The firelight illuminated their faces, so I was sure that the three before
me were the same group that had abandoned my cause just two days ago. The
beautiful elf sat staring at the mage who was screaming at the human
mercenary across the campfire. I strained to make out their words, but
though they were arguing heatedly, I couldn't hear them. My ears still
rang from the howls of the swamp dragon. The elven swordmaid heard me
first, and motioned to the others who stood swiftly and alertly. The mage
reached into a pouch at his waist. The elf and the human warrior reached
instinctively for their swords. I stepped slowly into the lighted
clearing. They all gasped at my battered armored form, dripping muck,
covered in blood... some mine, but most the dragon's. They swarmed to me
with welcoming arms, a thousand questions on their lips. I threw down a
small glittering object at their feet. The legendary Dragonstone. They
stared at it, dumbfounded. The magical ruby that the five of us had
originally sought from the swamp dragon now sat muddy and very
un-artifactlike in the ramshackle camp.
Dragons are smart, I didn't think so before, but I had been wrong. A day's march from it's lair, it attacked us, killing the cleric with a single blast of it's acid breath, and reduced our number to four. The others, the elf, the mage, the warrior, they abandoned the quest. They called it a fool's errand, but they were only trying to justify their own cowardice. The mage stooped and picked up the Dragonstone, examining it with an appraiser's eye. The enchanted gem's deep red hue pulled at the campfire's light, reflecting and absorbing it at the same time. He recognized it and displayed it to the others like it was a shared prize.
I turned toward the shadowed forest, filled with disgust. Faced with the cowardice of my friends, I found that I could not even look them in the eyes. They all stared at the gem in the mage's hands greedily as I walked off without a word. The elfmaid noticed my departure and ran towards me. "Don't leave us," she said, reaching up and touching my armored shoulder gently. I paused. "I'm sorry about Laura. I wish..." she trailed off, not knowing the right words to say. Laura was the cleric whom the dragon had slain in its immortal cruelty. She had been my wife. I brushed the elf's hand from my shoulder and walked on. I must have walked for hours that night through the woods alone, wondering if I would ever be home again.
***
The town of Joranth. I could smell it for miles before I could see it, an unpleasant smell to some, but for me, that of home. I had traveled back through the woods towards it, three days journey, with no rations and little water. The second night, I was attacked by a pair of wolves as I slept. I slew the female with a single blow from my sword. The male wolf, seeing its mate fall lifeless to the hard ground, howled his fury and charged madly at me. I held out my blade as it tried frenziedly to tear out my throat. The look of pain in his eyes seemed somehow familiar to me.
As he slid down my blade, the sharp edge biting into his vitals, his look of surprise was slowly replaced by a look of peace. I did not have time to think about it, the smell of blood was likely to attract other predators, so I gathered my pack and pressed on. Starving, still wounded from my fight with the dragon, and tired beyond endurance, I stumbled through the city gates in the early hours of the afternoon.
A city guard looked me over and demanded to see my waiver for heavy arms. I displayed the crest on my breastplate to him. "Armor can be stolen," came the unkempt man's reply. I pulled out a small waterproof pouch and removed a worn piece of parchment. The unshaven and dirty man looked over it for a ridiculous period of time and then handed it back to me, gruffly gesturing to move along. As I walked through the city that smelled of fish and human waste, I realized that I had not been home in a year. The Church's long campaign against the heretics of the Northlands had kept me from my family's ancestral home for many months at a time. I had seen my parents at my wedding eight months ago, but it was held in Laura's home of Diluna. As I walked down the street, men averted their gazes, as though afraid I would harm them. Voices whispered in harsh tones as I passed. Something was terribly wrong if these people had come to fear the Church's Paladins. At last, I came to the street on which my family's great house had stood for ten generations.
Standing in the street, I breathed the air of my childhood and smiled. I breathed deeply and slowly, remembering, reliving days of my youth. I could remember my mother, and her bright red hair, my father's strong arms lifting me high in the air. As I neared my home, my senses betrayed no danger, but I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I caught sight of the house, it seemed still in good shape, but as I got closer, I noticed subtle changes.
The house still stood, but in places, cracks had formed, vines grew up the walls around the grounds, and tall weeds grew unchecked around the house. I started moving faster. By the time I was at the edge of the grounds I was at a full run. The huge iron gate to the courtyard stood rusted, closed, and covered in thick vines. The ground beneath the mighty gate was red with rust. I pushed hard against them, and with the shriek of metal on metal, I managed only to slightly crack them open. I slipped inside and ran to the house. Inside the gates, I could see that the house was in ruin. The elements had not been kind to it. It was a high maintenance house certainly, but my family had scores of retainers...
I reached the house and saw no sign of habitation. I slammed my fist onto the door, knocking, dread in my heart. Perhaps they moved, I thought. I cried out for someone, anyone. Silence. I grabbed the large knocker and pulled the door open. Cobwebs filled the inside of the house and dust swirled at the change in the stale, dim air. "Hello," I called. No reply.
I walked through the entry hall and to the dining room. Scraps of food were on the floor. One of the chairs as well as a section of the massive table appeared to have been dusted off. I called out again. A faint sound of movement came from the kitchen adjoining the dining hall. I stepped into the kitchen and looked for signs of life. I caught a glimpse of someone's foot being pulled into the old and apparently unused stove. I marched up to the stove, reached in and pulled out a human form. An elderly man in rags lay huddled on the floor, his arms over his head, pleading for mercy. His voice struck a familiar chord in my mind.
"Chester?" I asked, unbelieving.
"Please don't harm..." the frail old man looked up, "Is it you, my lord? Can it be?"
"Chester," I said to my family's oldest and most trusted retainer, "What happened? Where is my father?"
"My lord, I...you mean you don't know?" As he spoke the words, I did.
"Tell me."
"My master, your noble father, is dead."
"And my," I paused, choking back the pain greater than any dragon's claws could inflict, "My mother, Chester. Tell me that she..." I could already see the answer in his eyes.
"I'm sorry." Tears fell from his eyes. I felt the water begin to well up in my own.
"How?"
"A common thief broke into the manor, milord. Your father was out on Church business. The thief bungled the attempt, your mother caught him in the act, and he slew her. The blood, my lord, so much blood," he could not go on. I would have cried, but I could not understand his words. It was as though it were happening to someone else. After a moment, he continued.
"Your father vowed to hunt the thief down and kill him personally, but before he could do so, the thief turned himself in, and appealed to the Church, saying it was an accident. Your father was in the audience and screamed his denouncement of the man, but the high priest would not hear it. He needed an example of mercy to attract more followers." I stared down at the emblem on my armor. It marked me as a holy warrior, a crusader for an unjust God. "As the high priest granted the thief his benediction and pardon, your father leapt from the crowd and struck the murderer down."
The old man, whom I had known since childhood looked at his feet and paused. "They called it a crime. They said that the thief had been absolved and that your father killed an innocent and unarmed man. They held a trial, but thousands of people had seen the act, and it was a mockery of justice, nothing more. He was executed three months ago for murder and his soul condemned by the high priest himself. I'm so very sorry." The tears came.
***
"My darling, why don't you come pick flowers with me? You can polish your sword later," Laura said to me in her beautiful voice, her smile beaming at me in the warm sunlight.
I sat under a shade tree next to the clearing, a grindstone in one hand, my sword in the other. As I stood slowly, placing my sword in the still dewy grass, I had a swift premonition of danger. My head darted off to the right. Out of a low cloud bank, a black dragon swooped towards my wife and I. I ran blindly towards Laura, screaming for her to get down. She looked at me and then straight up as the dragon swooped overhead. Too late, she realized her danger. The stream of acid hit her squarely in the chest and moved up her body as the dragon passed overhead. I heard the twang of a bow as the elfmaid let fly an arrow. I heard the crackle of thunder as the mage let loose a spell, but I didn't see if they had hit the beast. I couldn't see anything but Laura, falling to the ground.
I slid down to the ground at her side and cradled her head in my arms. Already, the acid had eaten through her flesh in some places. I could hear it sizzle and prayed for my weak healing power to wash over her. I placed my hands on her face and felt a warm sensation course through my body. I lifted them to see that her face was scarred, but not deteriorating. She smiled weakly, and grabbed at her heart. The acid had eaten through her clothes, and still sizzled mercilessly through her body from stomach to throat. Her eyes spoke volumes of love that no poet could ever dream. She whispered softly to me, "I love you," she said. She twitched once, and lay still.
***
I woke in a cold sweat in the North Tower just before dawn, wishing desperately to never dream again. While the house and grounds had been confiscated by the church after my father's execution, they sat empty and unused, so I used the old tower as a free room. The servants had all gone, save Chester, who remained because he was simply too old to go anyplace else. He had a small amount of food which had run out some days earlier, but as I spoke with him the night previous, his emaciated form, his cough, and his whispy, fading voice made it evident that his health was failing him. I wiped my brow and stood out on the North Tower's high outer balcony. The balcony faced east, towards the rising sun, but had been built that way primarily because it faced the temple. I stood silently and watched the sunrise over the temple as I had from the same lofty vantage countless times as a child.
I descended the long staircase and exited the tower, heading to the servant's quarters, and Chester. When I arrived at the door, there was no response to my knock. I opened the creaking door and peered in. Chester lay on a bed near the far wall. I walked over to him and shook his shoulders to wake him. Chester's still form was cold to the touch and I realized that he had found an endless sleep undisturbed by dreams.
A few hours later, I finished covering the shallow grave that I had dug for dear old Chester. It was a simple grave, surrounded with stones, and having nothing else to use as a headstone, I planted my sword deep into the earth above my friend's resting place.
I sat thinking for a very long time. I thought about Chester. I thought about the senseless tragedy of my mother's death, and the injustice of my father's. I climbed back up the stairs of the North Tower, and sat out on the balcony railing, staring at the temple. I removed my armor and stared at the crest of an uncaring god.
I watched, facing east, as the sun set and the darkness rose, I watched night surround the city's holiest place. I thought of Laura. Sages will tell you that all objects fall at the same speed. It is not so. I must have lingered for what seems like days, thinking. Watching my own life. I remembered thousands of things I had done, wrongs righted, evils destroyed, justice done. All in the name of a faceless god. And at last, I understood the peace that came to the wolf as he died. The ground rapidly approached, and I felt the peace come over me, and I smiled. And then, darkness.
***
Copyright © 1999 by Charlie Bright. This material may be distributed only subject to the terms and conditions set forth in the Open Publication License, v.04 1998 or later (the latest version is presently available at http://www.opencontent.org/openpub/).
Distribution of substantively modified versions of this document is prohibited without the explicit permission of the copyright holder. Distribution of the work or derivative of the work in any standard (paper) book form is prohibited unless prior permission is obtained from the copyright holder.
"I think we've found a member of the crew that actually likes you, Connor," the priest said. "Donn'a be gettin' any ideas about that. He's just tastin' me, that's all." The Hibernian leaned against the wall as the living ball of fur curled to sleep in his lap.
Read original fantasy at http://www.umsl.edu/~s1039359
email the author
Back
Dragons are smart, I didn't think so before, but I had been wrong. A day's march from it's lair, it attacked us, killing the cleric with a single blast of it's acid breath, and reduced our number to four. The others, the elf, the mage, the warrior, they abandoned the quest. They called it a fool's errand, but they were only trying to justify their own cowardice. The mage stooped and picked up the Dragonstone, examining it with an appraiser's eye. The enchanted gem's deep red hue pulled at the campfire's light, reflecting and absorbing it at the same time. He recognized it and displayed it to the others like it was a shared prize.
I turned toward the shadowed forest, filled with disgust. Faced with the cowardice of my friends, I found that I could not even look them in the eyes. They all stared at the gem in the mage's hands greedily as I walked off without a word. The elfmaid noticed my departure and ran towards me. "Don't leave us," she said, reaching up and touching my armored shoulder gently. I paused. "I'm sorry about Laura. I wish..." she trailed off, not knowing the right words to say. Laura was the cleric whom the dragon had slain in its immortal cruelty. She had been my wife. I brushed the elf's hand from my shoulder and walked on. I must have walked for hours that night through the woods alone, wondering if I would ever be home again.
***
The town of Joranth. I could smell it for miles before I could see it, an unpleasant smell to some, but for me, that of home. I had traveled back through the woods towards it, three days journey, with no rations and little water. The second night, I was attacked by a pair of wolves as I slept. I slew the female with a single blow from my sword. The male wolf, seeing its mate fall lifeless to the hard ground, howled his fury and charged madly at me. I held out my blade as it tried frenziedly to tear out my throat. The look of pain in his eyes seemed somehow familiar to me.
As he slid down my blade, the sharp edge biting into his vitals, his look of surprise was slowly replaced by a look of peace. I did not have time to think about it, the smell of blood was likely to attract other predators, so I gathered my pack and pressed on. Starving, still wounded from my fight with the dragon, and tired beyond endurance, I stumbled through the city gates in the early hours of the afternoon.
A city guard looked me over and demanded to see my waiver for heavy arms. I displayed the crest on my breastplate to him. "Armor can be stolen," came the unkempt man's reply. I pulled out a small waterproof pouch and removed a worn piece of parchment. The unshaven and dirty man looked over it for a ridiculous period of time and then handed it back to me, gruffly gesturing to move along. As I walked through the city that smelled of fish and human waste, I realized that I had not been home in a year. The Church's long campaign against the heretics of the Northlands had kept me from my family's ancestral home for many months at a time. I had seen my parents at my wedding eight months ago, but it was held in Laura's home of Diluna. As I walked down the street, men averted their gazes, as though afraid I would harm them. Voices whispered in harsh tones as I passed. Something was terribly wrong if these people had come to fear the Church's Paladins. At last, I came to the street on which my family's great house had stood for ten generations.
Standing in the street, I breathed the air of my childhood and smiled. I breathed deeply and slowly, remembering, reliving days of my youth. I could remember my mother, and her bright red hair, my father's strong arms lifting me high in the air. As I neared my home, my senses betrayed no danger, but I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I caught sight of the house, it seemed still in good shape, but as I got closer, I noticed subtle changes.
The house still stood, but in places, cracks had formed, vines grew up the walls around the grounds, and tall weeds grew unchecked around the house. I started moving faster. By the time I was at the edge of the grounds I was at a full run. The huge iron gate to the courtyard stood rusted, closed, and covered in thick vines. The ground beneath the mighty gate was red with rust. I pushed hard against them, and with the shriek of metal on metal, I managed only to slightly crack them open. I slipped inside and ran to the house. Inside the gates, I could see that the house was in ruin. The elements had not been kind to it. It was a high maintenance house certainly, but my family had scores of retainers...
I reached the house and saw no sign of habitation. I slammed my fist onto the door, knocking, dread in my heart. Perhaps they moved, I thought. I cried out for someone, anyone. Silence. I grabbed the large knocker and pulled the door open. Cobwebs filled the inside of the house and dust swirled at the change in the stale, dim air. "Hello," I called. No reply.
I walked through the entry hall and to the dining room. Scraps of food were on the floor. One of the chairs as well as a section of the massive table appeared to have been dusted off. I called out again. A faint sound of movement came from the kitchen adjoining the dining hall. I stepped into the kitchen and looked for signs of life. I caught a glimpse of someone's foot being pulled into the old and apparently unused stove. I marched up to the stove, reached in and pulled out a human form. An elderly man in rags lay huddled on the floor, his arms over his head, pleading for mercy. His voice struck a familiar chord in my mind.
"Chester?" I asked, unbelieving.
"Please don't harm..." the frail old man looked up, "Is it you, my lord? Can it be?"
"Chester," I said to my family's oldest and most trusted retainer, "What happened? Where is my father?"
"My lord, I...you mean you don't know?" As he spoke the words, I did.
"Tell me."
"My master, your noble father, is dead."
"And my," I paused, choking back the pain greater than any dragon's claws could inflict, "My mother, Chester. Tell me that she..." I could already see the answer in his eyes.
"I'm sorry." Tears fell from his eyes. I felt the water begin to well up in my own.
"How?"
"A common thief broke into the manor, milord. Your father was out on Church business. The thief bungled the attempt, your mother caught him in the act, and he slew her. The blood, my lord, so much blood," he could not go on. I would have cried, but I could not understand his words. It was as though it were happening to someone else. After a moment, he continued.
"Your father vowed to hunt the thief down and kill him personally, but before he could do so, the thief turned himself in, and appealed to the Church, saying it was an accident. Your father was in the audience and screamed his denouncement of the man, but the high priest would not hear it. He needed an example of mercy to attract more followers." I stared down at the emblem on my armor. It marked me as a holy warrior, a crusader for an unjust God. "As the high priest granted the thief his benediction and pardon, your father leapt from the crowd and struck the murderer down."
The old man, whom I had known since childhood looked at his feet and paused. "They called it a crime. They said that the thief had been absolved and that your father killed an innocent and unarmed man. They held a trial, but thousands of people had seen the act, and it was a mockery of justice, nothing more. He was executed three months ago for murder and his soul condemned by the high priest himself. I'm so very sorry." The tears came.
***
"My darling, why don't you come pick flowers with me? You can polish your sword later," Laura said to me in her beautiful voice, her smile beaming at me in the warm sunlight.
I sat under a shade tree next to the clearing, a grindstone in one hand, my sword in the other. As I stood slowly, placing my sword in the still dewy grass, I had a swift premonition of danger. My head darted off to the right. Out of a low cloud bank, a black dragon swooped towards my wife and I. I ran blindly towards Laura, screaming for her to get down. She looked at me and then straight up as the dragon swooped overhead. Too late, she realized her danger. The stream of acid hit her squarely in the chest and moved up her body as the dragon passed overhead. I heard the twang of a bow as the elfmaid let fly an arrow. I heard the crackle of thunder as the mage let loose a spell, but I didn't see if they had hit the beast. I couldn't see anything but Laura, falling to the ground.
I slid down to the ground at her side and cradled her head in my arms. Already, the acid had eaten through her flesh in some places. I could hear it sizzle and prayed for my weak healing power to wash over her. I placed my hands on her face and felt a warm sensation course through my body. I lifted them to see that her face was scarred, but not deteriorating. She smiled weakly, and grabbed at her heart. The acid had eaten through her clothes, and still sizzled mercilessly through her body from stomach to throat. Her eyes spoke volumes of love that no poet could ever dream. She whispered softly to me, "I love you," she said. She twitched once, and lay still.
***
I woke in a cold sweat in the North Tower just before dawn, wishing desperately to never dream again. While the house and grounds had been confiscated by the church after my father's execution, they sat empty and unused, so I used the old tower as a free room. The servants had all gone, save Chester, who remained because he was simply too old to go anyplace else. He had a small amount of food which had run out some days earlier, but as I spoke with him the night previous, his emaciated form, his cough, and his whispy, fading voice made it evident that his health was failing him. I wiped my brow and stood out on the North Tower's high outer balcony. The balcony faced east, towards the rising sun, but had been built that way primarily because it faced the temple. I stood silently and watched the sunrise over the temple as I had from the same lofty vantage countless times as a child.
I descended the long staircase and exited the tower, heading to the servant's quarters, and Chester. When I arrived at the door, there was no response to my knock. I opened the creaking door and peered in. Chester lay on a bed near the far wall. I walked over to him and shook his shoulders to wake him. Chester's still form was cold to the touch and I realized that he had found an endless sleep undisturbed by dreams.
A few hours later, I finished covering the shallow grave that I had dug for dear old Chester. It was a simple grave, surrounded with stones, and having nothing else to use as a headstone, I planted my sword deep into the earth above my friend's resting place.
I sat thinking for a very long time. I thought about Chester. I thought about the senseless tragedy of my mother's death, and the injustice of my father's. I climbed back up the stairs of the North Tower, and sat out on the balcony railing, staring at the temple. I removed my armor and stared at the crest of an uncaring god.
I watched, facing east, as the sun set and the darkness rose, I watched night surround the city's holiest place. I thought of Laura. Sages will tell you that all objects fall at the same speed. It is not so. I must have lingered for what seems like days, thinking. Watching my own life. I remembered thousands of things I had done, wrongs righted, evils destroyed, justice done. All in the name of a faceless god. And at last, I understood the peace that came to the wolf as he died. The ground rapidly approached, and I felt the peace come over me, and I smiled. And then, darkness.
Copyright © 1999 by Charlie Bright. This material may be distributed only subject to the terms and conditions set forth in the Open Publication License, v.04 1998 or later (the latest version is presently available at http://www.opencontent.org/openpub/).
Distribution of substantively modified versions of this document is prohibited without the explicit permission of the copyright holder. Distribution of the work or derivative of the work in any standard (paper) book form is prohibited unless prior permission is obtained from the copyright holder.
"I think we've found a member of the crew that actually likes you, Connor," the priest said. "Donn'a be gettin' any ideas about that. He's just tastin' me, that's all." The Hibernian leaned against the wall as the living ball of fur curled to sleep in his lap.
Read original fantasy at http://www.umsl.edu/~s1039359
email the author
Back