dangerous as we went, and several times I slipped. Eventually we reached a point where the path disappeared entirely. Pasav turned, and pointed to the valley below.
“I have more than food stored in the castle. When the Horde comes, we will let fall the snow into the valley, and they will be stopped. We will take turns watching. Your job will be to run up the path as quickly as possible, and wait for my signal. I will show you how to let the snowfall. Then you must hurry back to the castle. Whatever else happens, when the Horde comes, do not leave the ramparts, or go back inside the castle until I come for you.”
I was not sure that I understood everything the wizard wanted to explain, but I nodded my head. “I will let the snow fall, and wait for you on the ramparts. What will happen if the Horde gets into the castle?”
Pasav laughed openly. “That will not happen. But some creatures may come up from below, or out of the mountains when they hear the noise. Carry your spear, you should be able to protect yourself well enough while I am gone.”
We walked back down the mountain, and Pasav began to show me where his magical devices were stored, and how to use them. Each morning before any of my other duties, he made me run to the top of the path with a torch to light the fire that would let the snowfall. Again, before every meal, and sometimes during the day for no apparent reason Pasav would have me make the run. When I was not running up the mountain, I walked the ramparts, watching the valley and carrying my spear. Pasav spent nearly all of his time on the mountain with his boxes and barrels. Many times I carried supplies up for him, and still each day he made me practice with the sword.
After three weeks, the valley floor was also covered with a layer of snow, and the mountain path had become a trench through the ice. Finally, in the afternoon, I saw a black mass appear far north in the narrow valley. “Pasav,” I yelled, “Master, they are coming.”
The wizard joined me quickly on the rampart, and looked at what I saw. “Get your torch, and be off. Remember, do not light the fire until you get the signal.”
I had run the path so many times now that I needed no further instructions. I carried the torch quickly and without difficulty, and stood at the end of the path waiting. I couldn’t see much in the valley below, only a distant mass growing steadily larger. Eventually the mass disappeared beneath the shadows of the mountains, and I waited for the signal. My heart pounded, and I gripped the torch and my spear impatiently. After many minutes, a little ball of fire shot up into the sky, Pasav’s signal. I knelt, and used the torch to light the fire. When it began to burn steadily, I turned and made my way quickly down the path.
I reached the ramparts of the castle, and Pasav had already left. Below us, in the valley, the Horde approached. The mass of dark, beastly bodies moved quickly, yet quietly over the snow-laden ground, kicking up gusts of white powder as it went. High above, in the mountain, nothing stirred for a long time. I began to fear that the fire had gone out, when suddenly a resounding explosion shook the mountain and the castle. Almost instantly, the Horde stopped moving forward. Several animalistic voices cried out as the mountain began to drop vast amounts of snow over them. Across the valley, the echo shook the other mountain, and it too began to cast its wrath down upon the Horde. I fell to the ground, covering my ears, and hoped beyond hope that the castle would remain on its perch on the cliff.
After several minutes of rumbling and terror, the mountain stopped moving. I picked myself up, and ran down the rampart into the courtyard, “Pasav,” I called, “Master, where are you?” No one answered. I reached the castle entrance, when his words of warning returned to my mind, but too late. A large creature, like a dog, though slavering and covered with hard scales leaped out of the darkness. I raised my spear, and tried to jump out of the way. The beast knocked me over, and I crashed to the ground. Before I could react, it was on top of me. With the shaft of the spear I was able to protect myself from its angry fangs, but my strength was no match for its fierce wrath.
Suddenly the beast faltered. It turned its head, and I saw Pasav bring down his great sword. The beast died and I rolled from beneath the corpse. “To the rampart,” he said in a stern, commanding voice. I did not hesitate, but flew to the top of the stairs. In the courtyard below, I heard the sounds of battle as Pasav faced the creatures that were fleeing the castle.
I looked out over the castle wall, and for as far as I could see; the valley was filled with deep snow, and the twisted bodies of dead creatures. Black and broken, they littered the horizon. My arms and face were cut where I had been attacked, but I did not feel the sting. Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder, and I heard Pasav’s voice, “we have stopped them again, for a time, but our work is not yet done. Help me clear the courtyard, and then we can rest.”
THE END
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Posted by admin on April 27, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
After Enbeck-thrull we kept even more to the wild if possible. I understood that the villagers would surely spread the news of such interesting events far and wide for winters to come, and that the Lord of Gratterskeep would be long remembered there. Such notoriety could only attract the attention of the local lords and eventually the regent.
We reached the northern wall and turned west. Here the villages appeared less frequently, and we spent many nights beneath the endless stars. In those days I took my watch alone as Pascalli slept. It was not unusual for him to share a portion of my watch, or for me to share a portion of his, as it is a very lonely business traveling in the wild.
One night beneath the canopy of stars I sat considering the fate that had dragged me from home. I found the fragment’s of Anaria’s flower in the bottom of my pack and missed the farm and everything I had left behind. My father’s bow and spear waited within reach of my hand, but he had not taught me their use or history.
“Tell me about my father,” I asked Pascalli.
“Halfspear was not the name he was born with,” answered the wizard. “He accepted that name in honor of his skill with weapons. After his first battles he returned home an orphan, so the name stayed and he has passed it on to you.”
“I only knew him as a farmer,” I said.
“A man may be many things and yet remain a mystery to those who love him best. I knew him as a soldier and a leader of men,” said Pascalli.
“What does that make me?” I asked.
“It doesn’t make you anything?” Pascalli laughed. “Your father chose to become a farmer. You have chosen to follow me, and I will train you to be a soldier and a hunter and a dozen other things. In the end you will be whatever you make of yourself, or whatever Tylos makes of you.”
“What will that be?” I asked.
“You’re full of questions tonight. Nobody knows the mind of the gods, lad. I’m going to get some rest. Wake me before you not off.”
Pascalli wrapped himself in his blankets. I felt unusually awake as questions raced through my mind. Somehow I wanted to prove that I could be more than a farmer, and yet a part of me wished only to return to Dunston and live a peaceful life.
Suddenly I felt warmth about me, not just simple comfort, but actual heat, as if surrounded by gentle flames, and a light shone over me such as that of the high-noon summer sun. Around me, the camp glowed white, and the sweet fragrance of dew-covered grass filled my nostrils. Then She stood before me, her feet just above the grass. Though I felt no breeze, her hair rippled in ever-changing locks of purest red and gold, swirling about her perfect face. Her skin appeared as white as the undiscovered snow. She wore a shimmering robe of palest blue or silver, so bright was the light that my mortal eyes could not tell. When she spoke, her voice was as the gentle spring rains, both soft and soothing but so strong it held my very soul captive.
“Colter, son of Kyven my beloved champion, do not fear.” Although I was quite startled, I do not believe I was afraid but those eyes of blue fire impressed upon me her great power. “Be not dismayed for your father. He has earned his reward and rests with me. The tasks he chose to leave unfinished were his to leave.”
I could not speak although my mind raced with a thousand questions. I wanted so much to know about myself, about my future, about my family, about Pascalli. Much of what went through my mind was no more than the innocent ramblings of youth, but there were other burning important questions.
“Do not trouble your mind and heart for the future, my child. Your choices will also be your own to make, and you will know what they are when the time comes. I have come now to the realm I broke so long ago that it may begin to heal, and that through you the healing may begin should you choose it. Do not fear, for if you stand by me then none may thwart you though the way will not be easy even until the day you pass into my eternal realm.”
My thoughts turned to Pascalli and the breaking and to Darnuth Keep, and I knew instantly she could tell all my thoughts.
“Follow the counsel of the wizard, for his task is great and he has much to do before his curse can be lifted. He will never again betray me, and his heart and mind are ever upon the task at hand. Look not to the past for the answers, my child. None before you have done what must be done, only look at what you have. I have sent others to aid you, and in time even others will find you. When the calamities foretold begin to unfold they will flock to the banner you will raise.”
“And if I don’t want to,” I thought. I instantly felt a pang of regret for even thinking such cowardly things.
“Do not fear men.” Her voice, though I could not hear a change, felt firmer, stronger, and more potent. “Do not fear death. Do not fear the future. Know that I am with you always through fire and pain and darkness. When the demons of Hieron gather against you and summon their allies here to defeat you, I will stand by you and your spear will shine with my power.”
“How am I to know what to do? Where to go?” Now I longed to serve but I still did not understand my full purpose.
“That will come in time. Follow your feelings and you will know. I will be with you always.”
Then as quickly as She had appeared She was gone. I found that I was kneeling in the grass staring into the stars. I blinked. The odor of dew and spring rain still hung heavy in my nostrils. I sat back, my mind a whir of wonder and hope. Pascalli stirred in his sleep, and I realized that the first rays of dawn were just edging their way over the horizon.
I didn’t say anything to Pascalli right away about my experience. He allowed me to choose my own time for the telling, although I am sure he knew something had happened as soon as he saw me that morning. “I’m sure you have more questions than answers now,” he said when I finished the tale. “That is usually what happens when we learn something important.”
“She said that you are cursed, but that I should do what you tell me.” There were indeed a hundred questions, but I didn’t know which were safe to ask, so I thought I would try to hardest first.
Pascalli paused. I felt that I had hit upon a nerve, but then he chuckled. “Yes, my boy, I am the most cursed man in the world, and well I deserve it. Perhaps one day you will come to understand the full depth of who and what I am, but I doubt it. After so many centuries I am barely beginning to understand.” His chuckle ended and then he shook his head. Sadness passed across his face like I had not seen in his face before. “The world was not always as it is. Before the breaking, magic flourished everywhere and in everything. The most common of villages, and in those days there were many more villages and towns and cities, had magic to help their crops grow and to heal sick animals.”
“But the most powerful magic was reserved for great men of learning and study. We, that is to say I and some of my closest associates, delved deeply into the very powers that create and mold life in this world. We developed mastery over the elements, over the basest of creatures, and eventually over death. Or at least our power extended mostly over death, for our lives expanded beyond that of the average man. But with such great power came great greed and lust.”
“There are those in the world now, just as there were then, who believe that power that is not used is not really power. That is a lie, Scratch, a very cunningly crafted lie that leads only to pain and misery. For a time I believed it. When we reach Darnuth Keep you will see much of the results. In short, some of my comrades attempted to use magic to twist life to serve their basest whims. Through intrigue and through open warfare they established their petty kingdoms. Eventually we divided more or less into two groups, and then we went to war. One the one hand there were those who sought to preserve magic and use it only to enhance, heal and build. On the other side were those who wished to use it to create their own version of life. They would abuse it to suppress, curse, and build after their own image.”
I couldn’t help but ask, “How did the war go?”
“Better you should ask which side I was on, first,” said Pascalli. “Each point in its proper order.”
“Very well,” I said. “Which side were you on?” Only after the words were out of my mouth did I realize that there were so many possible meanings to the question.
“I was on the wrong side,” responded the wizard.
“You mean you were with the evil wizards?”
“No, I mean that both sides were wrong and that I was too slow to realize my mistake. But for your information I was indeed the leader of what you would consider to be the evil wizards, although we were not so much evil as mistaken. And since we won, we would hardly consider ourselves evil. Generally only those who lose the great wars are considered the bad or evil enemy, as the victors get to write history.”
“So you killed all the good wizards?” I asked bluntly.
“Always so black and white with the young,” he replied. He had an air of irritability now, and I knew I should listen more and talk less. “Of course we killed them. They were our sworn enemies. And in the process both sides killed millions of innocents and ruined the lives of countless others. We took this world from a state of beauty and grace to a state of near constant warfare, and we broke our goddess’ heart. She warned us, but we did not all heed the warning. Instead some of us thought we could undo what had been done, yet others thought that now we had a fresh world that we could reshape to fit our own desires just as we had wanted.”
“We built massive fortresses and in them began experimenting. One by one we turned out abominations and fancies and wonders. And one by one we began again to be envious and covetous of the power that the others held. We no longer shared our secrets with others, and for a generation hid ourselves from each other and the world. Then, as if by common consent, we resurfaced and went again to war against each other.”
“In the wake of that final war, we broke the world. That is to say we drove the Veldmen forever from the surface. We destroyed the long memories of the Darkunders. We shattered the spirits and histories of all the races of men. We destroyed civilization, and we destroyed each other. I say we, only because I did not stop them from what they did. There were three of us who saw the folly of it before it completely unfolded, and we petitioned to Tylos to save the world, but she was as slow to hear us as we had been slow to obey her. When the war subsided she finally appeared.”
“The three of us met together with the victor of that horrible war. Then Tylos appeared and she told us that the ability to create new magic had been taken from the world. We could no longer control the elements or create new abominations. We were saddened, but also understood. Then we were all cursed to repair what we had done and charged to make the world whole again. Three of us readily agreed, but the last, who had come only to demand our surrender saw this as his opportunity to cement his place as ruler of the world and returned with his army to his fortress.”
“You see, Scratch, he knew that even though he could not continue to experiment, he could still use the tools he had, and he knew or at least he believed that we did not have armies sufficient to resist him. Tylos cursed us three again, charging us that as long as he lived neither we nor the world would see any rest. What this means, in part, Scratch, is that I cannot age, or even become ill as long as he is alive, but it also means that neither can he. My other two companions were lost shortly after when we used our remaining resources to stop his armies, and for these hundreds of winters I have been trying to find a way to stop him.”
He did not continue. I knew he was allowing me to absorb everything he was telling me. “Then my father was helping you also, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Scratch. He was a very brave man.”
“But he loved my mother too much to finish it, didn’t he,” I said. I didn’t know what to feel about it.
“Yes, my boy, he did. But you must not hold that against him. Didn’t She tell you that it was his choice?” The wizard looked at me kindly. “Do not worry if you will fail like your father because he didn’t fail. And do not worry about being less than your father because in the end he didn’t succeed. So either way you can do no worse, even if you quit now. You’ve already proven to me that you’ve got what’s necessary to finish this, so you may as well try it.”
That rare compliment put my position in perspective in an odd way. I began to understand my purpose in that moment. As we continued west I often thought of my experience and Pascalli’s story but answers came only very slowly.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Ten
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Posted by admin on April 20, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
Pascalli left a few coins with Kimlt before we left as payment for what the soldiers would eat during their stay. The farmer thanked us heartily, and filled our bags with bread and hard cheese. Induresk rode with us a short while to put us on the straightest path. “You’ve shown uncommon kindness, my lord Pandrake,” he said as he took his leave. He hesitated a moment. “I only half believed the word that the wandering Pascalli had returned, and I never believed that Halfspear’s son would come this direction. I’ll send word to see that you aren’t bothered, though there are those who will ignore me.” He handed Pascalli a sealed paper. “Give this to the soldiers at the next check point and you should be able to travel a little more freely.”
I enjoyed the ride north immensely. The Tulanders treated us with respect and I learned to enjoy their customs. The Tulandish word for place was thrull, and usually the place was called after some great ancestor. In every village we were required to take the finest rooms in the inn and served the finest food (all of course paid for with the finest gold). In the east we would have been merely another pair of rag-tags, and could easily have passed for such in the wild and continued un-noticed from village to village.
Tulanders in general have very dark or black hair, though a few have lighter tones. We reached Enbeck-thrull sooner than expected, and Pascalli directed us to a large inn near the center of town. “Go get us lodging,” he ordered, and I went inside without hesitation.
“My lord Pandrake requires a room for the night,” I told the portly man who ran the place.
“My daughter, Emmha will show you the way,” he said. “Do you need stabling as well?”
“Two horses. We haven’t much baggage.” A little girl, perhaps six or seven emerged to guide me to the rooms on the second floor. Her light brown hair seemed so out of place. It reminded me of my sister, and of Laural. I wondered how Laural fared since I left her. When I saw the girl’s face I realized that I missed the friends I had left behind.
The lord mayor of the village, a small, balding man whose thin dark hair hung below his shoulder in the back sat at dinner with my master the first evening we were in town. I believe, had Pascalli not warned me very carefully beforehand, that I would have probably caused us a great deal of trouble that night.
I can still see the mayor’s skinny face and sallow eyes that darted in every direction as he consumed every bit of food in sight.
“I’m sorry that the pheasant is a little dry,” mentioned the mayor to my master with a glance at the uneaten portion on Pascalli’s plate. His voice carried a tone of anxiety mixed with contempt. “I don’t know why the innkeeper chose to serve this. There are far better delicacies to tempt the appetite here.”
“Yes, it is quite disappointing,” replied the wizard. “Take it away,” he said and nodded to me. I had personally witnessed Pascalli positively inhale cooking much worse than that on numerous occasions, after all he did eat my cooking, and I knew something was amiss. I respectfully bent to take the dish and caught a stern look, which I knew meant I should pay attention, but which the lord mayor took to mean that I had better return with something more pleasing.
“Perhaps some dumplings, my lord,” suggested the mayor. “Our cook is famous for the sauce. I believe you will find it very good.”
“Thank you,” replied Pascalli. “Please find something better to drink.”
The lord mayor rose and I followed him to the kitchens where he met with the innkeeper. “What is this filth you serve?” he bellowed. “Do you not know I could lose my head for displeasing the nobility?” He grabbed the dish I held and flung it at the man. Then he stormed into the kitchens. Curious, I followed, which seemed to please him a great deal as he now had an audience. Quivering, the innkeeper followed us.
The cook was an ancient man whose wrinkled but stern glance commanded his domain with ease. At first he seemed little more than annoyed at the interruption, barely glancing up from his work until the mayor forced himself.
“What kind of trash do you think you are peddling here?” he hollered, instantly bringing all eyes to himself. For a moment I felt the cook would attack the man, but instead he slowly turned and folded his arms quietly. “That food is not fit for swine. I am serving a great nobleman whose tastes are far beyond the ordinary.”
The cook just stood there, looking almost amused but clearly without the fear that would perhaps have sated the mayor’s petty temper. “His lordship demands dumplings, and your finest mead.” The mayor glanced around at the frozen figures. “Get moving!” he shouted. When no one moved he took a step and pushed the nearest servant, a young girl. She scampered into a corner and the mayor backhanded the cook harshly. The old man stumbled back from the force of the blow but regained his composure quickly. When he raised his head a bead of blood formed at the corner of his lip and it began to swell.
“As you wish, lord mayor,” he said quietly, and turned back to his work. Instantly the rest of the kitchen staff began working furiously. The mayor went back upstairs to the fine dining room and I returned a short while later with a bottle of mead.
The master cook himself presented the next course. The dumplings tasted exquisite. Light pastries steamed perfectly with a balanced blend of meats and vegetables. Served with a delectable currant sauce whose particular zest I could not discern for the spices of the region were unknown in the east. The old man managed to catch Pascalli’s eye as he served the remainder of the meal. The mayor treated him with cold scorn. “Pray, dear fellow, that this is better than your last concoction,” he commented.
Pascalli picked indifferently at the presentation, and sipped the mead with quiet reservation. The mayor fidgeted nervously, but obviously did not wish to break the silence. The cook stood impassive, watching the scene unfold from the shadowy candlelight.
“This is the best the provinces have to offer,” said Pascalli to me with a slight nod to his plate. I did not know what to say so I held my tongue. Pascalli seemed to approve, and he continued, “I had hoped for better.”
“It’s that fool of an innkeeper,” muttered the mayor angrily. “He does not know his place. I shall deal with him.”
“How long have you been lord mayor here?” inquired Pascalli, almost casually.
“Twenty winters,” responded the mayor. “In all that time I have never been so disappointed.”
“Then you have obviously had plenty of time to deal with the innkeeper,” cut in Pascalli. His tone was darker now, not quite threatening but certainly ominous. “I am quite sure the innkeeper did not process this mediocre mead,” he suggested.
“No, of course not,” defended the mayor. “It is not a local brew. Ours is generally much better, but it has been a bad winter.”
“Naturally,” replied Pascalli incredulously. “That would explain the filth in your streets as well as the lack of discipline of the village guards. Our papers were not even requested when we entered the village.”
“The captain of the guard is not under my command,” said the mayor, growing a little defiant.
“And it is just as well that he is not, as you have set a poor enough example.” Pascalli was definitely angry now. “I noticed that your own house does not seem to have the same problems as the rest of the village. The trees there are quite green, and the fruit quite ripe. I wonder why you would put us here with these mediocre lodgings when it is quite obvious that your own estate is much grander.”
“I had simply thought you would be more comfortable here.” The mayor’s lie was obvious but inescapable.
“It is quite obvious to me that we will not be comfortable here,” replied Pascalli. His words carried an air of blunt iciness that left the mayor quite breathless. “I am still quite hungry, and very tired, and very much in need of a bath.”
“Of course I shall expect you presently,” was all he could manage as he rose.
The meal and entertainment that followed at the mayor’s villa were rather disappointing, that is to say the entertainment the mayor intended to provide. Pascalli, however, was still feeling quite the rascal and for some reason really wanted to harass the man. The following morning he insisted on seeing the entire estate, and spent a considerable amount of time examining the personal larders, orchards, and fields of the mayor.
“Quite impressive,” he said to the mayor as we went into the village that afternoon, and the mayor positively burst with pride. I believe he was somewhat deflated later when the village guard came calling in search of goods that had been illegally withheld or confiscated and which rightfully belonged either to the village or the provincial regent.
“I believe he meant to bribe us in the end,” said Pascalli as we left Enbeck-thrull a few days later. The village council found him guilty of theft and hung him in the village square.
“The place seemed peaceful. I don’t understand why they were so happy to see him hang,” I said.
“That is the way of petty tyrants. In their own way they can be more dangerous than bad kings. A man may see his king once in a lifetime, but he must live everyday with his local lord or mayor. Stamp out the oppressors when you can, Scratch, but do so carefully.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I agreed.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Ten
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