Posted by admin on May 4, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
At some point between villages, far to the west, but not yet as far as Darnuth Keep, my horse threw a shoe and forced me to beg the use of a forge at a remote farm. The farm was large enough to almost be a village, and we were sure our luck would be good. Naturally events didn’t go quite as expected. The good man of the farm was willing enough to accept our gold, but explained that their smith had died, and no one else knew the art for some kilometers around. I explained that I could do the work myself if only they would lend us the forge, at which point he became both intrigued and much friendlier.
“You see, Galin, the smith, was murdered just two days ago, and we’ve not had word back yet from Daturk-thrull if their smith can come and do some work here, or if his apprentice is ready or willing to come,” said master Tarkin.
“I don’t imagine anyone would be willing to take his place until the murder is solved,” I said. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Well, no, actually.” Tarkin scratched his head and shrugged. “I would love to, but the truth is none of us knows. Galin just went into the woods for a bit of an evening stroll down by the creek and never came back. In the morning we found his body.”
“How did he die? Do you know what killed him?”
“There were three wounds, one on the back of his left leg, one in the heart, from the front, and one on his right shoulder, all deep cuts like those from a dagger. There was a rumor a few markets back that Edelo Cheshk’s bandits may have returned to the area, but there aren’t any signs of a struggle, and he was a large strong man who would have at least hurt one of them. I’m assuming there were more than one since one man would have had to be very skilled to take Galin like that and not get the same in return, armed or not.”
Pascalli, who had listened quietly to our conversation interrupted. “We will offer your farm some protection until a new smith can be found. Young Sir Lanseg has the ability to act as smith for a short while. He was once apprentice to a very great smith. Although his specialty is weapons, he can handle horseshoes just as well.”
Once again I found myself laboring at the forge. This time I gave direction to a boy even younger than myself. The work became a pleasant distraction to the questions that had plagued me earlier. I discovered for the first time in my life the true wonder of being master of a small domain and I found I was happier then than at any time since leaving the farm. Pascalli seemed to disappear for the next two days until a new rider appeared on the farm. She was a young woman, perhaps two or three summers my elder dressed in rich hardened leather and sporting a solid bow for hunting. At her side hung a traditional Tulandish cutlass. Her hair fell dark and straight from beneath the solid metal cap atop her head.
Too rich for a bandit, too surly for a beggar, I knew instantly that she was trouble. She moved with an enchanting, self-assured grace that immediately drew attention from all within eyeshot. I, however, did not notice her immediate arrival. Tulath, my assistant pointed her out.
“You there,” she called to the first person she met. “Go and fetch me the master of this farm.”
Before turning back to my work I noticed that her horse did not quite walk properly. I knew that it had cast a shoe and would be lame if not properly tended soon. Sure enough she rode directly towards the forge. She stopped short of the shop and dismounted.
Tulath began to step aside when I ordered, “Mind your fire, we’ve work yet to finish.” I did not bother to look up from the plow-blade I was mending.
“You there,” she called. I knew she would be angry, I had known enough of her breed to smell them a kilometer off. “My horse has cast a shoe. You will replace it at once.”
Tulath had slackened his pace at the bellows. “Mind your fire,”I ordered. My voice was more gruff than intended. I glanced up long enough to look her over. “That hoof will need a day or two of rest before it can be worked. Stable your mare and I’ll take care of her when I’ve a chance.”
“I am in haste. I am Dina, third daughter of the house of Taradurk; you will not keep me waiting.” She was brandishing her horsewhip rhythmically.
Pascalli had told me of the Regent Taradurk who served as lord over all the west, but the lessons of Iven were cast more solid into my soul than any fear of a title. “Surely the daughter of Taradurk knows when a horse is lame,” I replied. She swung with the whip, but the blow never connected. She had not expected my reaction, and in one swift move I stepped inside of her wide swing and grabbed her wrist. Then with a hard jerk I flung her over my shoulder and sent her sprawling on the ground beneath her horse.
“You will die for that, peasant,” she said icily.
“Not at your hands,” I replied coolly. “And if you had the brains of your horse you would have realized I am not a peasant.”
A moment of doubt quickly flickered across her eyes. I was certain she did not entirely believe me.
“He speaks the truth, daughter or Taradurk,” said a voice I had not heard the last two days. Pascalli wandered up next to her horse and was examining the leg.
“Who are you?” she blurted. “Why should I believe you?”
“Better you should ask what truth I was referring to,” he replied. I immediately burst out in a laugh and turned back to my work. “You see, my dear Dina, he has, after all, told you several things, all of which are true, and you seem rather obstinate about not believing any of it. And my name is Lord Pandrake of Gratterskeep, not that it will do you much good.” His voice was unusually kind though slightly condescending. He extended a hand to help her to her feet. She took it cautiously, and together they followed Tarkin into the farmhouse.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty Three
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty One
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
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty
Posted by admin on April 20, 2009
The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.
Pascalli left a few coins with Kimlt before we left as payment for what the soldiers would eat during their stay. The farmer thanked us heartily, and filled our bags with bread and hard cheese. Induresk rode with us a short while to put us on the straightest path. “You’ve shown uncommon kindness, my lord Pandrake,” he said as he took his leave. He hesitated a moment. “I only half believed the word that the wandering Pascalli had returned, and I never believed that Halfspear’s son would come this direction. I’ll send word to see that you aren’t bothered, though there are those who will ignore me.” He handed Pascalli a sealed paper. “Give this to the soldiers at the next check point and you should be able to travel a little more freely.”
I enjoyed the ride north immensely. The Tulanders treated us with respect and I learned to enjoy their customs. The Tulandish word for place was thrull, and usually the place was called after some great ancestor. In every village we were required to take the finest rooms in the inn and served the finest food (all of course paid for with the finest gold). In the east we would have been merely another pair of rag-tags, and could easily have passed for such in the wild and continued un-noticed from village to village.
Tulanders in general have very dark or black hair, though a few have lighter tones. We reached Enbeck-thrull sooner than expected, and Pascalli directed us to a large inn near the center of town. “Go get us lodging,” he ordered, and I went inside without hesitation.
“My lord Pandrake requires a room for the night,” I told the portly man who ran the place.
“My daughter, Emmha will show you the way,” he said. “Do you need stabling as well?”
“Two horses. We haven’t much baggage.” A little girl, perhaps six or seven emerged to guide me to the rooms on the second floor. Her light brown hair seemed so out of place. It reminded me of my sister, and of Laural. I wondered how Laural fared since I left her. When I saw the girl’s face I realized that I missed the friends I had left behind.
The lord mayor of the village, a small, balding man whose thin dark hair hung below his shoulder in the back sat at dinner with my master the first evening we were in town. I believe, had Pascalli not warned me very carefully beforehand, that I would have probably caused us a great deal of trouble that night.
I can still see the mayor’s skinny face and sallow eyes that darted in every direction as he consumed every bit of food in sight.
“I’m sorry that the pheasant is a little dry,” mentioned the mayor to my master with a glance at the uneaten portion on Pascalli’s plate. His voice carried a tone of anxiety mixed with contempt. “I don’t know why the innkeeper chose to serve this. There are far better delicacies to tempt the appetite here.”
“Yes, it is quite disappointing,” replied the wizard. “Take it away,” he said and nodded to me. I had personally witnessed Pascalli positively inhale cooking much worse than that on numerous occasions, after all he did eat my cooking, and I knew something was amiss. I respectfully bent to take the dish and caught a stern look, which I knew meant I should pay attention, but which the lord mayor took to mean that I had better return with something more pleasing.
“Perhaps some dumplings, my lord,” suggested the mayor. “Our cook is famous for the sauce. I believe you will find it very good.”
“Thank you,” replied Pascalli. “Please find something better to drink.”
The lord mayor rose and I followed him to the kitchens where he met with the innkeeper. “What is this filth you serve?” he bellowed. “Do you not know I could lose my head for displeasing the nobility?” He grabbed the dish I held and flung it at the man. Then he stormed into the kitchens. Curious, I followed, which seemed to please him a great deal as he now had an audience. Quivering, the innkeeper followed us.
The cook was an ancient man whose wrinkled but stern glance commanded his domain with ease. At first he seemed little more than annoyed at the interruption, barely glancing up from his work until the mayor forced himself.
“What kind of trash do you think you are peddling here?” he hollered, instantly bringing all eyes to himself. For a moment I felt the cook would attack the man, but instead he slowly turned and folded his arms quietly. “That food is not fit for swine. I am serving a great nobleman whose tastes are far beyond the ordinary.”
The cook just stood there, looking almost amused but clearly without the fear that would perhaps have sated the mayor’s petty temper. “His lordship demands dumplings, and your finest mead.” The mayor glanced around at the frozen figures. “Get moving!” he shouted. When no one moved he took a step and pushed the nearest servant, a young girl. She scampered into a corner and the mayor backhanded the cook harshly. The old man stumbled back from the force of the blow but regained his composure quickly. When he raised his head a bead of blood formed at the corner of his lip and it began to swell.
“As you wish, lord mayor,” he said quietly, and turned back to his work. Instantly the rest of the kitchen staff began working furiously. The mayor went back upstairs to the fine dining room and I returned a short while later with a bottle of mead.
The master cook himself presented the next course. The dumplings tasted exquisite. Light pastries steamed perfectly with a balanced blend of meats and vegetables. Served with a delectable currant sauce whose particular zest I could not discern for the spices of the region were unknown in the east. The old man managed to catch Pascalli’s eye as he served the remainder of the meal. The mayor treated him with cold scorn. “Pray, dear fellow, that this is better than your last concoction,” he commented.
Pascalli picked indifferently at the presentation, and sipped the mead with quiet reservation. The mayor fidgeted nervously, but obviously did not wish to break the silence. The cook stood impassive, watching the scene unfold from the shadowy candlelight.
“This is the best the provinces have to offer,” said Pascalli to me with a slight nod to his plate. I did not know what to say so I held my tongue. Pascalli seemed to approve, and he continued, “I had hoped for better.”
“It’s that fool of an innkeeper,” muttered the mayor angrily. “He does not know his place. I shall deal with him.”
“How long have you been lord mayor here?” inquired Pascalli, almost casually.
“Twenty winters,” responded the mayor. “In all that time I have never been so disappointed.”
“Then you have obviously had plenty of time to deal with the innkeeper,” cut in Pascalli. His tone was darker now, not quite threatening but certainly ominous. “I am quite sure the innkeeper did not process this mediocre mead,” he suggested.
“No, of course not,” defended the mayor. “It is not a local brew. Ours is generally much better, but it has been a bad winter.”
“Naturally,” replied Pascalli incredulously. “That would explain the filth in your streets as well as the lack of discipline of the village guards. Our papers were not even requested when we entered the village.”
“The captain of the guard is not under my command,” said the mayor, growing a little defiant.
“And it is just as well that he is not, as you have set a poor enough example.” Pascalli was definitely angry now. “I noticed that your own house does not seem to have the same problems as the rest of the village. The trees there are quite green, and the fruit quite ripe. I wonder why you would put us here with these mediocre lodgings when it is quite obvious that your own estate is much grander.”
“I had simply thought you would be more comfortable here.” The mayor’s lie was obvious but inescapable.
“It is quite obvious to me that we will not be comfortable here,” replied Pascalli. His words carried an air of blunt iciness that left the mayor quite breathless. “I am still quite hungry, and very tired, and very much in need of a bath.”
“Of course I shall expect you presently,” was all he could manage as he rose.
The meal and entertainment that followed at the mayor’s villa were rather disappointing, that is to say the entertainment the mayor intended to provide. Pascalli, however, was still feeling quite the rascal and for some reason really wanted to harass the man. The following morning he insisted on seeing the entire estate, and spent a considerable amount of time examining the personal larders, orchards, and fields of the mayor.
“Quite impressive,” he said to the mayor as we went into the village that afternoon, and the mayor positively burst with pride. I believe he was somewhat deflated later when the village guard came calling in search of goods that had been illegally withheld or confiscated and which rightfully belonged either to the village or the provincial regent.
“I believe he meant to bribe us in the end,” said Pascalli as we left Enbeck-thrull a few days later. The village council found him guilty of theft and hung him in the village square.
“The place seemed peaceful. I don’t understand why they were so happy to see him hang,” I said.
“That is the way of petty tyrants. In their own way they can be more dangerous than bad kings. A man may see his king once in a lifetime, but he must live everyday with his local lord or mayor. Stamp out the oppressors when you can, Scratch, but do so carefully.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I agreed.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty One
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Nine
Posted by admin on April 17, 2009
The great advantage of being a scientist is that you see the world for what it is, as it is, and you maintain no bias one way or the other about how it is. The great advantage of believing in something is that no matter what you see or hear or are told, you will find what you are looking for. Greg’s advantage laid in a unique combination of belief and science sometimes labeled insanity. A thin, elderly man with only a few strands of gray hair, thick glasses, and a penchant for polo shirts; Greg hardly presented an imposing figure.
Seventy-three years is not too long a time to spend conquering a planet. Nearly everything imaginable had been invented during his lifetime, and each new product both created a new niche in his plan and fueled the fire of his disappointment in humanity. A race of people willing to spend their lives in front of a little box of glass and plastic is not fit to govern the planet I live on, or so he believed. The television and personal computer, however, were wonderful devices for restraining humans and Greg had every intention of utilizing them to their fullest potential.
The major side effect of wanting to dominate a planet populated by six billion people is that you either have to delegate some of that power, or you have to limit the numbers of slaves. This particular point had bothered Greg for several decades; at times even affecting his ability to work. Killing people (or anything else), was not something he was good at; it wasn’t even something he had ever done. In then end, however, he had given way to human nature and decided on the easy way out; eliminate the excess. So, down to brass tacks, start by eliminating (without destroying the planet) approximately six billion people. Step two; convince those who remain that you are the rightful ruler of the planet. Step three, live happily ever after.
Step one, as Greg viewed it, was the most difficult, (after all who wouldn’t want to follow him after everyone else was dead). Naturally if he didn’t plan on keeping anyone alive it would be much easier. Of course it would have been even easier still if he had amassed a following of individuals to help him. Once more the problem of working alone on such projects with a limited budget remained unsolved. This time, however, it would definitely work.
Greg had great faith in human incompetence, having experienced it first hand on several occasions. There is no fool like the one who believes the system works, he had often taught his children. Despite his efforts, however, they still paid their taxes and held down regular job.
Once more Greg worked furiously at his basement computer, attempting to simultaneously monitor the working of the World Health Organization (WHO), and NASA. Launching your own satellite into Earth’s orbit can be difficult; doing so undetected and without cooperative outside help took nearly a decade. Doing it twice more was, as Greg put it, “beautiful.” Others may have dubbed it insane, but then their vote didn’t count much at this point anyway.
With a nudge hand here and there, he had managed to keep news of his biological attacks in South America and Africa sufficiently shrouded in confusion as to render the opposition incompetent. Developing the proper virus to do the job was almost as difficult as launching satellites. Information is plentiful and easy enough to gather, but acquiring the proper chemicals can get you arrested, and Greg was passionate about his criminal spotless criminal record; not so much as a parking ticket (not that he drove much these days).
Greg’s attention diverted from the WHO to the internal proceedings at the European Union, and the United Nations. Cracking the control of a single government was easy enough; he had, after all, helped to break and built several countries over the years, but simultaneously eradicating government heads around the globe was a true challenge. The first key is unrest, always unrest. Start with the people and then slowly let the level of discomfort rise until those at the top could feel it; then remove the top. Full-scale cyber-attacks on the European and Asian economy would begin tomorrow. He had tested his methods in the past, gradually fluctuating the worldwide economy; a lifetime of preparation for this moment.
He smiled to himself, scratched his scraggly beard and balding head, and pressed the enter key.
To continue to divert attention away from events in the third world, Greg unleashed a pair of new electronic viruses that would distribute themselves throughout developed countries, keeping businessmen and employees equally busy for a few days. He transmitted an email to a doctor in the Congo (who by now was certainly carrying the biological virus), recalling him to his home in northern Europe. A similar message found a doctor in Nicaragua, and the doctor returned to Australia. Greg reached for his coffee mug, empty. All right, get some coffee and then tackle North America.
Greg got up from his swivel chair, his thin frame leaving a shallow impression, and stretched his arms and back. Books lay stacked all around him, notepads, pencils, files containing all imaginable information; and over all of it sat the strong odor of coffee and meticulous malice. Greg whistled quietly to himself as he skipped up the stairs. Eighty-six and still more fit than any television raised punk. At the top of the stair he met his daughter. “Going on a coffee run, you want anything,” he asked.
“Dad, its midnight, I was just headed to bed. Don’t wake the kids when you come in, ok.”
“Sorry, Mandy, I’ll be quiet when I come in.” Grandkids were great, if only their parents weren’t so annoying.
Thirty years ago a doctor twenty years his junior told him to give up the coffee, alcohol and late nights (he never did smoke). Greg sent flowers to the doctor’s widow, but secretly he didn’t feel much remorse. Destiny decides how long you live, and you decide how much you enjoy it. Greg was destined for greatness, and immortality. The garage was full of the keys to immortality. Experiment upon experiment latched together in a careful chain, all to produce panacea. The rats, dogs, and neighborhood bums who were now cured (one way or the other) of their ill health were all greatly appreciated. A super immune system combined with genetic anti-aging created an agent that cured just about everything, including the common cold and cancer.
The Go-mart, or whatever they called the place these days had the best coffee available at midnight (or any other time), and Greg found the crust on the nacho cheese particularly appetizing. The hired help, as usual, reminded him of the reasons behind his never-tiring quest, but then so did pretty much everyone else he met. He used his credit card to pay for the order, after all the transaction would simply ‘disappear’ by morning anyway. Greg sipped his coffee smugly on the way home.
Back at the lab he checked his resources and progress. He didn’t have enough money to manage a full-scale release of the virus in North America, or Europe, and a partial release would only give the Americans time to find a cure, so an alternative must be found. Fortunately, a lifetime of planning allows one to consider these possibilities beforehand. Greg rummaged around in his desk until he found the correct set of cables, and connected a small device to his computer. He quickly loaded a new program, and giggled slightly as the green light on his gadget sprang to life. Radiation emissions on computer and television screens around the world, but most heavily concentrated in the United States, would now reach toxic levels. By the end of the week video game geeks would be dropping like flies.
Enough damage for the moment, he decided. Time for a drink and some light reading. He found a bottle of beer in the mini-refrigerator, and opened a thick file labeled space exploration. The improbability of humans discovering extra-terrestrial life always amused Greg. If only they really tried. Of course, if they really tried I could stand them. Greg continued to peruse his various files for over an hour, lost in the possibilities of what could be. The world was finally becoming a unit bound by more than just gravity. The potential for world cultures to merge, language and customs to join, and new leadership to be defined was being fulfilled. All too slowly. With the right people, living forever, all of the waste and laziness and destruction would be eliminated. Six billion to find a few thousand; at least he had good odds of finding decent help.
Time for more nachos. Compulsively, he swiveled the chair around to check the progress. His chair bumped against the transponder, and the device fell to the floor. “Damn!” he exclaimed. Greg picked up the box, noting that the case had cracked. He shook it a couple of times. The rattling told him soldering was in order, and Greg let out a soft sigh. “I’ll fix it when I get back.” He left the broken equipment on the desk and stopped at the bathroom on the way out the door. The convenience store was only a few blocks away, and the night was warm, Greg walked, as usual. For a change, there was another customer, obviously in a hurry. The engine of their beat-up Toyota was still humming, and the lights were on. Some punk kid, as it turned out, harassing the clerk. Why don’t people just let people do their jobs, he thought. Greg opened the door and headed to the coffee.
“Hey old man, where you goin’” the punk accosted him. Greg gave him a stern look, failed to see the gun, and proceeded to the coffee. The clerk screamed, the punk fired, and Greg’s panacea failed to stop the bullet.
In other news, a doctor in the Congo discovered a cure for a mysterious virus believed to have been transported through insects in third world countries, saving the lives of thousands. He had received a message recalling him earlier, but stayed to finish the job anyway. NASA discovered yet another mysterious satellite, believed to have been launched by a terrorist group, and destroyed it. The department of defense announced a new cyber-security system. The European Union managed to quell fears of instability, and the United Nations reported that political unrest was at an all-time low.
Prospects for the world in general looked good, although crime in some suburban areas appeared to be on the rise.
THE END
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
Posted by admin on April 13, 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.
When we passed the gates of Anascrag I felt I had stepped into a vast ocean of grain. Everywhere, in every direction, kilometers of wheat, barley, or rye stretched green or golden with the ever-present wind blowing at our backs or into our squinting eyes. The highways cut wide and straight between the larger towns and cities while less well maintained roads meandered to the villages and large farms. Imperial guards monitored checkpoints and patrolled the roads with greater frequency and precision than anywhere in the east. Bricks and clay built nearly every building for both peasant and noble, though some of the wealthy had imported timber from the south or east.
“In the east, the vast tracts of wild land are largely unexplored except by the wild roaming adventurers,” explained Pascalli. “In the west the governors build great walls, hundreds or even thousands of kilometers long to block out the unknown. The Anascraggers call it the land beyond the wall, but it once was the very great kingdom of Tuland. Every young Tulandish man serves his time patrolling those walls or the great highways or filling some other lesser post in the imperial army. Adventuring, or doing anything out of the ordinary, is not only frowned upon, but requires exact, defined permission from the proper authorities. Acting without authority or outside of class boundaries can mean severe punishment or even death. They will make some exceptions, Scratch, because you are clearly an uncouth easterner, but only a very few. Do as I say, when I say it and all will be well.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
“Of course you will.” Pascalli smiled. “Keep your wits about you. The regent, here in the west holds more control over the local lords than the regent in the east. If he has chosen to find us for the emperor he will succeed.”
Almost as quickly as we exited Anascrag we joined a road going north towards the mountains rather than west towards the sea. A great wall runs north from the western gate of Anascrag and then after a few hundred kilometers it turns west and runs near the base of the mountains to the sea. Along the wall, centuries ago, many villages sprang up to support the guard towers and the many imperial troops who constantly patrol and repair the wall. Many acres of grain surround each village, far more than meets the needs of the local peasant population.
When I asked Pascalli he replied, “It goes to the Empire, Scratch. Just as the gold of east goes west, and the copper and tin of the south comes north.”
“What comes from the north,” I asked plainly.
Pascalli let out his familiar laugh and replied with a grin and a wink, “Nothing of great worth.”
“What do you mean,” I pressed. “The emperor is there in Dynwater, right? Isn’t that where the imperial army is?”
“As I said, nothing of great worth,” answered Pascalli with less laughter in his voice than usual. He must have noticed my look of dismay and disbelief. “That is not to say that there aren’t a great many wonderful things in Dynwater. Many great artisans and artists, poets, architects, and engineers practice and study there. There is a magnificent library and a huge collection of artifacts from before the breaking. Much knowledge, much pomp, much wealth. But you did not ask me what you could find in the north, only what comes out. None of that, or at least very little of it, ever comes out. And Dynwater is only one city. The rest of the north is the Northern Crown and it is wild, a place where wild things thrive and out of it come the Kaarum. So, as you can plainly see nothing of great worth comes from the north.”
Such as it was I could clearly see the truth in what he spoke, though I sensed there was more to it.
Once out of Anascrag we set a brisk pace north. Each day Pascalli ensured I completed my practice with my weapons, and he continued to expand my mind with stories and puzzles he had learned through the centuries. I was keen to learn more about defending myself without weapons, and after a few days of constant badgering Pascalli consented to teach me. “Fighting is fighting,” he said. “In general you will find that the principles are mostly the same. Use your feet to get a better position and strike when able. As always, the power comes from the hips and legs. You have to put your whole body into a strike, not just your fists or feet.”
“What happens when they sit on me?” I asked, after being tripped for the sixth time one day.
“There are ways of dealing with a larger opponent on the ground, but you must always be wary that they may have a hidden knife or sap. Indeed, if you are confident they are unarmed it is often easier to handle a larger foe on the ground where their longer limbs do not give them the advantage of reach.”
I discovered that grappling with an enormous man in dirt and rocks was not terribly comfortable and consented after a few short markets that I knew enough to at least stabilize myself until I could bring a weapon into play.
“We will continue this portion of your training when we have a proper chance,” said Pascalli with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve a notion it will be rather important to your future, but now is not the time.”
The remainder of our days we spent much as always, hunting when possible, or at the very least daily practice with the bow as we walked. Pascalli would pick a target and if I did not spot it quick enough, pull and loose, he would rap me sharply across the shoulder with his staff.
“Again you’ve got yourself killed,” he would mutter. “Now off and fetch that arrow.” If ever I reached the mark before his staff reached his, he would often say, “Good lad, now that’s one more life you can spare for another day. Now off and fetch that arrow.”
Once, as I rode out to find my arrow, I met a patrol of imperial troops. “Hold, boy,” their leader called. He was a stout man with thick bones that rode easily in the saddle. His uniform, though clean, showed wear around the edges. Tulandish soldiers did not wear beards, but he had a bit of black stubble on his face, and I noticed they carried tents and bedrolls. I stopped and waited. Pascalli slowly rode up to join me. “Hunting is a privilege of the nobility. Perhaps you have not learned proper manners in the east,” said the soldier. His voice was gruff and betrayed his impatience.
“Better manners than you, I see,” replied Pascalli. “This is my servant and knight, Sir Lanseg. I am Lord Pandrake of Gratterskeep. I believe it is the custom to properly identify any person before issuing a challenge. Fetch the arrow, Lanseg.”
I continued my search for the arrow as Pascalli handed the soldiers his papers. I retrieved the arrow and rejoined the wizard. “Your documents are correct,” said the soldier. “We don’t get many eastern nobles this far north, please excuse my rudeness. The bandit Edelo Cheshk has been raiding through these parts again, so we are closely watching anyone with a weapon.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Pascalli with a broad smile. “I know hunting for sport can be a tricky business in the west, but Lanseg and I were hoping to get something. If there are bandits in the area, perhaps you would offer us some protection, at least until we reach the next village?”
The soldier hesitated. “Captain Induresk, at your service,” he said as he forced a smile. “We would be happy to escort you to Enbeck-thrull. We can reach it tomorrow afternoon.”
“We are not merchants, but we will pay for your services,” offered Pascalli. At the wizard’s words, Induresk showed a genuine smile. “I expect you don’t get the opportunity to make an extra coin too often so far from Shelsmor.”
“Only too true, my friend,” agreed the captain. “The few authorized mercenaries that come through here take most of the merchants’ business. Few of the local nobles are willing to pay for a service the regent offers them freely.”
Induresk rode with three other soldiers, all of them tired from their extended patrol. They guided us toward a more traveled road where we would be able to move faster. Just as the sun began to set I spotted a patch of bent wheat field. I dismounted and investigated on foot. When Induresk noticed that I had fallen behind he called a halt.
“What have you found, my young friend,” he called. “If you’ve found a pretty girl hiding in the grass, you’ll let us know.” The soldiers laughed as I looked for prints in the dry ground. When I found what I was looking for I waved to Pascalli. He joined me, and Induresk followed him.
I pointed to a shallow hoof-print in the ground. “So a horse has been through here, what does that matter?” said Induresk. “We came this way a few days ago, and there are farmers and merchants about.”
“It’s not a horse,” I replied. “That is a cleft hoof.”
“So a farmer lost a goat. Let’s get moving. I want to find a better place before the sun completely sets,” said the captain.
“Lanseg has experience in these matters, captain,” said Pascalli. “I believe he is telling you that there are Kaarum in the area.” I nodded my agreement.
“How many, and how far?”
“Three. I can’t say how far, but they were going southwest, through the fields. I would guess they came through this morning or last night,” I said.
“How far to the closest farm or village in that direction?” asked Pascalli.
“Two days on a good horse,” answered Induresk.
“The sky is clear, so they will travel at night by the light of the stars and moon. You can come or stay as you please, captain, but we need to catch them before they reach the farm,” said Pascalli.
“We thought Edelo Cheshk was raiding the area. How could the Kaarum get past the wall?” said Induresk.
“The wall is very long,” answered Pascalli. A small band like this might sneak past unnoticed. Edelo may still be nearby, but he certainly won’t pillage as recklessly as the Kaarum.”
We rode after them as fast as we could without losing their trail. In the wide-open fields, they had few options for covering their tracks, and even in the dim light of the stars I had little trouble following them. We stopped and rested the horses a few hours before dawn, though I knew we didn’t have much time before they reached another farm.
“They need rest just like us,” assured Pascalli. “I also don’t think they will attack the farm or village during the day, so we may have some time.”
“You seem to know these beasts well,” observed Induresk.
“They ravaged through the east two summers ago. We both fought them then,” replied Pascalli. “We know them well enough.”
The horses smelled the Kaarum before we saw them, and broke their stride. Three black shapes rose out of hiding under the afternoon sun to ambush us on all sides. I shot one before it could charge, but the other two reached the horses with lightning speed. One Kaarum pulled a soldier from his saddle and they began to grapple in the hip-high grain. Under cover of the wheat, I couldn’t get a clear shot at the Kaarum, so I dismounted and charged with my spear. I reached the Kaarum before it could land the fatal blow, though it had already opened a horrible gash in the man’s side. Behind me Induresk wielded his cutlass expertly and came to the aid of his companion as quickly as he could.
“Let’s take him to the farm,” I suggested. “They should be better equipped to tend his wounds than we are.”
“That gash is deep and bleeding fast,” said Induresk. “He won’t last the hour it will take to move him.”
“Do you still have any bloodsap?” asked Pascalli. “It will slow the bleeding long enough to stitch him together.”
I cut away the torn cloth with my knife. “There is some in my bags,” I said. “Give me your canteen.” I cleaned the wound as quickly and efficiently as possible while Pascalli brought the bloodsap. “If you have anything to numb the pain, give it to him, Induresk.”
One of the soldiers produced a bottle of strong-smelling liquid and passed it to Induresk. The soldier choked a few mouthfuls down before I turned him on his side and went to work. My hands trembled as I pulled needle and thread. The bloodsap checked the flow enough that I could see to work, but I could tell from his paleness and labored breathing that he had lost a great deal of blood.
“As fine a field surgery as I’ve seen,” said Induresk when I finished. “Only Tylos can say if he will live or not, but you’ve at least given him a chance.”
I nodded my thanks and sank back into the soft grain to rest a moment. “We’ll ride on to the farm as soon as you’re ready,” said Pascalli. “We can find help there. We may be able to bring back a wagon to move him.”
“You’ve no need to do that my lord,” said Induresk. “I can send one of the others.”
“True, but time is pressing. Unless things are different here than I have come to expect, the peasants will give us less trouble than you. Rest some and eat while you wait. With luck we’ll make it back before nightfall.”
Our faces, and my unwashed hands quickly told the tale of our emergency when we reached the farm. “I’ll have Aldd hitch the wagon,” said the farmer, a thin man with a graying beard. He wore a simple straw hat to ward off the sun, but he carried himself with dignity. “You two come inside and tell us what happened.”
We gratefully dismounted and followed his wife into a simple building designed for comfort and efficiency. She offered us goat’s cheese and bread, which we accepted gratefully. “You keep a fine home, my good lady,” said Pascalli with his usual smile. “Thank you for offering us some comfort.” We recounted our story as the servants prepared the wagon, and Kimlt, the farmer, listened with more than idle curiosity.
“They will be amassing in the north, then,” said Kimlt. “I’ve not seen them for many winters, but when I was a boy they came through the west once. The nobles did nothing to stop them until they had ruined all the fields for many kilometers.”
“They attack swiftly,” said Pascalli. “If they come, it will be in the dead of winter this time. You would be wise to send word to those who will listen to take care where they secure their winter supplies.”
We worked late into the night bringing the wounded soldier carefully into the farm. Induresk and his men pitched their tents in the farmyard, while Pascalli and I slept in the barn. Despite the rigors of the previous night, I found myself restless early the following morning. “We need to reach the keep soon, don’t we,” I said to Pascalli.
“Yes, lad, we do, though not as soon as you may think,” he replied. “The Kaarum won’t come south until they need to. Rebels and strays forage south throughout the summer, and scouts report any weakness that can be found.”
“I still think we need to move on,” I said, and Pascalli nodded his agreement.
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Thirty
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Eight
Posted by admin on April 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 admit I had tried not to think much of home in all my journeys. I asked for pen and parchment, and she had none, for she did not write and had no use for them. I still had some money and when I asked for directions to a shop, she put it out of my head quickly and instead offered to go and buy them for me. That is when I posted my first letter. Master Baghorn knew of a merchant seeking profit in Havensod by way of the smaller villages. The merchant agreed to deliver my letter.
True to her word I did not lift a finger while a guest in Iven’s home. I thought he would be angry with me loafing about, or just watching him idly at the forge. He was a changed man. A thousand worries vanished from his face. His sons are older than me, and had already married, though they lived close by.
“I’ve an idea of how to build some of those machines the Veldmen used,” said Iven as he idly swept the floor of his shop. His home and workshop sat next to the canal that ran through the artisan district, and a small waterwheel powered some of his machines. “My wire puller needs repair anyway, and I’d like to try it with steam this time.”
“Sounds like a fine idea, but you’ll need lime I think if you want to pull it that fast,” I said.
“Your right about that, though I think I know where to get it. I’ve a bit of coin laid by from our travels. If you’ve finished your letter home, I’d find it a favor if you could find those old drawings we made and sort them out for me.”
I found our sketches in the half un-packed bags, and worked easily. Iven’s home was large, and the balcony upstairs offered a view of the street where I could watch the colorful traffic of the city. The university of Anascrag stood on a low hill not far from the shop, and students and nobles frequented the road. Further out the dome of Tylos’ temple dominated the center of the city. I counted three palaces in the northern half of the city, with the largest occupying a hill in the northwest.
Pascalli knocked on the door just about supper time some two markets later. My gear had been repaired, my horse replaced, and he even supplied me with new clothes and a new hat. I accepted the gifts, reluctantly, and he saw the question in my eyes. “You’ll look the ragtag again soon enough, don’t worry about that. In the meantime we’ve other matters to attend to which require a slight change of appearance.”
“When do we leave?” I asked.
“As soon as you finish your meal,” he replied, and winked at Whinnie. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I’ve not had a chance to drop by sooner. Could you spare a bowl of porridge for an old man?”
“Sit down, at once,” scolded Whinnie. “You leave him and take him as if he were baggage. Porridge it will be for you and nothing better.” Despite her warning, Whinnie served the finest they owned.
Iven seemed a little detached while we ate, and I wondered a bit at his silence. Afterwards he found me to help me pack the few things I owned. He brought me my father’s spear, newly sharpened.
“Do as Pascalli asks,” he counseled. “He still has a mean trick or two up his sleeve, and many hard lessons left for you, but only because he loves you Colter.” He never used my proper name, and for a moment I thought he had said something else.
“I’ll miss you,” I admitted, though I felt odd saying it aloud.
Iven harrumphed, but nodded. “You’ll have little enough time to think of anything, least of all me. But you’re always welcome back here. Remember that. You’ve friends along the way, though maybe no home to go to. Sooner or later that wizard will turn you loose on the world, just don’t forget who your friends are then.”
“I won’t,” I replied.
“And don’t get mixed up with anymore silly girls.”
“I won’t.”
“Or knaves.”
“I won’t.”
“And by Tylos keep your blade sharp and your armor clean.” The smith seemed as full of advice as I had ever known him.
“Do you know where we are going?” I asked.
“It doesn’t really matter. You’ve a future and greatness ahead of you. Already you’ve done more than most men dream. Keep your head and remember the forge you came from.”
Iven hugged me tighter than Whinnie as I said goodbye, and wept as only a father can who is sending off a son who may never return. Whinnie filled my pack with sweet cakes and carefully packaged treats for the journey.
“I’ve little to give you that you might need,” said Whinnie. “There is a nice man who collects strange herbs, and he’s given me some bloodsap and a few leaves of tyrnwood. It isn’t much, but it may be useful.” She gave me a packet of the herbs wrapped in a small cloth.
“Come along, Scratch,” said Pascalli. “We’ve a bit to do yet today.”
I followed the old wizard up a winding lane towards the center of the city. We passed houses and shops which grew larger and larger. The finely combed fields of the wealthy sprawled across the upper portions of the city, and I saw private guards in red and gold livery watch us suspiciously as we rode.
“Don’t bother speaking when we arrive,” said Pascalli.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To see one of the nobles.” I wanted to know who and why, but restrained the question. “She has information that we can use.”
Pascalli reigned his horse at a tall wrought-iron gate and pointed to a thin rope attached to a brass bell. “Let them know we’re here, Scratch.”
I rang the bell vigorously and almost immediately a man with a soft green surcoat embroidered with an eagle emerged from a small guardhouse near the gate. Beyond the gate, a narrow carriage path cut through a short-cropped lawn until it reached a wide patio in front of an enormous house.
The guard reviewed us cautiously. Pascalli tipped his hat and smiled, but said nothing. “You are expected,” said the guard at length. If you will ride to the house, Jorgon will see to your horses.”
“I thought Jorgon had given up his duties,” said Pascalli with a smile.
“He couldn’t bear to be with his wife that much and came back within a market.” The guard chuckled. “He still complains as much as ever, but he only half means it these days.”
A surly gray bearded man took our horses when we dismounted at the house, and before we reached the door it opened. “Go directly to the dining hall,” instructed a stocky young woman.
A woman with gray hair restrained by a series of pins and crowned with a small green hat waited for us at the far end of an enormous oak table. Her eyes commanded the entire room. A young woman waited silently behind her. The surface of the table reflected the hanging candelabra.
“Leave us, Maris,” said the old woman. The girl moved silently past us and closed the dining room door. “You may sit, if you wish.”
I glanced at Pascalli who winked back and smiled broadly. I pulled out one of the several enormous chairs and sat as quietly and still as possible.
“The estate has changed little since I was here last,” said Pascalli with a smile.
“You come too seldom, my friend.” She turned her eyes on me. “You are Kyven’s boy? What is your proper name?”
“Colter,” I replied.
“Colter was my father’s name,” she said. “My name is Lady Dairtha. I am a cousin to the Taradurk’s though from what I’ve heard that won’t mean anything to you. Your father was a good friend once upon a time. I was sorry to hear that he had died.”
“We can’t stay long,” said Pascalli. “The Kaarum are already moving. By winter they will reach Darnuth Keep and begin to breach the passes. I we don’t stop them there they will ravage across the East again.”
“With the Festival coming we won’t be able to recover,” replied Lady Dairtha.
“Which is why I need to know how dangerous the roads are in the west,” said Pascalli.
“Avoid the highway. The Taradurk is not well. His son’s will not trust you the way he did.” She seemed lost in thought as she spoke.
“Zaban has solid judgment. I’m less worried about him than Favisham,” said Pascalli.
“Favisham is pressing hard to carry the festival this time. He has poured everything into raising a whelp of sufficient strength. You won’t need to worry about him until after the festival. All his attention is here, and his agents are few and weak outside of Shellburg,” said Lady Dairtha.
“Please warn Narnal that the kaarum will return. Three winters, no more, and they will try the eastern passes again. He must continue to prepare,” said Pascalli. He stood up and motioned for me to follow.
“So quickly? Not even to break bread with me?” she asked.
“Look kindly on the lad when he returns,” said Pascalli.
“If he returns,” replied the lady. Then she broke into a smile. “I will be waiting.”
I think I expected Anascrag to be a dangerous place for us. I knew that the ties to the emperor were strong, and it was simply not possible for us to have wandered so long and word not reach the authorities. “Don’t you think we’ve stretched our luck staying here so long?” I asked Pascalli.
“Sure enough, lad, but we’ve more than a few friends about,” he said. “Now ride just behind me. Keep your eyes open and your mouth closed. The nobility may not be aware of your presence but most will certainly recognize me. I’d like to slip out of the city without drawing attention to ourselves, if possible.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Nine
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Seven
Posted by admin on March 30, 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.
If Bracken had resented my presence before, he now openly challenged even Baghorn’s judgment. If we hadn’t needed all the men to help with driving the wagons and handling the stock, I’m sure Baghorn would have dismissed one of us on the spot. We pushed the oxen south as fast as we dared, stopping at villages only long enough to rest, rather than hunt additional profits. Baghorn seemed convinced that his luck had finally run completely dry, and his only hope of avoiding ruin lay behind the gates of Anascrag and his own home.
Like Bracken, I wondered how or why Laural would disappear without any warning. We found their trail easily enough. They kept to the road, heading south, but the wagons had no hope of catching them. Quivain struck east at the first branch of the road, and we heard nothing more of the pair. In addition to the horses, they had taken food and supplies for a long journey, for which Pascalli agreed to recompense the caravan. “Your luck’s not as bad as you might believe, Baghorn,” said the wizard. He smiled and slapped the merchant on the back. “You’ll come through all this with a tidy profit, and a wealth of experience free of charge.”
“Experience is never free, and usually more costly than it’s worth,” replied Baghorn, only slightly reassured by the fresh coins in his pocket.
As we neared Anascrag, traffic increased substantially. Merchants mixed with adventurers and nobles, all beginning the gathering for the Festival of Spears. Although each individual noble retained his or her own guards, the blue and white uniforms of the imperial troops became commonplace. They patrolled the highway more regularly, keeping peace and offering comfort to the nobility.
One carriage in particular caught my eye. The wheels were narrow and taller than most, and the gold inlay covered nearly the entire vehicle. “Is that the emperor’s,” I asked Pascalli.
“No, lad. Narnal hasn’t attended the festival since he won the crown many winters past. That crest, the two-headed hawk is the family of Taradurk. Lord Taradurk is regent over the entire western empire.”
“This is the east,” I said.
“His family is wealthy, powerful, and well-connected to the emperor. They often visit Dynwater.”
The carriage curtain slipped aside briefly and I caught a glimpse of steel gray hair atop a solid frame. A moment of recognition seemed to pass between Pascalli and the man, but he pulled the curtain shut again and the carriage rambled past the caravan.
Though it was a large city by the standards of the empire, Anascrag carried the feel of a village still. The people decorated the open plazas and small houses with late blossoms and painted their homes and shops brightly with every color. Shopkeepers plied their wares with simple patience rather than yelling. Children played behind houses and in the streets, where wagons and people alike meandered with unhurried steadiness. Anascrag was a slow, self sufficient, unimposing city that captured my imagination and memory.
Iven brightened the moment the spires of Anascrag’s cathedral to Tylos became visible. Every moment his impatience grew, until I thought he would burst. We had not entered a large city since Havensod, and my experience there was unimpressive to say the least. I hoped there would be a clean inn with food I did not have to cook and a bed I could sleep in.
A large stone wall surrounds Anascrag, and that wall is visible for many kilometers in all directions across the vast wheat fields surrounding the city. Above the wall towers the great cathedral to Tylos. City guards patrol the walls regularly, and the four city gates, one for each direction of the compass, close at night. Admittance to the city is regulated but generally casual. The center of the empire is a mix of many cultures, and Anascrag’s cobblestone streets and alleys hold a variety of secrets from many places despite the unassuming look of it all. The city guards demanded our weapons until Pascalli produced letters of writ certifying his status as lord of Gratterskeep and my status as his knight and personal guard. At the time I thought Pascalli was merely passing off a lie so that we could remain armed. I later discovered, as will any historian, that Pascalli was indeed lord of Gratterskeep and that he had the authority to call me his knight and to allow me to bear arms for his protection. Being lord and knight respectively, brought us much improved status in the city.
Anascrag is divided into a number of districts, each bearing certain restrictions according to social status. As a farmer, for example I would have been relegated to some of the outer portions of the city while most of the middle and all of the inner portions were closed. Peasants and slaves could not pass out of the districts near the city walls without permission. In the middle of the city wealthier merchants and lesser nobles mingled, while the innermost portions were reserved for the wealthy nobles and the royal family who governed the city and surrounding lands. As a noble, however unimportant, Pascalli could be allowed access to some of the finer inns and services, and as his servant I was allowed many of the same privileges. Because we arrived late that first night, we decided to take up lodging at an inn closer to the outskirts, in one of the artisans’ districts, close to where Iven lived.
Iven departed the caravan the moment we passed the city gates. Baghorn frowned as he left, but said nothing. “We’ll help you unload your wares, if you wish,” offered Pascalli.
“Not at all,” replied Baghorn good-naturedly. “I’ve servants already for that.” He paid the guards and dismissed them with a smile. “It’s good to be home again. Good luck to you.”
I watched the caravan disappear, waiting for Pascalli to make up his mind. “We’ll spend a night at an inn I know. Iven needs time to settle in again.”
The smells of the place nearly overpowered me. Women, painted grotesquely, danced to idiotic tunes strummed out on over-zealous instruments. The western empire is famous for the class distinction, and all women of a certain profession are painted to disguise their true identities and class. Anascrag is a mixture of east and west, especially among the poor created mockeries of both sides.
Bracken stumbled into the place half-way through our meal. He smelled of liquor and swayed as he walked. The leer in his eye spoke of trouble, but I hoped he would seek it elsewhere. He planted himself less than a meter from my chair and growled. “I’m done with you whelp.” I can’t say what else he may have added after that. His boot connected with my jaw, and a cracking white light flashed across my eyes followed by darkness.
The familiar sound of Iven’s hammer already rang out a welcome to all who passed by early in the morning. I arrived somewhat later in the day, but my spirits rose immediately when I recognized the familiar tune.
“Have you eaten yet, Scratch?” he asked. His face broke into a larger grin than I had ever seen.
“No, sir,” I replied.
“Then go inside and get some breakfast from Whinnie. I expected the old man would send you my way, and judging from the way you look he’s been up to his old tricks again.” I gave him a shrug and headed into the house. “Mind you don’t take to long,” he called after me. “I’ve a bellows here that needs attention!”
Whinnie was as plump and kind a person I have ever met. Her hair, once blonde, was now streaked with gray. Her face, though kind and still happy was lined from worry about husband and children. Every moment her hands moved, constantly cleaning or mending or cooking, for the work never ended. Opposite I suppose in many ways to my mother who never appeared to do much, as a lady should, but who always kept a spotless house. My mother appeared weak, thin, frail, but stood in battle and faced down anyone foolish enough to cross her. Whinnie, larger and stouter than most women, had the strength of enduring rather than conquering.
She gladly took me in, and for a few short days became a second mother to me. “Scratch is not a proper name,” she said straight off. “I’m sure my thick skulled husband has long forgotten your true name, but I’ll not be calling a child something as unseemly as Scratch. What’s your true name, child?”
“Colter Halfspear,” I said. “I don’t much care for Scratch. It’s just what Iven called me when we first met, so everyone else does too, and I’m supposed to be traveling in secret.” I felt again during those days that I was again the child, again the boy who never left his village. I felt I could stay and enjoy and be loved again, and maybe, just maybe the curse wouldn’t follow me.
“You’re not traveling now, Colter,” she replied. Her voice was soft and gentle, more soothing to me than the balm she rubbed over my bruises. “We’ve no need for secrets here, but if you want to keep some for a rainy day, you go right ahead.” She gave me a wink and a smile. “Now I imagine that my ever-loving, demon driven, forge-master told you to join him at the bellows. There will be none of that as long as I am mistress of this hovel. You’ve journeyed thousands of kilometers only to find a wicked ambush at the hands of a conspiring wizard, whatever his intentions were. Today, and until the wizard decides to fetch you, you can rest and maybe even think of home.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Eight
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Six
Posted by admin on March 23, 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 turned south again, and Baghorn seemed in good spirits after acquiring more wool than anticipated. The weavers of Anascrag would pay handsomely for the quality we brought. As the markets passed, Pascalli mentioned his fears of the Kaarum again.
“They’ve had time to learn what happened in full at Havensod. They know we’re watching. It’s only a matter of time before they attack again,” he warned.
Baghorn also wished to reach Anascrag, where he had a home and shop, but seemed in no hurry. “The nobles won’t have arrived yet, and they’re the ones with the gold. If I return now my wife will spend all my profits before the festival even draws close. You’ve filled your contract. You’re free to go if you wish. The roads should be relatively safe now, and the wagons will be cumbersome for most robbers to think of stealing.”
“We’ll see you through to Anascrag,” I replied.
Pascalli began scouting ahead after that. He seemed preoccupied, though I could not guess his mind. Iven talked of nothing but his home. I drifted into the routine of daily work. The burdened wagons made only slow progress while we labored over the narrow roads which no one bothered to maintain.
Pascalli pulled me aside after returning from his scouting venture one evening. “I found the trail of Kaarum.”
“How close?” I asked.
“A few hours, I would guess. They were heading south ahead of us, but they could easily double back or circle around again. They’re avoiding the road, of course, but that means little.” He seemed more concerned than I expected. “I think they are scouting in force. Either that or this group has been lost a long time since Havensod. I counted a dozen tracks, but I’m sure there are more.”
“We better position ourselves for an attack, then,” I suggested. “They will be scavenging for food. It won’t take them long to realize that we’re here.”
We explained the situation privately to Baghorn. His face betrayed his alarm, though he kept his voice as calm as he could. “I’ve never heard of so many out here without their full army close by. If they’ve come down from the mountains again we’ve no chance at all.”
“True enough,” agreed Pascalli, but he winked. “They are either lost or scouting in force. I am certain any army is still hiding in the mountains. Though they will most certainly attack us if they find us, we have sufficient men here to save ourselves if we are smart about it.”
“I’ve no head for battle,” conceded Baghorn. “If we’re to live, then I suppose we’ll have to trust your judgment and hope for the best.”
He left us to organize the defenses and answer the questioning faces of his wife and servants. Pascalli looked at me expectantly, but I had no plan to offer. I glanced around the camp, quickly recounting the number of wagons, people, and livestock.
“The stream to the west will make approach from that direction difficult,” I said aloud as I thought through the plan. Pascalli smiled in response, but didn’t interrupt. “We can effectively block the road north and south with the wagons, which leaves the east open.”
“They are not highly intelligent creatures, and will likely take the easiest path, so they should choose the east, though they are also very unpredictable,” said Pascalli.
We bedded down for the night with the sure expectation of attack. Bracken and I shared the first watch. Iven lay near the wagons at the south edge of camp, but I knew he would sleep only lightly if at all until his turn at watch. Pascalli lay closer to the fire, but he also would likely not be asleep despite his pretense. Among the others nerves might keep some of them from their rest, but any experienced soldier steels sleep when offered the chance.
Though a veteran of many fights, Bracken still held little respect for any other man’s sword. He loafed near the fire, keeping the altitude’s chill at bay. In the distance a lone wolf cried out in the darkness. The sound echoed false, and I strained my ears for any other sound from the darkness. Bracken emptied his pipe into the fire, sending the sweet fragrance of the western leaf he favored across the camp.
“There’s nothing out there but wind and crickets,” he grumbled. “You jump at everything.”
The creak of leather rose above the muffled shift of leaves in the darkness. I drew an arrow and fired at a shadow blocking the reflection of the stars.
“They’re coming,” I cried.
My shout opened the attack as if my voice had the power to drive them forward. Dark animal shapes poured into the camp from the east and south. Bracken whipped his sword free and leapt to cover the space between the wagons blocking the south end of the camp. Someone behind me fired an arrow as I loosed a second shot. The first Kaarum reached the camp and I dropped the bow in favor of my spear. As expected, Pascalli met the attack at my side, his sword beating the familiar rhythm against the horns and claws of the Kaarum.
I set my spear against a charge and caught my enemy below his guard. The spear tore free, and I let it fall. As I drew my father’s sword I glanced south to see Iven crushing into another with his hammer. I looked quickly to Quivain’s blankets, but they were empty. Baghorn handled his rapier expertly. He closely guarded his wife and daughter while the servants struggled with cooking knives and logs from the fire.
Desperately, like wild cats forced into starvation, the Kaarum threw themselves at us. My warning had given us just enough time to bring our weapons into play, but they outnumbered us almost two to one. Two drivers fell to the onslaught. Their attackers tried to drag them back into the forest rather than face continued danger. Pascalli chased them down while I retrieved my bow. All around me, the frightened faces stared in disbelief at the remains of violence.
“Drag the Kaarum into the woods,” I said. “Let the scavengers have them if they can stomach them. Who’s hurt and who can help?”
“Only a bit of a scratch here,” said Bracken. “I think the drivers got the worst of it.”
“We’re all right,” said Baghorn. “I don’t see Laural.”
“Quivain is also missing,” said Pascalli as he added fuel to our dwindling fire.
“I’ll get a shovel,” offered Iven. “You can worry about the rogue another day. If the Kaarum dragged him off then I say good riddance. If he bolted then it’s the same.”
“I’ll have me a look,” said Bracken. “I don’t fancy Laural would slip off without at least telling me.”
“She’s gone,” said Pascalli. “Her bag is missing, and so is the pack Quivain won at dice just two markets back. Their trail will be easy enough to follow when the sun rises, if you’ve the inclination. They’ve taken a pair of horses as well, though, and they’ll have several hours start.”
“I knew he would bring nothing but trouble,” grumbled Baghorn. “You should have killed him when you had the chance.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Pascalli spoke first. “We are not the masters of life and death. Scratch did what he thought best, and his thinking kept you alive tonight. Any evil that comes of this will hurt him harder than you, that much is certain. If it’s the price of horses that concerns you, we’ll pay.” He drew a bag of coins from within his cloak. He slowly counted them over to Baghorn. “We’ll drive your wagons to Anascrag, but the pace will double. I’ve no concern for your profits or the welfare of your caravan, though I respect the boy’s judgment there. I’ve business in the west that cannot wait.”
Bracken watched the coins drop into the merchant’s hand and followed the bag as it disappeared again into Pascalli’s cloak. He caught my eye and turned quickly to help Iven with the dead. I moved to help restore order to the mess but Pascalli pulled me aside.
“By winter the Kaarum will be forced to move. Already some are willing to try the wilderness away from the main body. When the food disappears entirely on the other side of the mountains they will be forced out. Time is growing short.” The earnestness in his eyes frightened me a little. I relied on his calm reassurance to bolster my own bravado.
“How long will it take us to reach the keep?” I asked.
“We’ve many markets ahead of us yet, and tasks to perform before we get there. We can reach Last Gate by the end of summer if nothing more than expected goes wrong. Any later than that and we may have trouble surviving the winter.”
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Seven
Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Twenty Five
Posted by admin on March 6, 2009
After all the warnings Pasav gave, I never thought he would take me down the staircase. “We must locate Kirien’s crucible. I have waited long for such an opportunity, and with the Horde delayed for the long winter, we will have time to recover it.
“What is the crucible?” I asked.
Pasav chuckled softly in the dim light. “I forgot, Kyven, that there is so much history you don’t know. Many years ago my comrade, Kirien, constructed the crucible to help us with our on-going battle with the Horde. The artifact was completed, but Kirien died before we could activate it. Those who still dwell in these halls were once Kirien’s servants or slaves. His experiments, if you will.”
We had already met a few of the inhabitants. Strange beasts, distorted combinations of animals. The keep itself was built into the mountain, with a small courtyard and well surrounding a small outer structure. The bulk of the keep was deep underground, hidden in darkness and evil now. Evil and danger so thick I could feel it clinging to my lungs as I breathed.
A small globe of yellow green light floated near Pasav’s pointed hat. He carried a longsword, sharp and expertly handled. I favored a shortspear myself, although a sword also hung clumsily at my belt. I was tall at fourteen, but far from brave.
Suddenly a shadow scraped against the stone just out of sight. My heart stopped, but Pasav’s voice was calm. “Show yourself. There is no safety for you in darkness, nor danger for you in the light, unless you bring it.”
I tightened my grip on the spear. Into the shadowy green light stepped a scaly gray creature. It walked a hunchbacked gait, supporting the weight of a pair of twisted wings that would not properly fold on its back. A bony ridge ran from its head down its spine and formed a short whip of a tail. When it spoke, its voice was like a rusty chain being dragged along the dungeon floor.
“You are a friend of the master?” It asked.
“I was,” replied Pasav. “I seek the crucible. Do you know where Kirien hid it?”
At the sound of its master’s name, the creature began to grovel on the floor, whimpering and muttering, “master is gone, master is dead.” I noticed for the first time the claws at the end of his fingers, and that two of the fingers from his left hand were half missing. The wings did not fold as they should because one was broken and had never been properly set.
“Do you know about the crucible?” my master repeated.
When the creature did not respond, Pasav appeared ready to move on. Then, to my surprise and shock I heard my own voice asking, “Do you have a name?”
The muttering stopped, and the creature raised his head. Briefly its eyes flashed green, and it answered, “Borlock, Keeper of the Laboratory Key.”
Pasav stopped in mid-stride, and then turned to face us both. I stammered, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. Pasav chuckled once again, and the glow atop his hat brightened, showering us all in a soft pool of light. “Well, Kyven, you started this conversation, you really ought to finish it.”
As infuriated as I was with my master for once more making me his joke, I lost track of my fear. “I am Kyven, and this is my master.” I almost said Pasav’s name, but something in the wizard’s eye told me not to go that far.
“Kyven,” Borlock repeated.
“We need the crucible to stop the Horde. Did your master keep it in the laboratory?”
Borlock looked suddenly both excited and unhappy. I could only guess how long he had been trapped here, and how long he had been since anyone spoke to him. “You have come to stop the Horde? You are a friend of my master?”
“Yes, I’ve come to stop the Horde,” I said, “although I never knew your master.” I looked the creature over, and after a moment said, “If you help us, you can come with us. Show us where the crucible is, and we will help you get out of the dungeon.”
Pasav’s chuckled turned almost into a laugh at my words, but weather because of my idiocy or some other reason, I couldn’t fathom. Borlock, however, seemed to become both more excited and yet more sad. “I cannot leave, I must yet serve my master while I live, but I can show you where the crucible waits.” Now Pasav placed his eyes firmly on Borlock, and the creature became suddenly fearful. “But it is guarded. Evil enemies broke the locks and hold the laboratory. The crucible they do not touch, for it is powerful and they fear it, but none else may touch it either.” He gestured to his broken wing and scars. “I have tried many times to get it back.”
Pasav seemed suddenly cheerful. “Not to worry Borlock,” he said, “just show us where it is and you’ll have your lab back. But first lets rest a bit and then we’ll be off.” The old wizard sat down next to the wall, and fished some food from his pack. Warily, I did the same. This would not be the first time I had witnessed Pasav lure an enemy into a state of security, and I could not sense if his motives were genuine. Borlock seemed impatient to be going, until Pasav invited him to share our meal. From the squeals of joy and delight, I can only guess that Borlock had not tasted real food since before I was born.
Within a few moments we were on our way again. Borlock seemed eager for us to rid the laboratory of its current occupants. I felt queasy at the idea of fighting whatever had already bested the nightmare leading us through the dungeon. In the time that had passed since we first entered this dungeon – I could only guess that it had been days – I had come to understand that not all darkness is evil, but I never imagined anything as hideous as Borlock could be so helpful. He knew his way without error, and lead us several times past danger. As we went, he taught me a great deal about how to use my spear, and the tactics to use when fighting beasts and men. We scoured the dungeon for another day, each moment delving deeper, and in that time I made a close if somewhat odd friendship.
“What sort of creatures hold the crucible,” Pasav asked as we descended what I hoped was the final set of stairs.
“Denizens of Morthol,” replied Borlock grimly. “They are but lesser servants, but the crucible gives them power I do not understand.
Pasav let out a loud “harrumph” and muttered something about “bungling with the powers of the seven hells.” I knew from past experience that Pasav was expressing his utter distaste at another’s “complete incompetence” despite having achieved impressive results. Morthol, I would have to assume, would not be a pleasant home, and its dwellers were likely not on speaking terms with surprise visitors. I had heard of demons from my mother, and didn’t doubt they existed, and although this seemed just the place for them, I couldn’t help being taken aback at Borlock’s reaction when we reached the bottom of the stairs. He stopped quite suddenly, and began quivering with obvious fear. From a tattered belt pouch he slipped a slender gold key, and held it out. Pasav took the key, and the creature said, “The leader is Galyra. They will sense my approach, if they haven’t already. If I come with you my terror will surely be the end of us all. Take the first corridor to the right and you will find the laboratory.”
For once, Pasav didn’t chuckle, although I did catch a smile breaking briefly across his face. Borlock seemed anxious to retreat back up the stairs. I knew my master would never let such a valuable resource go so easily. “Borlock, if they know that you are here, then we should just as well make use of it.” The creature’s fear intensified, and a look of confusion spread across his face. “Your terror has indeed boggled your wits,” said Pasav gently, “but my wits are still about me. How many of these lightbreakers are there?”
Borlock calmed visibly at Pasav’s words. “Galyra, and a half dozen others. I managed to slay several of them a long time ago, but they have destroyed my weapons and traps, so I can no longer fight them. They know better than to venture above these stairs, where I still have some surprises, but this entire area is under their complete control.”
Pasav looked thoughtful, and mused, “if things are as I believe they are, then we needn’t worry too much about the lightbreakers. Our primary concern is to activate the crucible. Once that happens, I believe you will find the keep a much nicer place.” Although he could see the questions on my face, my master continued without pause. “Kyven and I will wait in the darkness where the laboratory corridor begins. Borlock, you simply need to snoop around the laboratory. Go scout them out, but the moment you sense danger, get out. Run back up the stairs, and find a safe place to hide and wait. Kyven and I will handle the lightbreakers, and whatever else comes out to find you.” As he spoke, Pasav untied the sash around his robe, and then re-knotted it so that a good length hung out at the end, which he handed to me. “Don’t let go of this, my boy, or you will perhaps not find your way out of this darkness again.” The light suddenly winked out, and I grabbed tightly at the sash, wrapping it a couple of times around one hand, and clinging to my spear with the other. The darkness was absolute, and with it also came a silence deeper than sleep, so deep the breathing of my companions sounded as loud now as the cries of battle that had brought me to my master. I followed the tug of the sash, my eyes splayed wide in a vain search for anything to see.
After a few moments of slow walking, the sash went slack, and I heard the muffled whisper, “sit down.” I quickly and quietly did as told. My eyes attempted to penetrate the blackness, but the effort was fruitless. I heard Borlock shuffle away, but within seconds there was nothing but silence and darkness. The sound of my heart beating, and Pasav’s breathing.
Imperceptibly, a shadow approached, and only after several seconds did I realize that Borlock must have been returning. I recognized the sound of his movement, but only as he passed us by in the corridor. He left a familiar chain-rattle whisper, “two follow,” as he left, and I nervously repositioned my spear. In the distance, a faint light became visible, outlining the shapes of two demonic humanoids. Their heads were outlined with spiked horns, and their bodies covered in a thick leathery hide. A thick mane of black fur clung to their necks and arms, and each carried a large flame bathed broad sword.
I have often asked Pasav why he didn’t just blast the lightbreakers with fire, or put them under a spell or something, and all he ever says is “I always needed an extra scar.” Of course, to my mind, trying to leap up and attack a pair of beasts while a scared boy is clinging with all his strength to your sash is probably not a good idea. In any event, Pasav fell on his back, giving the tusked demons both our location and a tactical advantage. Some instinct inside of me tore my grip from the sash at that moment, and I quickly launched my spear at the nearest enemy. The sharpened blade pierced the demon breast, and as it did an unearthly heat or acid began to consume the shaft. The lightbreaker toppled and landed on top of my master. As Pasav struggled to free himself, the second was quickly upon me, attacking viciously with his sword. I defended the blows with all my might, but strength seemed to dissipate from my limbs with each parry. My own sword’s weight grew with each pass, and I knew I could not hold out for very long. I had never been in a position to run away from a battle before, and now that the opportunity presented itself, I realized for the first time that I was willing to fight and die for the old man who had given me a life. That thought gave renewed strength to my limbs, and I fought back just long enough for Pasav to gain his feet and finish the fight for me.
My master’s left arm and chest were torn where the demon’s horns had cut him, but perhaps the largest smile I had ever seen on his face beamed back at me through the dying iridescent glow from the lightbreakers’ bodies. He put his arm around my shoulder, and the little globe of light appeared over his head. “You fought both bravely and well,” he said, “now let’s finish this nasty business so we can find a comfortable place to eat and rest.”
His calm demeanor penetrated my mind, and I walked coolly towards the laboratory door. The door itself, though outwardly unremarkable, bore the unmistakable mark of magic that I had grown used to around Pasav. There was a keyhole just below the handle, which perfectly fit Borlock’s golden key. Pasav muttered some arcane words as he unlocked the door, and motioned me to step back. There was a quick flash of light from within the keyhole, but the door did not move until Pasav pushed the handle, and it swung open easily.
The scarred and burned bodies of three more demons writhed on the floor not far from the door, and a fourth was crawling desperately toward a corner on the far end of the room. The stench of burning flesh reached my nose, and I stifled my vomit by looking elsewhere. On a pedestal at the far end of the room, beyond a table, sat a large steel vessel. The power radiating from that portion of the room made it unmistakable that this was indeed our quarry. In front of the pedestal, however, stood one last obstacle, perhaps the most beautiful obstacle I would ever face, and certainly the fairest I had encountered then. At fourteen, a boy is likely to have known few girls, and even fewer women. Certainly he would never have met a creature perfectly formed in every way, or one who possessed such a sultry and magical voice. The dark hair and lips contrasted stunningly with the ivory skin, and only the smoking dagger in her hand betrayed her innocent appearance. She dressed in burnt leather, whose purpose was more to reveal than to conceal or provide comfort, and when she spoke her authority was unmistakable.
“Finally, someone has come to save me,” she said in perfect innocence.
True to form, Pasav chuckled to himself, but tears welled up in my eyes for pity. Trapped here among these demons, enduring terrors I could hardly imagine. I moved forward, to help her, but a firm hand restrained me.
“I had not expected to find you here, Galyra,” said Pasav, “although I imagine you have indeed found this more of a prison that you thought it would be.”
“You mock my suffering. Why? Set me free and I will help you. I can tell you many secrets of this place, but we must hurry.”
She sounded reasonable to me, and I didn’t understand why Pasav chose to ignore her pleas. “No time for that,” he said, and quickly he raised his hands. As he did, the glow about his head became a blinding light, and he shouted words of power. The steel vessel screamed in response, blasting out a shriek of grating metal. A fire consumed the pedestal, but the crucible continued unmoved, floating above the flame.
Galyra screamed in anger, and flung the dagger unerring towards my master’s throat. At the last instant, Pasav moved aside, and the weapon clattered to the floor. Galyra flung the table aside, and prepared to assault without weapons, when suddenly she was lifted as with an unseen rope and dragged towards the crucible. A blue light erupted from the vessel, surrounding the seductress and consuming her. The whimpering lightbreaker in the corner was likewise lifted and dragged into the crucible, and together their cries of anguish crushed against my ears. I covered my head in fear, but Pasav made me lift my eyes and witness the transformation. Everywhere that darkness had been was replaced with light and splendor. The dull gray stone floors of the laboratory in the proper light became polished marble. The otherworldly evils everywhere within the keep began to be consumed.
“Kyven, my boy,” I believe we made some progress today. As we turned to leave, we met Borlock. He looked just as hideous in the light of the crucible as he had before, if not more so. Yet now I could discern the wisdom in his eyes, and the kindness born of long suffering.
“You are the true masters of the keep now,” he said, “and I will serve you while I have life.” The wretched gargoyle then bent his scabby head and knelt. Pasav raised him gently, and smiled softly.
“You have a great deal of work to do here. Rally the loyal servants, and rebuild the keep befitting the wizards of old,” he said.
“What about us,” I asked.
“You and I have shall just have to wait until the next adventure to answer that question, and with any luck it will be a long time coming.” Something in the twinkle of my master’s eye told me that our adventures would come far more often than I would ever get used to.
THE END
Posted by admin on January 14, 2009
I have always found it odd how a person never truly gets used to discomfort. I didn’t like starving any better after having starved, eaten, and starving again. I didn’t like fighting any better after having learned to do it properly either. In fact, I would go as far as to say I just don’t like being uncomfortable in any way, but in particular I don’t like being cold and wet and hungry while hunting a pack of vicious beast-men. My companion, a small, yet unnervingly vicious, boar-dog (what else do you call a failed wizard’s experiment), seemed equally annoyed at both the weather and the mission. “You must warn the King,” my master had told me, “the Horde is moving.” That was before we discovered this scouting party, and now I had two missions to accomplish (discounting the part about staying alive).
The tracks were easy enough to follow in the light snow of early spring. Two years of hunting these beasts from place to place had trained me well to know their marks. “Do you smell them, Grunter?” I asked. She raised her tusked head in response, and let out a soft whining grunt. “I know, they aren’t far now. We’ll catch them tonight, in the light of the moon.” Grunter wagged her squiggly tail with excitement, and dashed ahead along their trail. We had not gone far when I spied a lone buck scouring the hillside for food. My first instinct was to draw my bow and get some food, but I knew that it would only slow me down, and that I had to stop the scouting party before they reached the mountains proper. I knew better than to chase the horde into the mountains, in their own festering realm; that would be a task for another day.
True to form, I found them just after sundown. Two days without sleep, and nothing but a night of violence to look forward to. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, I wasn’t able to catch them in the wild as I had hoped. We were close to a village, and the beasts had discovered one of the outlying farms. I found them by the light of the fire where the barn was burning, and the sound of the violent screams, of torture and battle.
From their tracks, I knew that there were at least six in the group, and from experience I doubted there were more than ten. Grunter saw the fires and noise, and charged into the fray before I could stop her. I hesitated only long enough to loosen my sword and string my bow. Darkness was my ally at the moment. I could see their black shapes easily in the firelight. Two were busy slaughtering animals as they fled the barn. I could hear the others in the farmhouse. I lodged an arrow in the nearest beast-man’s breast, and hit the second in the left leg as he charged. These beasts are vicious when cornered, or in numbers; but wounded and alone they tend to flee, as this one did, to wander off and die alone and painfully in the cold hills.
I ran to the house. Inside I could hear Grunter’s barking and grunting as she grappled with her foes. I heard the sounds of metal clanging, and knew that someone was putting up a fight. I cast my bow aside and drew my sword as I entered through the already destroyed farmhouse door. Inside I found the farmer and his two children, a young man and woman fighting with the four beasts. The good wife was already lying on the floor, and the humans had sustained several wounds. The nearest beast had a large gash in his arm and leg, and was not able to turn and react as I finished him. In his shock at seeing my entrance, the farmer’s son dropped his guard, and a beast-man tackled him, quickly rending out his life with his claws. The two others turned to face me, and used their weight and strength to force me back out the door, where we could fight on open ground. Pasav, my master, and Borlock, my good friend had taught me through daily drills over the past few years how best to deal with both beasts and men, and stiff experience had confirmed their teaching on several occasions. I felled the first as he stepped from the farmhouse, and the second put up only a meager fight before I removed his claws and head. I re-entered the farmhouse to find the daughter struggling to keep the final beast at bay with a broken chair. He either didn’t see me enter, or didn’t care, as I was able to dispatch him without effort.
The farmhouse was the shambles, a mess of blood and broken clutter. The barn burned freely, although we managed to save a horse and an ox, and most of the chickens escaped alive. We worked hard to save the livestock and grain before I remembered to ask her name.
“Alandra,” she said, stifling back both grief and fear.
“I am Kyven,” I told her. “I am sorry that I did not catch them sooner.”
“So am I,” she replied. Her face was covered in soot and dust, hiding the fading freckles of youth and covering the soft highlights of hair that would have been a soft blonde; but even the tattered and dirty rags could not hide her girlish figure just on the brink of womanhood.
“Where is your shovel,” I asked.
“We have a shed for tools and things, I’ll go and get it.”
“Take your time. Just get it and bring it here. I will bury them behind the house.” She left for the shed, and I began the gruesome work of dragging the bodies to the back of the farmhouse. The beast-men I simply heaved onto the burning timbers of the barn, unceremoniously removing their weapons and boots as I went. I found Alandra weeping near the farmhouse door, and my heart felt about to burst with grief and sorrow. I knew the pain of losing a father, and I would never forget the day I left my starving mother to join a war I still don’t understand.
“I don’t have a tent or other shelter,” I told her, “and it would not be wise to leave here tonight.” She looked at me with glazed eyes, hardly hearing or seeing. “I noticed the house has more than one room, why don’t you get some sleep. I will bury your family, and if you have a god, you can reverence them in the morning.” She did not seem to want to move, so I lifted her and helped her into the house and past the violence to a room with a bed. I had tried to clean the blood and mess, but nothing I could do would ever remove all the signs of violence.
I spent several hours in the night digging graves. The ground was hard and my limbs worn, but I knew that we would need to leave the farm in the morning. Kindness does not come easily to me, I lived a hard life, but I knew that I must help Alandra, if only in part to repay the kindness my master had shown me. Some few hours before dawn, I collapsed next to Grunter, wrapping my cloak around me for warmth near the still warm embers of the barn.
The day dawned bright and clear and warm, the first of the true spring, the spring that brings the flowers and new life. As luck would have it, the farm was still rather well stocked for the winter, and I enjoyed a good meal. I often fancied myself a cook (after all Pasav couldn’t cook edible food to save his life) but Alandra showed me that I would need more than a campfire to rival the great chefs of the world. Grunter was cheerful; still exhilarated from the events of the night, and continuously bounced and sought affection. A night’s sleep had done a great deal to calm Alandra, and she and Grunter became quick friends. But the uncertainty of losing her home and family loomed heavily on her mind. After the morning meal she went to the graves and commended their souls to eternity. I watched and waited in silent patience.
“Alandra,” I asked, “do you have any relatives in the village?”
“No,” she replied. “My family was new to this valley. We came here, to Amsterhome, after the last war with the Horde. Where are you going, Kyven?”
“I am taking a message to the King, and then I suppose I will return to the Keep of the Black Crag.”
“Where is that?”
“West, and North, in a pass high in the mountains. The King is to the east, I have never been there before.”
“Me either. Can I come with you?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to put her into danger, and I didn’t want to have to take care of her. The mountains were dangerous, and the going would be hard and slow. She noticed my hesitation, and my eyes must have betrayed my feelings.
“I can cook, and I know how to work hard. I won’t slow you down. We can take the horse, and we can sell the ox and the farm in the village. We can bring the chickens and I have blankets and supplies.” I had lived a solitary life the past few years, and the few women who now lived in the Keep were certainly older than Alandra, but they seemed to share her need to chatter, and the tendency to jabber when they felt nervous.
“We will see what we can find in the village,” I said. She broke a half smile, and I continued. “There may be a place where you can stay and work.” Her smile disappeared. “The mountains are dangerous.” She glared at me and crossed her arms, and I felt suddenly small and weak. “I won’t leave you stranded,” I said at last. “If there is nothing in the village, then you can travel with me until we find something better.”
Alandra did not seem totally convinced at my compromise, but she didn’t argue much either. “Don’t just stand there like dolt,” she said, “help me get my things together, and round up the horse.”
I complied without question. Of all the things I knew, I knew how to follow directions best. The Keep was a large place, and required a great deal of cleaning, especially after fighting off the previous inhabitants, and Pasav made entirely sure that I was familiar with both broom and mop. Before noon we had packed the horse with sufficient provisions to last several weeks, and bound everything else of value to the ox, and were on our way to Amsterhome.
Amsterhome was just a simple village then, not yet grown, and had but one in and a shop that supplied the farmers. We traded what we could for gold and clothes. Alandra had no boots, and she refused to wear those I had taken from the beast-men. Their weapons brought a nice price, a fine horse; and the village constable treated me with great kindness after hearing the story. I cautioned him to post sentinels to watch the foothills since more scouting parties might come from the mountains; a piece of advice he took to heart in the weeks and months to come. Although there were many willing to take Alandra in, she refused to stay, insisting that there was nothing left for her in the village, and that she didn’t feel right about just taking their charity. I must admit I enjoyed having someone to talk to (if only once in a while), and Grunter would have been upset to see her go.
Harperston was several days’ journey east of Amsterhome, but a winding road eventually met up with a winding road that eventually turned into a winding highway patrolled by the King’s guard and repaired by the King’s serfs. We followed that winding road together. I had studied the maps of the northern kingdom, sometimes referred to as the Old Empire, and knew that we would pass through many villages and farms. Since I had accomplished the first part of my journey, this second leg seemed a joy in comparison, and our hearts were light and easy.
Alandra and I quickly became good friends. It seems the gods have always blessed me with good companions. She was merry, even when speaking of sad things, and told me of her family, and the struggle they had fought to earn some bread from the stubborn soil. I recounted to her my days of smithing and of following my master, Pasav, the sometimes haphazard wizard. “I don’t believe in magic,” she said, and seemed disappointed when I told her that I was not a wizard and didn’t know any magic.
“I know how to sweep and clean,” I told her, “and I thought I knew how to cook until I met you.”
“You also know how to fight,” she said, “and that is something very few know how to do.”
“A useless skill,” I replied. “There is no glory in death, and besides, I don’t like it. I prefer to hunt game in the woods, or help with experiments in the laboratory. At least then I know I’m not going to get killed, and usually there is food around.” Alandra laughed wildly at my remarks, but I failed to see the humor, after all I was a simple person.
We reached the King’s Road ten days after leaving Amsterhome. We struck north, and within a few hours the landscape began to change. The haphazard farms turned into well-groomed fields surrounded by low rock fences and crowned with large farmhouses and fine barns. Hedges sported spring growth, and traffic on the road thickened with each step. My eyes darted everywhere to take in the new sights, and Alandra gasped at every bright color and new sound. Neither of us had ever seen a nobleman’s carriage before, nor seen a courtier dressed in their fine clothes. Those who saw us generally gave way, as I sported a sword, and we had horses to ride. The majority of the peasants were as dirty and ragged as those I had always known, and the only horses they used were those on the farm. Grunter drew more than a handful of stares and gasps of surprise, and she seemed thoroughly content to puff out her chest and strut next to the horses playing queen of the road. Once we passed a group of men bound at the throat in steel collars to a line of chain. “Who are they,” asked Alandra, “what have they done?”
“Pasav told me about the slaves that they bring from the southern lands. They bring them here to toil on the roads and keeps, and to serve the mighty warlords. Some, of course, are simply criminals; thieves and robbers.”
Alandra’s face turned suddenly cold and thoughtful. I looked at the slaves, and noted their dirty blonde hair, a stark contrast to the dark browns and blacks that dotted the heads of most people we met. “My grandparents came from the south,” she said, “or so my mother used to tell me. Your hair is light as well, Kyven, she said, although not as light as mine.”
“I come from Craverton,” I replied, “a starving village, crushed by war. I do not know anything else. I am from the Keep of the Black Crag now.”
The paved highway led straight to the wide city gates at the south end of Harperston. Tall, sturdy buildings loomed over us from behind the city wall. From inside the gate we could see a mighty castle rising on the far end of the city. I supposed that if we were to find the King we should go there, so we made our way along the main street until we came to the castle gate.
A balding, stout man in a uniform sat on a little stool in the shade of the archway of the castle gate, and watched our approach with amusement. The gate itself was flung wide open, a large construction of oak and steel. The castle wall was a good four meters tall, build of stone and mortar; just as impressive as the Keep of the Black Crag. A few soldiers wandered the battlements, but in general the fortress carried a calm, sleepy feeling.
When he realized that we actually wanted to enter the fortress, the guard stood up and blocked our way. “Now what would yourselves be wanting in there,” he asked.
I had not often dealt with men, but I knew that most were stupid, and rest easily swayed; and I had a mission to complete. I removed a small medallion Pasav had given me, and showed it to the guard. “Lord Pasav, my master, sends me with a message to the King.”
The guard chuckled, “Oh, Lord Pasav, now. And where from does the mighty lord hail?”
If every guard was going to be this much trouble, I decided, I might just as well go home. “From the Keep of the Black Crag,” I replied calmly. “It is an urgent matter, regarding the continued onslaught of the horde.”
The mention of the Horde seemed to take the guard back a step, and he scratched his head a moment. “Hey Garf,” he called, and a scrawny man in a dirty uniform appeared from a door just inside the archway. “Watch ‘ese two a moment, will ya’. I’m gone to get his Lordship Sirus.” Garn appeared as disinterested in us as we were with him, and he took his place silently on the stool and drooped his head for a nap.
Three quarters of an hour later, the chubby guard returned followed closely by a tall, wiry fellow clothed in a long black robe with silver trim. This new gentleman appeared as sour and stern as a constipated gargoyle, and his voice was both stiff and sharp.
“You have a message from the wanderer Pasav?” he inquired.
“Yes,” I replied, “it is for the king.”
“Then give it to me, and I shall take it to the king.” It was not a question, simply an order delivered to an underling. Grunter barked and growled, and Alandra rolled her eyes.
“My directions were explicit,” I answered. “I must deliver it to the king in person. Not to anyone else, and especially not to anyone claiming to be able to take it to him.”
The stern exterior cracked a little as he placed his fingertips on his temples and closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them again. “Very well, wait here with the guard, and I will speak to the chamberlain.”
Three quarters of an hour later, a man in a fine silk shirt and fine trousers, leaning on a stout oak staff and wearing a thick leather purse made his way towards the gate. He was of average height and build, but his smile was contagious and made his otherwise plain face more attractive than it should have been. “I understand you would like an audience with the King,” he said as he approached.
“Yes,” I said shortly, “I have traveled these weeks from the Keep of the Black Crag to bring it.”
“And your tokens?”
Again I removed the silver medallion and showed it to the chamberlain.
“Very well, if you will give me the message . . . ” he caught my scowl mid-way through the sentence, and quickly changed tactics. “The guard will see to your weapons and your horses, come with me.”
We followed him through the outer courtyard, which was more like a little village in itself, with smithies and various shops inside crafting supplies for the soldiers. The inhabitants seemed oblivious to our presence, despite our frequent staring and wide eyes at all we saw. “There are more shops in this courtyard than people in my entire village,” commented Alandra at one point. Eventually we came to a small room, with a fine polished pine table, a sofa, and four cushioned pine chairs.
“Wait here, and the steward will come and get you soon,” directed our guide and then vanished out the door.
A quarter of an hour later, a young woman with yellow hair and a dirty, long, black dress appeared holding a tray filled with cups and cakes. She seemed taken aback by our appearance, but nevertheless stated, “Would your Lordship and Ladyship care for any tea and cakes while you wait?” Alandra looked at me, and I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t imagine they were trying to poison us, and after the things Pasav had tried to feed me, I couldn’t imagine this would be worse.
I smiled, and said, “yes.” Alandra, sensing a person of her own status, began to bombard the girl with a myriad of questions as she poured the tea and served us. Her name was Anlaw, and she was indeed from the southern lands. Her family was captured in ‘the war’ and she was purchased as a house slave to work here in the castle. Anlaw seemed overwhelmed by the attention and retreated as quickly as possible into the depths of the fortress kitchens.
Three quarters of an hour later, the door opened, and short man with a long gray beard, clad in a silk shirt and fine trousers said, “Come with me please. His majesty is rather busy, but has granted you an audience.”
We followed him to yet another room, not much different from the first, except that the table was much larger, and there were several more chairs. At the head of the table sat a powerfully built man with a short-cut beard, streaked with gray. His head bore a thin gold circlet, and a great sword hung at his side. Pasav taught me to bow when I met the king, and to show respect, so I did. Alandra followed my lead, and we waited for him to rise and address us.
“Very well then,” he said. “Stand up and give me your message.”
We stood up, and I removed a roll of parchment and handed it to the king. The seal of the Keep was still intact, and the king seemed amused at seeing this. “So, the Keep is alive again,” he asked.
“Yes, majesty,” I said, “Pasav, Borlock, and I have worked hard to put it in order.
“So, Kirien’s steward is more than just a legend. Did you hear that Lars,” laughed the King, “legends are coming to life again. Indeed, the times are changing. Now, lets see what we have.” He cracked the seal and unrolled the parchment. I did not know the full content of the letter, but I know it contained a great deal of important news. The king studied it with particular intent, and then asked, “Did you have anything else to report, Kyven?”
For a moment I was taken aback that he knew my name, but I quickly regained my composure. “I tracked and killed a scouting group for the horde, eleven days ride west of here, at a farm near the village of Amsterhome.” The king raised an eyebrow at my statement, but seemed to brush the information away as inconsequential.
“And do you know the contents of this letter?”
“No, your majesty.”
The king let out a long and loud laugh then. “That is just like Pasav, send the poor boy on an errand he knows nothing about. Very well, we shall make the shock a complete one, for all parties involved. Let us retire to the royal court.” He seemed to muse for just a moment, and then shook his head, “no, better they appear as they are, give all my kin a surprise they won’t forget. Lars, summon my court. Ring the alarm. Pasav has decided to provide us with some entertainment.”
Somehow the glee in the King’s voice did not provide me with any comfort. Lars quickly swooped us together, and pushed us out of the room. As we were leaving, I heard the king say, “Lars, fetch the boy’s sword, he will need it.”
A short time later we found ourselves standing before a dais, atop the which sat a pair of large thrones. A middle-aged woman who would have been stunningly beautiful in her youth, with long black hair now streaked with silver sat in the smaller chair. At either end of the dais were somewhat smaller chairs, filled with young men and women bearing a striking resemblance to the King and Queen. All around us people in finely dressed clothes were forming ranks along the walls. The hall was a great bustle of chatter as people tried to guess what was afoot, and we were the subject of many stares and sideway glances. After a time trumpets rang out, announcing the arrival of the king, and quickly silencing all the chatter.
The king entered, now bearing a larger crown on his head, and dressed with a flowery robe of state, crested with a lion and eagle, the symbols of the empire. When the King spoke, his voice was calm, yet tinged with humor, and the entire hall received his words in abject silence. “My lords and ladies, the time of legends is upon us. Our fathers unleashed evil upon this world, and now we are beginning to remove it. Before you now we have a champion in this great cause. I present Lord Kyven of the Keep of the Black Crag, Knight of the Old Empire.” A stir shook the room at his words, and more than one gasp of surprise. “And as a knight, Count Kyven has exercised his right to accuse my champion, the Lord Dracum and general of my armies of treason to the crown for sloth in the exercise of his duty to eliminate the forces of the horde.” Now the courtroom erupted with shock and anger. More than one foul word reached my ears, and more than once I felt myself becoming angry. I took Alandra’s hand and shrugged. I could see the questions on her face, and the fear, but I had no answers. I gave her the most re-assuring look I could and waited for the moment to pass. A trumpet rang out and the hall became quiet again. A large man, clad in armor for battle stepped out to stand next to me near the dais. He smelled of ale and sweat, and the scowl on his face froze my heart. “A trial of single combat will decide his guilt or innocence,” said the King.
Dracum’s voice was deep and heavy as he addressed his liege. “You majesty, these charges are false and foolish. I have lived my life in service to the crown and dedicated it to the destruction of the horde. What proofs does this boy offer?”
The king took on a slight smile as he replied. “The charge has been stated, and the sentenced passed, but I shall humor you. Three years ago did you not face the armies of the Horde near a village here within my own province?”
“Yes, my lord, of course,” stammered Dracum, “and they were destroyed.”
“Indeed, they were destroyed, and so was your army, was it not?”
“Well. That was that bungling meddler. I warned him not to interfere.”
The king’s tongue turned sharp as a razor. “You were ordered to cooperate with the wizards, were you not?” Dracum made no reply. “Indeed, it is our tradition to fight the wizard’s curse with the wizard’s weapons. He delivered a warning to you that day as well, a warning you ignored. Thousands of men burned that day and joined the horde, and today the Count of the Keep of the Black Crag has come to challenge your allegiance and test it with the sword.”
“Very well,” said the General, “I do not wish to destroy the boy, but if that is your will. My sword,” he boomed, and shocked silence penetrated the court. A page’s footsteps were heard running to the door.
My heart sunk. Was I doomed to always wield a sword? I did not wish to die here, before Alandra, with a sword in my hand, in dirty clothes before people I did not know. I could only trust that my master would not have me killed without cause, although what good my death would bring I did not know.
In a few minutes, the page returned, bearing a broadsword of the finest quality. Lars took Alandra by the arm and escorted her to a chair at the edge of the dais, away from the combatants. “Remove your armor,” stated the chamberlain. “The boy has none, and the rules of etiquette state equal ground. The combatants are granted a moment to prepare their estates and settle their affairs.”
Having no one else to turn to, I went to Alandra and said, “I’m sorry I brought you here. I didn’t know I was just coming here to be killed.”
Alandra cried and hugged me close and whispered, “you aren’t dead yet, Kyven. You saved me once, I’m sure you can save yourself now. What was it that you say Pasav always told you? Fighting is a job best done quickly. Anyone who can kill six beast-men can surely handle one fat dullard.” She gave me a wink and a smile, and I knew Pasav hadn’t sent me here to be killed.
“Combatants approach,” rang the chamberlain’s voice. I obediently took my place before the dais. “No quarter shall be given. Cowardice punished with death.” Two meters away stood my new enemy, gripping his sword and cursing under his breath. A trumpet rang out and the general was on me in an instant.
His blows came like lightning, but I danced away easily, letting my sword direct his energy safely away. “The key to single combat, Kyven,” always said Borlock, “Is patience and cunning. You have to wait for the mistake and wear the opponent down. Constantly attack but never over commit.” As usual I followed the advice I received, never allowing the larger man to use his full arsenal of attacks by forcing him to defend. We fought back and forth for several minutes, neither gaining an advantage, until his face was drenched in sweat and his beard clung to his face and head. Now he kept his guard only through shear determination, but his attacks had become both infrequent and ineffectual. I recognized now the cold calculation I had seen on Pasav’s face in so many past encounters. I understood the endless drilling and why battle after battle Pasav had made me chase beasts from the Keep at sword point rather than using his magic. There was a job here to do, no different than sweeping the kitchen cellars, and no more difficult. I allowed my foe to overextend, and danced aside. Without passion or malice I brought my sword down on his neck, once more realizing how much I hated fighting.
THE END
Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman
