A Night At The Bouncing Archer – A Short Fantasy Story by Kelly D. Tolman

Posted by admin on July 1, 2009

When a lanky seven-foot troll, albeit small and clad in mail, pushed open the door to the Bouncing Archer, Vera hardly gave him a second glance over her serving tray. In general, trolls in the nearby wastes had bluer skin and a stockier build than the deep green and warty complexion of this one.

The astounding woman with the deep green skin at his side caught more than a casual glance, not only because at nearly six feet she stood taller than the gentleman who followed her, but also because even beneath her well oiled armor the patrons could see that nature had endowed her magnificently. The gentleman, who was dressed in expensive, custom-tailored traveling clothes, led the group. His steel-blue eyes seemed to take in everything in the room. Vera knew every rogue and adventurer in the country, and hardly expected anything unusual from them.

The man waved at Vera, who politely smiled and called, “One moment.”

The troll stared nervously around the room. His yellow bloodshot eyes blinked in the smoky lantern light. After the autumn harvest, more locals than usual crowded into the room eager to catch a tale from some stranger. Dock workers and riverboat hands gambled and drank away their wages, filling the normally calm tavern with raucous, lively laughter.

“Do you have a back room?” asked the man when Vera finally managed to reach them. “Someplace a little more private and less exciting. My friend gets nervous easily.” He gestured to the troll.

“I’m Vera,” she replied. “Follow me.”

“Harbeard,” said the man. He pointed at the troll who appraised Vera as she expected a man would judge a steak. He glanced at the troll. “He’s Turogg, or just Rogg. This is Maritz.” Harbeard jerked a thumb towards the woman. “Just point, we’ll find it.”

Vera pointed across the room to a doorway atop a short set of steps. “In there.”

Harbeard handed her a gold coin. “We’ll have some special needs later. For now send in a barrel of ale, and some wine for me and the lady.”

“Anything to eat?” she asked.

“The best you have,” he replied. As they walked away, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t bother cooking Rogg’s.”

They found the back room both cold and empty, though tinder and kindling lay ready to light in the fireplace. They placed their packs along the back wall. Casually, out of long habit, Harbeard helped Maritz with her chair, though she seemed unused to the attention. Turogg sat with his back to the wall opposite the fireplace, looking suspiciously at the unlit logs. He had some difficulty managing the sword strapped across his back and finally removed it.

“So far so good,” said Maritz. A hint of music carried in her accent. She pushed a few strands of sea-green hair behind her delicately pointed ears after placing an elegant longbow in the corner. “I can’t believe you brought him here.”

“It’s not like we had anything else to do,” said Harbeard. He tossed a bag onto the table, and the coins inside clanked. He smiled back and relaxed with his elbows on the table. He kept his own sword within easy reach and sat where he could watch the doorway. “He was getting worse, and we need supplies anyway.”

“I thought you had a house in town. Why bring him here?” asked Maritz.

“I also have neighbors,” replied Harbeard. “Some would object to trolls, and some who would tell others that I am back.”

“Eat,” growled Turogg.

“You’ll eat soon enough,” said Harbeard.

Three young men wheeled a large barrel up to the steps and with the help of a dolly placed it next to Turogg’s chair. They placed three sturdy mugs on the table and Harbeard handed each of the men a coin as they left. Turogg sniffed the barrel. Before Harbeard or Maritz could stop him, he smashed an enormous fist through the top of the barrel.

“That comes out of your share,” said Harbeard with a chuckle.

The troll either didn’t understand or didn’t care. He eagerly dipped his mug and gulped the ale, casually spitting out the splinters. In the next room a table of dwarves with thick beards and bright clothes watched the action with envy. The Bouncing Archer always met the needs of its guests, and Harbeard noticed the shorter table and wider chairs fit the dwarves comfortably. For a moment Harbeard thought the nearest dwarf, a happy fellow with a finely combed blonde beard, might venture to fill his own mug at Rogg’s barrel, but after a second glance at the troll he turned back to his conversation.

“I see you managed to open it yourselves,” said Vera as she brought in the wine. She put a tray with two loaves of bread and a large cheese on the table. “I can bring some fruit if you like. We have harvest stew ready, or we can bring you steaks if you would prefer to wait.”

“Fruit please,” said Maritz.

Harbeard sniffed the wine, and carefully tasted it. “I believe I asked for your best,” he said. “This is second grade, and I happen to know that Tomlin keeps a much better vintage for those who can pay.” He placed another gold coin on the serving tray next to the wine. “A meal we don’t have to scrape together ourselves sounds wonderful. I see the harvest is in, do you have anything to serve with the meat?”

“Anything you like,” said Vera, smiling broadly.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a vegetable,” said Harbeard.

“Nor I,” agreed Maritz. “Anything you have, but no beans, and no soup. I’ve had enough of your road stews to last a lifetime.”

Suddenly Turogg reached a long arm out and groped Vera’s rump. “Goura,” he growled excitedly.

Instantly Harbeard’s sword flashed out of the scabbard. With precision born of long training and harsh experience he brought the blade down, severing Turogg’s arm just below the elbow. The troll howled in pain and anger as he picked his hand up from the floor. Harbeard’s sword burst into flame. “Try that again and I’ll make it permanent.” Turogg whimpered and shied back from the flames. He carefully held the twitching arm to the bleeding stump.

“Thank you,” said Vera. “I see you’re a gentleman.”

Maritz took the towel that Vera tucked into her apron and began to clean up the mess.

“Don’t bother miss, I can do it,” said Vera.

Maritz waved her away. “You’re working hard enough,” she said. “An expecting mother should take her rest.”

“Am I showing already?” A proud smile crept onto Vera’s face. “I knew it would sooner or later. Time flies, as they say.”

“Only if you know what to look for,” replied Maritz. “I’ve no children of my own, yet.”

“Time enough for that miss.” Vera winked. She bent in and whispered in Maritz ear, “He’s a nice looking gentleman you’ve got there.” Maritz blushed and giggled. “Now I am forgetting myself. Steaks all around. Will there be anything else?”

“You better get Rogg something sooner,” suggested Harbeard. “A pig’s leg or something.”

Vera excused herself and disappeared among the crowd in the main room. Harbeard watched her leave, and scanned the room for familiar faces.

“Anybody you recognize?” asked Maritz.

“Of course, but I’ve changed since I left.” Harbeard did not look at Maritz as he spoke. He noticed a man wearing fine black velvet toss dice with a group of riverboat workers in a far corner. Harbeard brought his attention back to the table, but looked out on the other patrons from time to time.

“I don’t believe that Rogg’s the only reason you didn’t want to go home,” said Maritz. She grinned. “Nobody with a clear conscious acts the way you are.”

“Purely habit, my dear,” he lied. She rolled her eyes in frustration. “Fine, I’ll tell you. There is a lady here, and I very much do not want her to know that I am here.”

“I didn’t know you had a woman,” said Maritz. Her eyes danced mischievously as she spoke.

“Only among the trolls do the women decide who marries whom,” said Harbeard. “We have more civilized ways.”

“Such as?” Maritz teased.

“Such as my parents choosing for me,” he replied.

Vera returned with another bottle of wine and a large rack of uncooked ribs, probably pork. “You must have been in the wild a long time to consider food here a change for the better,” she laughed. Turogg began chewing the ribs practically before they reached the table.

“I’ve been away for a few years.” Harbeard sighed. “There are some new warehouses near the docks. Trade must be good.”

“That it is,” replied Vera. She smiled a broad smile. “I myself only settled down about a year ago. I did some wandering before that.”

“Wandering can be lonely, can’t it Harbeard?” said Maritz. She half concealed a laugh. Turogg tossed a rib into the fireplace.

“Let him finish his dinner, at least,” said Harbeard.

“I’m sure he will be easier to handle with a full stomach,” said Maritz.

“Your dinners will be ready soon,” said Vera. “I am sorry, but we are much busier than usual.”

“No hurry,” said Harbeard, glancing at Turogg. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy them more after he has finished.” The troll appeared unaware of the conversation.

“You might as well make arrangements now,” said Maritz. “It won’t take him long to finish eating.”

Harbeard gave her a sideways glance and sighed. “Does Tilly still operate her business next door?” he asked Vera.

The waitress blushed in spite of herself. “I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” she replied.

“Nonsense, it’s no secret,” said Harbeard. “Just get her word that our friend here is lonely. We can’t very well take him through the font door of her place, he’d go wild.”

“A troll!” said Vera much louder than she intended. The shock clearly showed on her face.

Harbeard reached into the bag and took out five gold coins. “Just tell her. And bring him some more food.”

“Will there be anything else?” asked Vera. Maritz choked down her laughter. Turogg tossed another bone into the fireplace. The gentleman in the corner left his dice game. Harbeard thought he saw the man look his way as he stepped out the front door.

“I’m sorry to upset you,” he said, bringing his focus back to the table. “He’s been pining lately. Practically no use to us at all.”

“I’m not as shocked as Tilly will be. No girl in her right mind would. I can’t even think about it,” said Vera.

“I wouldn’t try,” said Maritz.

Vera slipped quietly away from the table. Maritz used Vera’s towel to push some of Turogg’s ribs away from her portion of the table. She noted that his arm had healed nicely.

“I think your friend at the dice game recognized you,” said Maritz.

“I didn’t know you were watching,” replied Harbeard.

“You hoped I wasn’t. You know better. Do you think she will cause trouble?”

“You’re assuming he went to tell her about me,” said Harbeard.

“Isn’t he?”

“Probably.”

“It’s my fault for talking you into this,” said Maritz. “We shouldn’t have brought him into a town, he’s not ready yet.”

“He’s doing fine,” said Harbeard. “My troubles have nothing to do with him. And yes, I think there will be trouble. The question is whether she will wait until morning to start it.”

“She must really hate you.” Maritz laughed. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” said Harbeard. He could tell by her look that she did not believe him. “Honestly, I haven’t done anything to her. I just haven’t married her.”

Maritz nearly choked on her wine with laughter. A few faces looked up at them from the next room. “You skipped your wedding? If you tried that with a troll she’d hunt you down and eat you alive. If you tried that with a troll she’d hunt you down and eat you alive.”

“I’m afraid it’s not much better with our women,” said Harbeard. A frown spread across his face. “I didn’t actually miss the wedding. I left right after it was arranged, long before we were to be married.”

“Of course that makes it all better,” said Maritz as she rolled her eyes again. In spite of himself Harbeard found her teasing attractive.

“She doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry her. Our parents arranged it,” said Harbeard

“Then why not just break the arrangement?” asked Maritz.

“Because she can’t legally inherit my property unless we’re married or I’m dead,” said Harbeard. “From what I’ve heard, she moved into my estate as soon as I left town.”

“Strange customs you humans have,” said Maritz.

“I’m not entirely human, thank you,” said Harbeard. “I doubt anyone would notice. I’ve even managed to fool you, and you’re quite the expert on the mixed races.”

“Being half troll doesn’t make me an expert,” said Maritz.

“But being half elf should,” replied Harbeard. The wine tasted good, and he felt lighter in spite of the situation.

Vera returned followed by a plump dark haired woman with a motherly face. “Tilly sends her regards, Harbeard,” said the woman.

“I had no idea you were still in the business, Ann,” replied Harbeard with a smile.

“I help manage affairs now. I finally scraped enough together and bought a share of the place.” She smiled pleasantly. “You’ve not introduced me to your girl.”

“This is Maritz,” said Harbeard.

“And a handsome lass at that,” said Ann. She bent down and kissed Maritz on the cheek. “Keep your eye on that one, miss, or you’ll lose him. More than one girl has tried to tie him down.”

“I hope you aren’t being literal,” said Maritz. The women laughed while Harbeard fumed and turned red.

“Can you help my friend?” asked Harbeard, trying to steer the conversation.

“He’s a regular beast, isn’t he,” observed Ann. “Won’t be cheap. Ten gold will buy you an hour, if he’s civil.”

Harbeard drew the sack from the table and counted ten gold coins. Then he stacked ten more next to them. “He’ll finish when he finishes,” he said. Harbeard counted out ten more coins. “He knows eat, drink, and goura, which is troll for woman.” He counted out ten more coins. “Keep him fed, drunk, and away from any fires. When you think he’s done, you’ll be able to find me. Charge what he eats to my bill here.” He scooped the coins into Ann’s pouch and then added a few more.

“I see you’ve done well for yourself,” said Ann. “To bad you didn’t hit it off with Darla. I hear she’s been looking for you everywhere.”

“You’re too late to try and sell your silence,” said Maritz with a laugh. “But if you stay around you might be able to watch the fun.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Ann. She smiled and laughed a little. “It’s been good to see you again, Harbeard. I’ll keep an eye out for Darla just in case.”

“Tomlin won’t like it if you start trouble in his place,” said Vera.

“I won’t start anything,” replied Harbeard. Ann led Turogg through a side door. Vera knelt at the fireplace and replaced the tinder and kindling.

“You’ll want a fire,” she said. “Night is setting in to be cold.” She lit the fire with a candle. “Your dinner should be just about ready.”

Vera left them alone. The dwarf with the blonde beard approached with his empty mug. “Mind if I have a dip,” he asked, gesturing to the half-empty barrel.

“Help yourself,” said Maritz. “Take it all if you like.”

“Hey lads, give me a hand,” called the dwarf. A half doze of his companions jumped up and together they carted the barrel into the next room, sloshing ale into their beards. The dwarves broke into song as soon as they set the barrel down.

“What did you have to do that for?” asked Vera as she set down their meals. “All I need is a pile of drunken dwarves.”

“They’re helping celebrate Rogg’s birthday,” said Maritz. “It’s not often a troll remembers he has a birthday. He needs all the help he can get.”

They ate quietly, savoring the simple taste of good food they had not enjoyed for many months. Vera scooped the remaining ribs into the fire. The comforts of civilization did not dull Harbeard’s senses so much that he did not notice Vera lingering at the fire longer than expected. He caught Maritz’s eye but she had already noticed.

“Perhaps we should join the party,” suggested Maritz. Someone began piping a lively tune, and the free ale had spread beyond the dwarves’ table. Harbeard hesitated only a moment before catching Maritz’s hand and pulling her into an energetic dance. Though she did not know the steps, and had never heard the song before, loud cheers greeted their performance for the locals loved all things exotic and exuberant. Harbeard found himself carried into happier times when dancing and music marked the end of a hard week’s labor, and he fought only for recreation with the other wild youth in town.

“I never knew you could dance,” said Maritz when they caught their breath.

“Once my dancing was the talk of the town,” replied Harbeard. “You caught the tune quickly yourself. I had no idea the trolls had such entertainments.”

“They do not, as you well know,” said Maritz. She frowned at the thought of Turogg dancing. Then she winked. “Among the elves we have many dances for many occasions.”

“I had no idea you were with them for so long. When I found you I would hardly have guessed you could be so refined,” said Harbeard.

“I was born among the people of the moon, and I lived a gentle life until my cousins, the descendants of my father, raided the village.” Maritz spoke as one who had seen and done enough in life to accept its tragedies.

“And then I destroyed your cousins.” Harbeard did not know whether to be proud or sad. “All but Turogg of course.”

Maritz laughed out loud. “That lout better be having the time of his life, or we’ve wasted a lot of hard earned money.”

“If I know Tilly, he’s in good hands.” Harbeard winked. “Besides it’s all coming out of his share. Another round! We’re celebrating my good friend’s birthday!”

Nobody cared whose birthday they celebrated, only that someone else bought the drinks and that the music hadn’t stopped. The local music gave way to a resonating dwarfish melody when a pair of bearded merchants began playing long stringed instruments that neither Harbeard nor Maritz had seen before. They stopped to listen only long enough to catch the rhythm before joining the dwarves in their own strange dance. Local musicians competed with foreign singers and dwarfish players until Harbeard and Maritz found themselves sitting back at their table with Vera. One remaining dwarf attempted to out-drink Maritz. The other patrons had either left or fallen asleep on the floors.

“Tomlin will charge them a copper for staying the night,” laughed Vera. “Less expensive than going across the street to a real inn, but certainly not as comfortable.”

“Liquor doesn’t affect her the way it does you and me, my friend,” warned Harbeard uselessly.

The dwarf attempted a reply, but collapsed after managing to say, “Nobody drinksh.”

“What about you two?” asked Vera. “Shall I add a copper each to your bill, or will you cross the street?”

“Join us for some wine and conversation,” said Maritz. “Surely you aren’t in a hurry to find the straw pallet Tomlin lends you.”

Vera looked at her, but didn’t ask how she guessed. However Maritz found out her situation could not be changed. Instead she opened a bottle of the less expensive vintage and poured a glass for each of them.

“What happened to your husband?” asked Maritz. Though he generally preferred to avoid personal entanglements, Harbeard listened with interest.

“He died in a duel,” said Vera. “It seems so foolish. My old friends have returned to the adventuring life, but I can’t, not with my child.”

Harbeard noticed a strange shape, like a bony pig’s head, steadily forming inside the fire. Several of the discarded bones appeared to be slowly stretching and bending to create other sinister forms. A low growl erupted from the flaming pig’s head.

“Somehow I don’t think this is entirely healthy,” he said, pointing at the fire. Vera choked back a gasp.

“I had no idea this would happen,” said Vera.

“So this is what you were doing with the fire,” laughed Harbeard.

“I was just trying to get rid of the stuff. Brolas gave me a coin to put it in your wine,” replied Vera.

“Any idea what it was?” Harbeard directed the question as much to Maritz as to Vera.

“You’re the local,” said Maritz with a smirk. “None of the poisons I use would do that.”

A tiny skeletal pig with an oversize head jumped out of the fire and snapped its fangs at Harbeard. He pulled his sword and swatted the creature back into the fire. The bones shattered against the stones at the back of the fireplace, but immediately began to grow together again.

“Inconvenient,” said Maritz when she saw the bones reforming.

“I’ll say,” agreed Harbeard. “If I ever get my hands on Brolas I’ll …” Harbeard trailed off, unable to find a suitable solution.

“Hit him with a thick cheese?” suggested Maritz.

“Funny.” Harbeard scowled at her as he swatted another skeleton back into the fire.

“Why would Brolas want to hurt you?” asked Vera, lifting an axe from the sleeping dwarf so she could help bash skeletons.

“I’m engaged to his girlfriend,” answered Harbeard. He kicked one of the animated bones back into the fireplace.

“I thought he was just trying to get me into trouble,” said Vera. “He’s been harassing me since my husband challenged him.”

“He’s the one that killed your man?” asked Maritz.

“No, he isn’t man enough for that. He is good friends with Darvuth, the swordsman,” said Vera.

“Perhaps we should visit Brolas,” said Maritz. She smashed the last of the pig bones with a chair. “That was a very annoying trick.”

“I would like to get some of my own back,” agreed Vera.

“We shall need your largest sausages,” said Harbeard with a wink. “As I recall Tomlin cures his own hard summer blend.”

Vera gave Maritz a questioning glance, but the taller woman just shook her head in confusion.

“I’ll be sure to add it to your bill,” said Vera as she went to the kitchen.

Harbeard handed Maritz her pack and then shouldered his own. They waited for Vera in the common room. Before heading into the cool autumn night, Vera handed each of them a pair of enormous hard-cured sausages. Harbeard led them quietly through the dark streets. The occasional dog barked at them or the other passing scoundrels. Nobody gave them a second glance; the town seemed busy for such a late hour.

“Unless I am mistaken, Brolas will have joined my fiancé for the evening. I know a hidden way in the back,” said Harbeard.

“You seem to know a lot about the estate,” said Vera.

“I should, I grew up here, and unless the laws have changed I still own it,” replied Harbeard.

He led them through a hole in the hedge and down a hidden path behind the stables. Though the horses caught their scent, either the stable master did not notice, or more probably did not care about the noise the horses made. The door to the cellars creaked loudly when they forced it open, but nobody from the house came to investigate. Harbeard lit a candle, and Maritz and Vera followed him through the cobwebs and shadows to an old wooden staircase.

“Now for the tricky part,” he whispered. “Step where I step. These stairs can make a noise like a banshee.”

Carefully he placed one foot on the first stair. It made no sound, so he tried the next. Slowly they climbed to the top.

“I see you’ve done this before,” whispered Maritz to Vera.

“I haven’t always worked for Tomlin,” she replied softly.

The bolt on the door at the top of the stairs had rusted through and Harbeard opened it easily. Harbeard poked his head out and checked that none of the servants had heard anything. He waved them forward, and they quietly crept down the hall to the master bedroom. He signaled to Maritz to listen at the door. After a few seconds she placed her hands next to her head to indicate that the occupants were sleeping.

“Now to give them the drubbing of a lifetime,” said Harbeard as he raised his sausage.

Harbeard tore back the covers, and the women commenced hammering with their improvised weapons. They managed a few solid blows before Brolas disarmed Vera. He attempted to strike back, but Harbeard’s sausage caught him directly in the temple and he staggered to his knees. After a brief flurry the fight ended, saturating the room with the smell of cured meat.

“I believe you will find that infidelity breaks the contract,” said Harbeard to Darla, who was nursing a welt on her cheek where Maritz had connected. “This is my house, and you are unwelcome guests.” He menaced his sausage once before Brolas and Darla scrambled to the front door. Maritz and Vera broke into wild laughter as they watched.

“Now what?” asked Vera.

“Now I am going to bed,” said Harbeard. “Ah, look here, a nice feather bed conveniently empty.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Maritz gave Vera a wink.

THE END

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Of Crucibles and Creatures – A Short Fantasy Story By Kelly D. Tolman

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

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Chapter Fifteen – The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep by Kelly D. Tolman

Posted by admin on January 5, 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.

True to his word, Pascalli led us to the base of a high cliff overlooking the sprawling mountains.  All around us snow glistened in the sunlight and a chill wind bit at our ears and noses.  A wide cave opened into the side of the mountain and disappeared into blank darkness beyond.

As we rode into the cave, the sunlight began to disappear and the footing became dangerous for our horses.  We dismounted and Pascalli instructed me to light a lantern he had brought along for just this purpose.  “We won’t need it long, but the light is better than that of a torch.  Mind your feet now.”

We trudged into the blackness.  I had never before ventured underground, or explored any cave.  Truly the depths of the earth hold many great mysteries, but finding them requires both courage and skill.  Fear gripped my throat as I guessed at the shadows and echoes just out of sight.

“Relax, boy,” advised Iven.  “You’re making enough noise to wake the entire mountain.”
I realized then that I had scuffed my feet something awful on the floor and that with each step I sent sand and small pebbles skidding out of sight.  I quickly began to move more lightly and consciously tried to relax.
“Yes,” agreed Pascalli heartily.  “Be careful with your horse.  He is not used to this.  Step where I step.  The ceiling is going to slope down here very soon.  There are also traps set in the floor so be careful where you go or we may all regret having chosen this path.”

I thought about reminding the wizard that I had not chosen any path in particular but thought better of it.  Instead I concentrated on keeping my horse, which was apparently terrified of being underground, from bolting.  After what I would estimate to be close to an hour Pascalli stopped and asked me to bring up the lantern closer.  In front of us a passage sloped steeply down into the earth.  To the right, a large stone painted with blue letters gave some warning that I could not decipher.

Pascalli spoke in a language I did not understand and a rumbling voice similar to Iven’s when he was angry answered him.  I recognized our names given during the exchange but could gather nothing further.  Then the voice disappeared and Pascalli said, “We are to wait here for a while.  The guards need to verify that we are who we say we are.  In any event I expect we should make ourselves comfortable.”

The Veldmen returned a few hours later to find us lounging on their doorstep.  Each of them carried a short spear or halberd finely crafted with blades polished to perfection.  About them their armor moved seamlessly and silently, a trick of their skill and mastery that mankind can only dream about.  Their hair and beards varied in color from deepest red to fiery golden.  The tallest of them stood a full head and a half shorter than me.  Pascalli spoke on our behalf in their deep rumbling language and we followed them into their realm.

Fear and wonder stilled my heart as I followed the dark path into the mountain.  The path led simple and straight, though I guessed they had built safeguards along the way.  Though the tunnel did not turn, we often changed sides as we walked along the corridor, and our guides often paused to listen before continuing.

They brought us into their city, a bright cavern carved from living rock lit by cunning lanterns and mirrors.  “My lord Vrashnil, I have come to pay what I owe in return for your services at the battle near Havensod,” said Pascalli.

“You come slowly, Black Wizard,” replied Vrashnil.  His voice rang loudly through their city.  He held obvious contempt and thinly veiled mistrust for Pascalli.  “The race of men broke the world, and still we wait for you to put it back together again.  You show little reason for us to trust you.  Four cycles to Moalthor you promised.  I say five.  Much time has passed.”

“I offer ten from the boy,” replied Pascalli.

Vrashnil laughed a hollow laugh and smiled.  “You bring us a gift.  Do you betray him as you betrayed the darkunder?  Will you leave him here while you wander the wide cold world or do you expect our welcome?”

“For Iven and myself I offer two cycles in exchange for food and comfort through the winter,” said Pascalli.  “The boy travels with me of his own will.  He can decide for himself how he feels about me.”

“Your payment is generous.  Two cycles each,” agreed Vrashnil.

One of the guards took me by the arm and began to lead me away.  Pascalli stopped him.  “You’ve sold me as a slave,” I said.  I felt the anger burning in my face.

“Yes and no,” replied Pascalli, as cheerful as a summer’s day.  “Ten cycles works out to about a hundred days, more or less.  They do not count time as you and I.  The time will pass rapidly enough.”

“A slave is still a slave,” I said.

“You will be asked to work, but the work is no more difficult than what have already done.  Iven and I will also work.  Most likely you will be asked to assist one of the smiths.  Pay attention.  Keep your eyes open.  There are things here that you cannot learn anywhere else.  I did not sell you into slavery, so much as buy you an education I could not otherwise give you.”

The resentment in my heart did not die as they led me away.  They took me to a large forge where several Veldmen labored.  A stout fellow with a thick beard looked me over with disapproving eyes.  He said something in their language, and by his tone I could tell he was not happy.  The guards left us and I immediately began to discover the secrets of mastering any craft.

Torsith ruled his forge and those who worked and served there with infinite patience and painstaking care.  The Veldmen do not measure time by the rising and setting of the sun, but rather by the sleeping and waking of a person.  Each waking moment for the first twenty days or so, Torsith directed everything I did.  He refused to speak my language, but he patiently explained the words of their tongue many times each day until I understood what he wanted.  I gathered fuel for their fires, fetched tools, and watched as they crafted the most intricate works of metal and stone I had ever seen.
Precision clocks, the like of which are not found anywhere in the empire, sound the rising each morning.  Each person, no matter their station performs their duties tirelessly.  About twenty hours later the clock tells of the time to sleep, and all work stops.  Every ten days, or cycle as they call it, the Veldmen rest from their labors and offer their rites to the god Moalthor from whom they received the gift of fire and the knowledge of the forge.

Despite Pascalli’s reassurances, I found the work far more difficult, especially at first, than anything I had ever done before.  To the Veldmen, work is life.  One lives to work.  One joys in it, and receives fulfillment from it alone.  A master smith may spend a hundred hours crafting a piece to perfection simply to melt it down again and start over just for the sheer joy of working.  Rest and recreation have a time and place among the Veldmen, but the rites of Moalthor carefully regulate these diversions.

Copyright 2008 Kelly David Tolman

On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Sixteen

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