Posted by admin on August 19, 2009
Moira Hatfield twisted a shadow for the first time while watching television on her night off. She enjoyed working nights. Daylight offered so little for her imagination. Even as a child she never used the pink nightlight her parents gave her. Instead she preferred to let the subtle light of the stars and moon filter through her windows.
Moira pressed the mute on the remote and looked again at the corner of the table. No she wasn’t imagining it. The shadow actually lifted off the wood. Now that was cool, just the sort of thing her mother would warn her about.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s see if you can do anything else. How about a little twist?” The black fragment of nothing turned as she concentrated. Moira felt a rush of excitement. How long had she been reading about the shadow plane? Wow! She raced to the bookshelf to see if anything there could offer an explanation.
Moira spent the rest of the night alternately perusing for answers and trying to lift more shadows. By the time her roommate, Jill, got up she could cause a shadow to turn or lift at will but nothing more. Unfortunately no one seemed to have written a guide about how to control shadows, so she resolved to hit the library after class.
Jill and Moira shared two classes, and as usual she caught a nap during the American History lecture. The tests all came out of the book anyway. Almost all general courses today. Why did engineers have to take history again?
“You coming to class tonight?” asked Jill. Jill stood a stout five feet even of solid athleticism. Moira couldn’t help but be a little jealous of those baby blue eyes and the bouncy blonde hair. Her own hair never seemed to do anything right.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Moira.
“You really seem to be getting into it. Who knew martial arts would be your thing,” said Jill.
“It’s fun, but it’s a lot more interesting since Dane starting coming,” admitted Moira.
“You better get some sleep if you want to impress him,” said Jill. “You look like a zombie. Are you sure you can handle working nights? There’s an opening at the greenhouse, I’m sure I could get you in.”
“It’s no big deal. I got to get to the library before I catch my nap. See you later.”
Moira had no luck at the library, just a few vague references about the fourth dimension, but nothing about actually controlling shadows. Her personal collection of books centered more on fiction. At least they sparked her imagination, although they offered nothing more than possibilities. Eventually she gave up and drifted into sleep.
Hank’s Kenpo Clinic squished between a narrow side street and a condemned bookstore across the alley from The Pancake Emporium. On a good night two or three people could find decent parking. Tonight Moira decided to walk the ten blocks rather than fight the evening pancake crowd. Crime near the university generally tapered off during the cold months, and November offered plenty of shadows for her to play with along the way.
If only she could carry a shadow with her, it would save time and give her something to do during history. Of course she had a shadow. Everyone has a shadow. Why not? She stopped just at the edge of a streetlight and looked at her own shadow.
“Okay,” she mumbled, looking around to see if anyone was watching. She concentrated on the outline of her hair. A few wispy strands lifted off the concrete. A tingling sensation shot through her head. She caressed more of her shadow off the pavement. The tingling became an itch. When the tip of the shadow of her head finally slipped from the sidewalk she felt something slap the back of her head. Pain shot through her eyes and she staggered, losing control of the shadow.
She turned around as quickly as she could, but saw no one behind her. No footsteps. No sound of any kind. In the parking lot across the street a man held the door for his date. The pain in her eyes felt real enough. Either her mind had loosened a bit too much or something about playing with shadows could hurt her. No point holding back.
She held out her hand and concentrated on the shadow of her pinky. As soon as the shadow lifted from the ground a sharp pain shot through her finger. She immediately let the shadow return to normal, and massaged her pinky. Lesson learned; don’t mess with your own shadow.
The pain in her head subsided by the time she joined the class.
“You’re late,” said Jill when she came in. “I’m glad you made it. None of the other girls showed.”
Moira knew what a pain it could be sparring with some of the guys in the class. Most of them treated her nice. They went out of the way to be helpful. Tonight, though, Moira spotted a couple of the regular jerks. At just over six feet Matt had longer reach than anyone in the class, and he liked to spar hard. Neither he nor his friend Ty worked hard enough to develop the skills to handle more experienced opponents, so they preyed on the weaker and newer students whenever possible.
“I wish Hank would just kick those creeps out,” said Moira.
“They pay just like everyone else,” replied Jill.
“That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it,” said Moira.
“At least it’s practice in case we have to deal with some guy on the street.” Jill winked. She always had a way of finding something positive. “Let’s get warmed up.”
That night they practiced throws and close quarter defense against attackers trying to grab from different angles. Moira worked through the moves automatically, not really thinking about it. By no means had she become proficient and she knew she should be trying harder, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her discoveries.
“Sorry to break you up, ladies,” said Hank with less than ten minutes of time left. “Throwing around someone your own size is one thing, but if you want to be able to handle someone bigger than yourself you’re going to have to practice it. Are you up for it?”
At first she paired with Dane. He started coming to class less than a month ago but had already passed all of them.
“You sure learn this stuff fast,” she said. She couldn’t help looking him over. At five foot nine, he wasn’t overly tall, but he had a confident muscular build that he carried easily.
“I’ve trained in some other places,” he said. “There’s no wrestling team or boxing team at the college, so this is my way of working out the stress.”
He guided her through the motions of the moves they had been practicing. Somehow his touch seemed electric. Maybe she just imagined it.
“Time to trade up,” said Jill. She leaned over and lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “Your turn with the beast.”
Jill had been paired with Matt. Moira glanced over at the clock. She could handle two minutes, besides Jill was right, if she wanted to be able to deal with a creep on the street she needed to learn to deal with one here.
They practiced defending a basic grab from behind. The first time he groped her, it could have been an honest mistake, but nobody makes that mistake twice. Moira fumed. She opened her mouth to swear at him when she thought of a better idea.
As they clinched again she concentrated on the shadow near his foot. Angrily, she bent it off the floor. Matt gasped in pain and dropped to the ground. He rolled away grasping his foot and cursing.
“Foot cramp?” asked Moira innocently. “You should drink more water.”
Moira sipped some water as class wound down. If bending someone’s shadow off the floor could do that, what else could she do? Jill wandered over.
“You really are out of it,” said Jill. Moira realized she had been daydreaming again. “Want to get something to eat?”
“I got work,” said Moira, a lie, but she needed time to digest what just happened.
Moira waited for Jill to leave before picking up her backpack. The moon outside had risen full and pale, but bits of cloud covered it from time to time. The wind smelled of snow, the first warning of winter, but the air felt clear and cool. Moira cut through another alley behind a couple of small stores. Everything seemed a little more quiet than usual, but not much happened in this town.
“Interesting work,” said a voice in the darkness. Moira stopped. Her heart jumped. She didn’t recognize the voice. It rang out low and resonating. “Shadow bending is nearly a lost art in this world.”
Moira watched as Dane stepped from the shadows about ten feet ahead of her. She hardly recognized him. His vacant eyes stared past her, and his skin appeared pale. Perspiration clouded his face.
When in doubt, ply for time. “What are you talking about?” she asked, checking the distance to the end of the alley. It would be closer to turn around if she decided to run.
“No need to play games,” said Dane. No, not Dane. That was definitely not Dane’s voice. “We felt the energy shift and have come to negotiate.”
“We? Who are you? Where did you come from?” asked Moira. She shivered. “What is it you want?”
“I gather you have seen through the disguise, your powers must be greater than we thought.” Suddenly Dane opened his mouth and exhaled a thick gray mist for several seconds. The last of the mist escaped and Dale collapsed on the pavement. A misty, legless figure, almost the shape of a man with glowing eyes hovered before her in the alley.
Her mind raced. She choked back a scream. She glanced at Dane, but she couldn’t tell in the half-light if he was breathing or not. Whatever this thing was apparently it thought she knew more than she did.
“That’s better,” she said, trying to sound confident. “Now what exactly do you want?”
“We want you to join us, of course,” said the figure. “We seek allies in the shadow war. We are, of course, prepared to barter.”
“First of all, I don’t know who you are. Secondly, I don’t know anything about any war, and even if I did I don’t want any part of it. You have the wrong person.” Moira tried not to sound panicked, but her heart wouldn’t slow down. Instinctively she looked to the shadows in the alley. The creature had a faint shadow that shifted as the mist within its body billowed.
“My name is not important,” said the creature.
“It is to me,” replied Moira.
“Very well. Call me Kierzax. Enough games. Name your price.” Kierzax definitely sounded impatient now.
“Look Kierzax, I already told you, I don’t want any part of your war. I’m going home now, and you should to,” said Moira.
“I’m certain we can reach a bargain,” said Kierzax. He pointed a misty finger at Dane. “I can offer you him. I believe you find him appealing.”
Moira thought for a moment. Whatever was happening had gone beyond serious.
“Is there something else you would prefer? Perhaps some sort of influence here in your home world?” said Kierzax.
“Anything worth that is definitely something I don’t want to do,” said Moira. “For the last time, go home. Find someone else.”
“We cannot allow you to join the others,” said Kierzax. “I have been fair. If you cannot be persuaded, then you must be eliminated.” Kierzax’s eyes flared with a sudden inner flame, casting a dim red glow across the alley.
No point stalling now. Either fight or run. Moira hesitated only a second before ripping his shadow from the pavement in one swift thought. Kierzax groaned as his shadow now stood next to Moira, but seemed otherwise unharmed. He opened his mouth, and fire erupted towards Moira. She dodged behind Kierzax’s shadow, trying to find some cover. The flames hit the shadow and Kierzax wailed in agony. Smoke peeled off his shadow. The smell of sulfur and burning trash filled the alley.
Desperately Moira tried to think. Some good Hank’s self defense techniques did now. If an assailant breathes fire, do I try a wristlock or a hip toss?. One shadow stopped his fire, so maybe a lot of shadows could stop him. She pulled the massive shadows from the buildings together. All around, she quickly wove a semi translucent wall of darkness. For the moment it seemed to be working. The barrier stopped a second spout of fire.
Time could not be on her side. Kierzax started to rise into the air. She built her wall higher, but he just moved faster. Soon he would be over the buildings. She added a ceiling to her wall, and instinctively stretched the shadows to add three more walls, effectively sealing Kierzax in. What would happen if those walls suddenly collapsed in? Could she crush him, whatever he was?
Keeping the box together as she collapsed it proved to be more difficult than first imagined. Shadows by their very nature tend to move, and managing the complex geometry of a shrinking cube required skills she hadn’t yet mastered. At the last instant, just before the walls completely closed in Kierzax managed to thrust out one smoky claw and grab Moira’s shirt.
The shadows closed in on themselves and Moira found herself spinning, flattening, and lost to any reality she had ever known. She didn’t lose consciousness, the pain felt too intense. She closed her eyes and covered her ears against a powerful blinding wind that battered from all sides. Finally she dropped onto the cold hard pavement.
She opened her eyes. Kierzax had disappeared, but the faint scent of sulfur hung in the air. Dane was gone. The alley looked different, felt different. The buildings loomed black and flat, not just dark, but blacker than any night she could remember. No sounds came from the street behind her. Moira walked back towards the Kenpo Clinic.
Everything appeared washed of all color. All of the buildings, signs, even the litter varied from black to gray or darker gray. The streetlight switched from one gray dot to another, emitting no real light. Moira saw nobody else anywhere. The silence felt so complete she heard her heart beating and the soft rhythm of her breathing.
A chill wind broke the silence, making her shiver through her winter coat. Nothing moved with the wind. The few scattered autumn leaves, the dead grass, and the litter ignored the breeze. Even her hair seemed unaffected. The moon floated overhead a pale disk shedding no real light.
She ran to the Kenpo Clinic, then to the Pancake Emporium. Flat black and gray cars cluttered the parking lot, but no people filled the restaurant. Suddenly a car door opened. A dim shape, like an erased pencil drawing seemed to get into the car, or did she imagine it. The door closed silently. A few seconds later the car backed out of the stall, though the engine made no sound. The car pulled away and melted into an unseen fog. After only about fifty feet it completely disappeared. When she looked back, the car had returned to the parking stall.
With this many cars, people had to be eating in the restaurant. Moira went to the front door. Through the glass she saw nobody. She pulled on the handle, but it refused to move. It didn’t feel locked. The deadbolt would have at least wiggled a little. She simply couldn’t move it.
“I see you are new to my world,” said a voice behind her. Moira turned and saw a figure cloaked in blackness. It had a humanoid shape, but she couldn’t make out any distinct features. She half expected to see it carrying a scythe, but it had no real hands and held nothing. Two large black dogs with sleek bodies as if cut from pure obsidian waited only a few feet behind the figure.
“Where?” asked Moira, but she had a feeling she knew exactly where she was.
“The realm of shadows, of course,” replied the figure. “Odd that you would not know where you are. Most visitors come here with a purpose.”
“It was an accident,” said Moira. “I was fighting Kierzax and then I was here.”
“The legion is not welcome here,” said the figure. The dogs spread out from the figure, baring black teeth.
“Who? I don’t know anything about any legion,” said Moira.
“Unlikely,” replied the voice. “All who enter this realm know of our long hatred of your war.”
“I’m not fighting any war,” said Moira desperately. Realization of her situation seeped in slowly. Somehow Kierzax must have pulled her into the shadows. “I just want to go back.”
“You have brought your war here.” The voice rang sinister. “It will end here, for you.”
The dogs slowly circled into range to attack. Moira thought quickly, and saw that the dogs did not cast any shadow, nothing here cast a shadow. She grasped one of the dog’s legs with her mind. She focused so intently that she didn’t notice her hands come up to make a twisting motion, as if she held the leg in her hands. The shadow substance conformed to her will. The creature let out a hollow, haunting howl as its leg warped suddenly out of shape. The second dog leapt at her, but she pulled it out of the air with her mind and sent it painfully to the ground.
“A bender with some skill,” said the figure. “You could abandon your war and help me here.” The two dogs melted into nothing as it spoke.
“I don’t have a war,” said Moira. “I don’t want anything to do with your war. I’m going home.”
“If you intended to leave you would already have gone,” replied the voice. “If you aren’t here for the war, what is it you want?”
Before Moira could respond, the powerful odor of sulfur washed over them all. Kierzax seemed to appear out of nothing just a few feet from the figure.
“You can’t have her, Vorgos,” said Kierzax. “If she will not join me, then she will join no one.”
Kierzax opened his mouth. Moira expected fire to stream out. Instead he began coughing violently. Vorgos raised a hand and a sudden black shape slapped Kierzax in the head.
“You will find that fire requires elements we do not have,” said Vorgos as Kierzax wheeled backwards. “Your war is unwelcome here.”
Kierzax collapsed into a thick strand of smoke and dodged the blows of the nearly shapeless shadow weapon. Moira chose this moment of distraction to flee around the corner and back up the alley towards her apartment. If those two wanted to fight she wasn’t going to get in the way. Behind her a roar of rage and frustration rang out, but she couldn’t tell which of the two it came from. As the roar died down, Moira hit a full sprint.
Five blocks later she slowed to a jog, and eventually a walk, breathing heavily. “Starting tomorrow, I am definitely doing a cardio program,” she thought. She stopped and leaned against a building to catch her breath. What had Vorgos meant? Clearly he, or she or it, thought Moira could leave at any time.
Moira milled this thought over for a few seconds until a column of sulfurous smoke streamed up the street behind her. Moira caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to face Kierzax as he took shape. She didn’t have the energy to run anymore.
“You can still join us,” said Kierzax.
“Not interested,” replied Moira. She was starting to breathe a little easier now.
“You were a fool to bring us here. Vorgos will hunt both of us now. You’ve trapped both of us into a fight that neither of us needs.”
“So,” she said. “I can’t take it back now. What do you want?”
“A temporary alliance,” said Kierzax. “Together we might be able to escape Vorgos.”
“No thanks.”
Kierzax swung a smoky fist towards Moira’s face. Instinctively she dodged the blow, grateful she had at least learned that much in class. He tried again. This time she pulled the sign from a storefront, using her mind to make the shadow block the blow. Moira gathered substance from all around the street to defend the constant onslaught of sneaky attacks. Bit by bit she tore up the street as she backed her way up the block.
Suddenly a black shape took hold of Kierzax. Another of Vorgos’ dogs materialized behind him. Kierzax writhed in agony as the creature clamped down where his leg should have been. Then he pounded the dog’s head with a smoky fist, forcing it to release the hold.
Moira used the opportunity to think. Obviously Kierzax couldn’t escape or else he would have by now, which meant that her instincts were right. He was just trying to use her. That didn’t tell her how to get out, though these two seemed to think she should be able to. An idea finally came to her. Vorgos walked into view behind his dogs. The dogs kept Kierzax fully occupied, so once again Moira slipped away down a side street.
Thinking back to her first encounter with Kierzax, she thought how the process could be reversed. Starting with the ground, she pushed all of the shadows away, building an empty black cylinder around herself. Light broke through the bottom of the cylinder, nearly blinding her after the constant darkness of the shadow world.
Once again she felt herself falling, being pushed, and thrown into a new world. Intense pain shocked her again as she found herself sprawled on the sidewalk. A hundred different smells seemed to reach her at once, but not a hint of sulfur. Snowflakes glittered in the moonlight as they drifted down the lazy breeze. Moira stood up slowly and dusted off her pants and coat.
In a building’s shadow across the street, she thought she heard a muffled growl. Tired or not, she broke into a sprint back to her apartment. She slowed once to catch her breath, but didn’t stop until she reached the door. The door was locked. Moira fumbled for her key. Inside she found Jill watching television with the lights off.
Moira flipped the light switch, causing Jill to blink a little. “Who do I need to talk to about that job?” she asked. “I think I’m done working nights. I need a little more light in my life.”
THE END
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Posted by admin on July 6, 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 had prepared to say my name, but my heart froze as I looked into the pale dead eyes that stared unflinching back at me. Once a fat priest, now the flesh had faded into nothing by thin gray whiteness and the wispy hair drifted into smoky etherealness from behind a once balding pate. The dead eyes had no pupils, only rolling cloudy orbs above a clear-white face. As I looked into those eyes I saw not only the depths of fear, anger, and pain, but also the walls and decorations of the temple. Weapon or not, this foe I could not destroy in battle. I could not speak for a long time for it held me transfixed in anguish with its stare. The creature appeared to be waiting, but for what I could not tell.
As if in response to my thoughts the temple door opened and slowly a procession of other smoky-white entities began to file into the large worship hall. Though many seemed still to be dressed in clear or white versions of their earthly clothes, most had torsos and legs that faded into wispy nothingness with only faces and arms bearing their human resemblance. Slowly I began to understand. The eyes of long dead nobility focused on me and the simple offering I had made to my goddess. Though they barely filled the hall a quarter of the way, the procession ended and the door closed behind them as suddenly as it had opened. I felt at once trapped, frightened and exhilarated.
I stood, a mere spectator, as events beyond my control unfolded. I suddenly felt the chill in my blood give way to warmth that encompassed my entire body. The bright, snowy light I had seen only once before suddenly surrounded the offering pit and began to fill the entire chamber. Against that brightness the angry spirits became nearly invisible. The threatening eyes recoiled in confusion and awe. The majestic, sublime and simple voice addressed them.
“Give way now, my loyal children for the time has come for the world to be healed again. Your vow to protect my holy place is fulfilled, come now and enter my rest.”
Just as suddenly as it had appeared the light began to fade, but behind me my little fire flared into life beyond its means. One by one the specters moved forward. I stepped aside though they now seemed oblivious of my presence. Each in turn entered my fire, and as they did it flared up until the last, the deadly priest that first addressed me vanished in its heat and the fire died suddenly into cold black ashes.
For the briefest moment I stared about into the encroaching darkness. I found that I was covered in sweat and grime from the day’s labors and from the intense heat of the fire. I could not separate the confusion swimming in my head. Clearly Tylos wanted me for something, but there, alone in a forsaken dead city I could not have guessed my future.
Much later, long after dark I reached our camp. I approached silently, for that had long become my habit and found them guarding a little fire. Dina jumped in surprise and fear when I stepped from the shadows but Pascalli merely smiled and quipped, “I see you’ve done well lad.”
“Is there any hot food,” I asked, for I felt my strength had all drained away. Something about those garish faces seemed to have stolen the life from my limbs.
“Not yet, though we got some meat today,” winked Pascalli. Dina will cook.” Dina glared at the wizard and clearly meant to refuse. I shrugged and went to find their kill, but Pascalli called me back. “Sit down, Scratch. By the look of you I’d say you’ve seen death, or worse. Now go one girl, I’m sure you can manage.”
I found a comfortable spot out of the smoke near our fire and waited. Dina retrieved a scrawny rabbit, which Pascalli helped her prepare. After they had it roasting she looked me over, and with some hesitation asked, “What happened?”
I didn’t mean to ignore her, but I couldn’t begin to describe anything. Pascalli gave her a disapproving look, but said nothing.
“Is there some secret?” she asked. I sensed the frustration in her voice. “I feel like I have a right to know what’s going on. I’m out here too, you know!”
I turned away from her, numbly staring into the flames, but I quickly found that too horrible as my mind kept conjuring images of the dead as they walked into a different fire.
“There are some questions, which cannot be answered,” said Pascalli. “There are some questions that should not be asked.”
Dina glared, rolled her eyes and sighed. “Did you at least open the gate?” she asked.
I did not answer, I was still lost in thought, but Pascalli brought me to my senses. “I believe the young woman asked a question,” he said.
I didn’t care for his tone, but then I didn’t much care for the conversation. “It’s open,” I said simply.
Pascalli forced me to eat before going to sleep. I ate mechanically, tasting nothing. Dina had never before cooked during our journey together, so it should have been a memorable moment, but it was lost to me. I saw the hurt in her eyes as I ignored them both, but lacked the strength of will to respond.
“Whatever evil remains we will have to face ourselves,” I mumbled. “The dead have gone, but they left their work behind.”
So many of my memories have been lost in the well of time, but I can never look at a fire without seeing the dead or recalling the night of nightmares that ensued. If Pascalli or Dina asked me more that night, I didn’t answer. I drifted into exhausted oblivion, chased by the images of the dead. For days and nights afterwards I slept only fitfully, and Pascalli did not let me stand watch alone.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Fourty Two
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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 Thirty Nine
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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
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Eight
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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 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
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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
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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 Thirty Two
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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
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