|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
           |
| |
|
The Spirit Caller - Chapter 4 Written by: Cymrick Ravenfoot VISIONS OF THE PAST, GLIMPSES OF THE FUTURE Some say that ignorance is bliss. Others claim that that which is unknown cannot harm you. I only know that the mysteries of the universe are a potent and unrelenting foe, regardless of what knowledge a man is armed with. Those mysteries can control you... Shape you... Or destroy you. I also firmly believe that seeing the truth that lurks behind those mysteries grants a man the power to direct his own destiny. With understanding comes the ability to live or die in a manner of your own choosing. Animals are driven by nature to act; sentient creatures adapt to nature and obey their own motivations. Not long after my first encounter with the Spirit of the Wolves, I realized how deep her claws were imbedded into my past. The dread of this realization was like adrenaline pumped into my heart. Unraveling her mystery had become my purpose. With a low grunt of weariness, Malioch McCann levered himself from the saddle of his horse. Wasting no time, he unclasped his saddlebags from the animal’s harness and cast them over his shoulder. He paused for a minute to regard the beast, a stout mountain bred horse that seemed almost diminutive next to its most recent rider. I still trust my feet more than this animal, although it bore my weight with no signs of faltering. Perhaps it is that unmeasured durability that I don’t trust. I know very well the strength of my own legs and the conviction in my heart. Who can say when this creature would quit should I encounter some adversity? Malioch pursed his lips in thought. Man or beast, I do not trust anything that is not plain about his intentions or aware of its limitations. Handing the reins to a nameless groom, the mighty shaman wheeled and strode purposefully towards the Halls of Justice. Although he’d been away long enough to become a stranger here, none stepped forward to bar his path. Those few who were about at this late hour, the shaman took no notice of. He rarely paid any attention to those who didn’t challenge him in some way. Standing only 4 inches under 7 feet in height and having the sinews a tiger made Malioch an imposing figure. His hair, though thinning slightly towards the scalp, was still dark brown and was accompanied by a full beard and moustache of the same color. His skin was weathered and creased but did nothing to dispel the aura of potency that clouded the air about him. He was clad in a cloak of mammoth hide and the ceremonial plate armor of a master shaman, tinted a drab olive green. He wore his armaments as if they were his casual clothes, worn everyday of his life. Most notable about the shaman though were his eyes. They were pale grey, like the color of steel, and showed no signs of pity. Searching intently for the room of a comrade, Malioch strode swiftly through the halls. Still paying no heed to those around him, he suddenly came to a jarring halt as he collided with a man heading in the opposite direction. Casting his gaze downwards to regard the man who failed to remove himself from his path, he wondered for a moment whether he ran into an apprentice shaman or a madman being housed by the Order. The man was really just a youth of no more than 18 years. His brown hair was wildly unkempt and he was a touch over six feet tall. His features were neither handsome nor ugly, nor particularly striking either; his nose slightly hooked, his chin a shade too sharp and his eyes a dark brown color with shards of green. Malioch also noted that the young man was slender for his age and had the hands of a tailor or a musician. Almost a woman’s build, he mused. And what of those pockmarks on his neck and hand? A leper perhaps? Worst of all, the man was almost unclothed, wearing only his kilt. His bare feet slapped loudly upon the cold stone floor as he steadied himself from their collision. His eyes were glazed and focused on some distant point. Speaking is his customary rumble, Malioch addressed the boy, "This is not a proper hour to be about, boy. Are you sleepwalking?" He dismissed the lad with a gesture, "Be back to your bed. If the Order were to call for your attention upon the morn’ you would be best not to disappoint them with your bleary eyes and unworthy excuses." Waiting for no reply, the elder shaman turned to resume his search. Perhaps not grasping the rhetorical intention of his lecture, the lad replied anyhow. His tone of voice, as much as his words, turned Malioch around instantly. "Were the Order to call upon me I would respond with all my might, regardless of my condition." was the unsolicited reply. The boy’s voice was not the reedy crackle he had expected, but was a strong tenor and his words flowed without hesitation. The youth’s gaze was distant yet very piercing. He spoke as if he was talking to himself as much as the man before him. "You have a foolish tongue, boy. You should not speak of things you know nothing about." Malioch demanded levelly, smothering his annoyance with difficulty. Coming awake at last and focusing on his elder, the young upstart inclined his head respectfully and answered, "I prefer to think of myself as glib but I suspect many would agree with your appraisal." Scratching his arm, he added, "I’m just off to the pantry for a spell. I’ll be back to my chamber ‘ere long." "Neither is this the time for eating." Malioch growled. The boy gave a sheepish smile and made a weak attempt at humor, trying to mollify his angry elder. "What I really want is a drink but the cellars are locked at this time of night.", he jibed lightly. It was all Malioch could do, resisting the urge to grab the apprentice and shake him. Tribunal! If this wretch is typical of our new blood, then I fear for our future. He was just about to make another angry retort when the saddlebags on his shoulder shifted, reminding him of his purpose here. "Where are the chambers of Kadrick McCrowley?" Malioch asked, his voice tight. "Or do you not know?" The boy only lowered his head and pointed down a hallway, once again his eyes growing distant and his demeanor distracted. With a curt nod, Malioch left the boy to his woolgathering. Malioch’s patience was almost at an end by the time he found Kadrick’s chambers. Fortunately, his comrade was expecting him and had not yet retired. One glance at his long-time friend’s face and Kadrick stepped aside, bidding the glowering shaman to enter and take a seat. As Malioch seated himself at the room’s small wooden table, Kadrick brought over the lamp and a bottle of liquor. "A drink, old friend?" he asked amicably. The lion-like shaman only shook his head sharply and transferred several dispatches from his saddlebags to the tabletop. "No thank you, Kadrick." he spoke at last, his foul mood seeming to slide away. "It has been a long journey and I don’t expect to be sleeping anytime soon. I do not want alcohol mixing with my fatigue right now." "’Tis bad news then?" Kadrick inquired while pouring himself a draught of the amber liquid. "News of a mixed kind." the towering shaman replied cryptically, shuffling through the papers on the table. Most of the papers were written in the cramped language of the Northmen but some were in the Common Tongue and other languages as well. Kadrick sat silently and waited for his friend to compose his thoughts. He held onto his glass of whisky but didn’t drink yet. "I spoke with Einhorst in the Plains of Karana." Malioch spoke while sorting his papers, "He says there have been many travelers on the roads between Highhold and Qeynos. Strange considering the increasing frequency of brigandage in the wilds. The late thaw has made food scarce this spring." Kadrick raised an eyebrow but did not reply. He knew that Malioch had not yet finished his thought. After a long pause, Malioch continued, "I think perhaps more than just nature awoke this spring." He separated a particular bundle of papers from the pile and set them aside. "Despite the hard times, Antonious Bayle seems determined to proceed with his road building plan. His brother supports the plan openly." Kadrick leaned back in his chair, letting his glass rest on the table for the moment. "Interesting... Kane is usually Antonious’ most devout critic." He seized his whisky and took a swift sip, then replaced the glass on the table. "This was not the ‘mixed news’ you were referring to?" he inquired. The elder shaman shook his head and handed over the document he had picked. "Read." Taking the papers without a word, Kadrick sat for a time and examined the writings. Malioch quietly waited for his friend to finish reading. After reading the dispatch once, Kadrick turned back to a previous page and re-read it. "This close to Qeynos?" he asked incredulously. "A bold move for the Darkpaw family and so soon after they came to rule the Sabertooth Tribe no less." Nearly as numerous as the Clans of the North, the Sabertooths are a tribe of vicious gnolls that inhabit the broken lands to the south. The stubborn dog-like creatures live in a network of warrens known as Blackburrow, located not far from the passes that connect the Clansmen’s territory to the outside world. The importance of the roadways to the wealthier lands beyond, coupled with the innate savagery of these creatures, has fueled hundreds of years of bloodshed between the gnolls and the Clans. Just last spring, a gnoll commander named Tranixx Darkpaw wrested leadership of the Sabertooth Clan away from the previous chieftan, by way of slaughtering him in a duel. Tranixx had already proved to be a worrisome foe. During the last fall, he led a nighttime raid against a barbarian outpost on the edge of the broken lands. He had his warriors set the structure ablaze and then retreat to avoid counterattack from the garrison. There had been few casualties but the Clans had to abandon the outpost in face of the coming winter, effectively freeing the Darkpaw Clan to scheme unobserved. The Shaman of Justice did still manage to keep a furtive eye trained on the gnolls. Several of the shaman, using their powers to withstand the fury of the elements, stayed in the field throughout the winter. Malioch, freshly returned from a journey to lands far east of Halas, was one of the shaman spying on the Sabertooths of Blackburrow. "’Tis not all bad. With King Tranixx concentrating his efforts on harassing Antonious’ engineers we should be able to concentrate on the summer harvest.", Kadrick mused aloud. Malioch shook his head, "Einhorst thinks that Tranixx is blooding his young on the Southerners and I agree with him. Once he has enough experienced warriors, I think he will turn north and raid our lands." His eyes gleamed coldly at the thought. Kadrick seized his glass and downed another small draught of amber liquid. "What shall we do?" "I plan to speak with my cousin tonight. Once Margyn and I have had a chance to plan, I hope to go before Clan McMarrin sometime before the next week." Malioch stood and began to pace, "I favor the thought of raiding Sabertooth lands, there is possibly some plunder to be had there and they are preoccupied to the south. Perhaps a show of support would encourage Antonius to send troops to Blackburrow." Malioch shook his head, almost talking to himself now, "Ha! Unlikely. Although I would like to see the Sabertooth tribe eradicated in my lifetime, I do not think Anton Bayle would send forth an army when affairs are so uncertain within his own lands." He looked squarely at Kadrick again, "It does not matter, really. We could raid any of the snow orc tribes in the tundra, the gnolls or the goblins, we just need to pick a fight. We should be doing the same as Tranixx and be preparing our younger warriors for the larger battles ahead." Kadrick inhaled the aroma of his liquor and nodded, his eyes closed, "If what you say is true, I agree. I trust Einhorst’s and your judgement in this matter." Malioch folded his arms and nodded once, "I should be able to persuade the Clan Council to invade the Sabertooth lands. There is a risk that Tranixx will be provoked into turning north before we are ready for him. It would be bloody but I think we have enough veteran warriors to handle the gnolls if that should happen. Dougal McMarrin is also a practical man and I do not think he will waste our strength on other foes once I convince him of the threat posed by the Sabertooths. A shadow crossed Malioch’s brooding features and his dread smile of anticipation faded. "What is it?" Kadrick asked. "Speaking of blooding our youths..." naked irritation was visible on Malioch’s face, "I met a young shaman on my way to your chambers. His attitude was flippant and his stature less than impressive." "What is his name?" "I did not ask." He pointed to his neck and with a thick finger, "He had old marks on his neck and left hand. You would think that man blemished in such a fashion would cover himself up." "Cymrick" Kadrick grimaced, his own voice darkening slightly. "I’m not hardly surprised." "You know this boy?" Malioch asked. He sat down, rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of his face. "I do. He’s not a problem most of the time, in spite of his attitude." Kadrick’s face flushed darkly, "He is an initiate of the 3rd circle, against my wishes I must add." "Is he a poor student?" "No. He is quite gifted actually. He can lure the Spirit of the Wolf and he has only been with us for five months." Kadrick was scowling deeply now. By contrast, Malioch was now completely calm and passionless. "Five months? Unheard of... where did he come from and who is he?" Malioch queried in a soft tone. With a little liquor in him, Kadrick need no more prompting, "He’s the son of Robert Ross and Anna McMarrin. Robert was a hero once but has been dead for nearly 18 years. Anna is part of our order. A veteran in fact. Cymrick was with the Wolves of the North previously. They were happy to be rid of him. He was a real trouble maker. Too competitive -- a poor winner and a poor loser." Kadrick finished his whisky with a long sip. "He came to us after being fished from a snowstorm by Starn Bearjumper. He says the boy nearly froze to death." "Humpf. Sounds like the lad is none to bright." Malioch scowled briefly. "No amount of power belongs in the hands of a half wit." Kadrick stood to replace the bottle and his empty glass on the shelf. After settling back in his chair across from his friend and superior, he spoke again, "Cymrick isn’t stupid. Not by the measure of any rule." He put a finger to his own temple, "I do think he’s touched in the head though. He’s prone to acting strange and doesn’t associate with his peers at all." He shrugged, "Most are happy to stay clear of him anyhow. He doesn’t even have many friends outside of the Order. His family members, a few friends of his late father and half dozen other people are all he spends time with. He fancies himself a lone wolf I think." Kadrick’s angry flush returned as he continued, "That is the reason I didn’t want him joining the 3rd circle, his attitude is dangerous. He only shows interest in our most esoteric studies and displays no camaraderie for his fellows." A brief flash of fury played across the shaman’s face, "He doesn’t want to fight either, not even our ancestral foes. I’ve been told he even hunts unarmed!" Malioch’s eyes were angry but his voice was calm and had no heat, "Just the kind of man I will not take into battle. The build of a scrawny goat and no zeal for combat at all." Kadrick shrugged again, "Should I talk with him tomorrow? Rebuke him for his poor manners perhaps?" "Do not bother." Dismissing the issue from his mind, Malioch arose from his seat, "One rebellious boy is not worth getting diverted over. I must go and wake Margyn now. I will see you upon the ‘morrow, Kadrick. I look forward to fighting by your side again." "You also, old friend." Another clear and marvelously warm day had come to Halas and I was taking a break. Laying on the grassy rampart behind McDaniel’s Smoke and Spirits, I had a small pouch of pipe weed resting in the hollow of my chest and was smoking my pipe contently. My garb was casual, freshly mended from my recent hunt, a kilt, sandals and a simple tunic. I was also playing with my pet rock, the only stone remaining from that same hunt. I decided to keep it, should I have other dumb animals to annoy in the future. My eighteenth birthday had come and gone without celebration, but not without notice. My mother had given me a day away from training for my birthday. A strange woman, my mother... I know she worries for my safety almost every waking moment, yet she employs the aid of an old friend to improve my martial skills. Her friend then proceeds to bruise my body and my ego on a daily basis, a fact that doesn’t seem to bother Anna in the least. More puzzling than my mother’s contrary behavior is that of my friend Mabel. Gone is her belittling attitude, replaced with something nearly resembling concern. During her sporadic visits to my various haunts our conversation has been light and mostly about nothing important. Her attitude while around me is amicable and attentive, giving me the uneasy feeling that she’s ‘keeping an eye on me’. She gave me a necklace of polished puma teeth for my birthday, a princely gift considering the rarity of puma in this part of Antonica. All of this comes after I had considered my friendship with Mabel over and had given up any pretense of staying social. Very strange. I’ve decided that I’m going to eventually unravel the mysteries of woman-folk. I do like a puzzle after all. I’ll work on my understanding of the supernatural first though, as it will doubtlessly take me less time to decipher. My reverie ended sharply as somebody delivered a jarring kick to my foot. "What the hell?!", I snarled as I sat up. Once I saw who it was, my anger settled a little. "Jaine. What do yeh want from me now woman?!" Jaine Farstrider is easily one of the most eccentric personalities in Halas. A warrior poet who studied with the Lutewhisper family in Qeynos and eventually joined the League of Antonican Bards, she is only five years my senior but has seen much of the continent with her own eyes. An impressive six-foot tall woman with strong shoulders, dark hair and light blue eyes who is well known to be a formidable fighter. Aside from the interest in prose, Jaine is exactly what I imagine Mariel to be in five or six years time. Unfortunately for me, Jaine is also my trainer. Regardless of the considerable age difference between the raven-haired bard and my mother, they are excellent friends. Perhaps it is the many eccentricities they share. Whatever the reasons, Anna trusts Jaine enough to let her pummel me thrice a week. "War fever is’n Halas, Cym." She dumped a small pile of weapons on the ground and put her fists on her hips. "You’ve gotta be ready for them gnolls." "I’ve heard the rumors. They’re true then?" With a grunt I kicked myself to my feet. "Oh yes. Margyn McCann went before Clan McMarrin yesterday with news from the south." She was bent over now, touching her toes and stretching her arms. "Whatever the news was, the Clan Council was happy enough to start preparations for some significant raids." Giving a mighty grunt, she dropped onto her shapely backside and began stretching her legs. "Hmpff. Raids they say... if the Sabertooths respond to our advance, there will be a real battle or three." I couldn’t help but grin. "It looks like you’re preparing yourself more than you are readying me." Returning my grin, she stretched her arms over her head. "Alright, I confess. I’m havin’ a get together with my sweetheart tonight and I need to get in the mood." She dropped her arms to her sides, "So I’m going to beat you up for awhile and then go be with a real man." "Ha! You ARE a man, Jaine. I’ve met many men who brag less than you. I think it’s why you joined the bards, so you could boast to a larger audience." I balanced my weight on the balls of my feet and readied myself. "Gods know you’re not much of a poet. Hells, I think you changed your last name just so you could make it rhyme with a few words." "Right." She grabbed a staff out of the weapon pile and threw it to me. I snatched it out of the air. "We’ll start with clubs today I think." Fetching herself a weapon, she levered herself up to her feet and advanced, grinning evilly. Ignoring the soreness in my arms, I poured a foamy draught of ale from the brass taps and served it. In addition to my training, I’ve also been tending bar in Scon McDaniel’s establishment. I find brewing liquor to be relaxing and tending bar doesn’t require me to move around too much, making it a welcome activity after a session with my shrewish trainer. I don’t quite understand how being beaten with a stick qualifies as battle practice, I mused while mopping spilled liquor from the bar top. It had been a busy night in McDaniel’s Smokes and Spirits. Jaine was right, war fever had gripped Halas. Once word had gotten out about the impending foray into Sabertooth lands, people had began preparing themselves. The patrons of Scon’s establishment had been preparing all day in the traditional Northerner fashion. Drinking and brawling is customary. "Ferocious mess!" Scon exclaimed as he came back inside, a hatchet in hand. Scon was busily tossing broken furniture into the woodpile outside while a barmaid was moping the floors down. I have mixed feelings about bar brawls and I don’t like drunkards. It was from the ramblings of drunkards that I first learned of my father’s death. Hell of a thing for a twelve year old boy to learn. Hell of a way to learn it also. You are the reason your father is dead. Not said in so many words but the message none-the-less. My father had martyred himself for me. Whatever his reasons for doing so were, I had to live up to his legacy. I suppose it was that day I decided I had to exceed my peers in every pursuit. I certainly had been annoying people steadily since then. It was in this bar even... a pack of maudlin drunks looking for ribald tales to tell. When it became obvious that they would tell the story themselves anyhow, Scon finally was persuaded to sit down and recount the whole grim tale. He wasn’t happy about it either, it wasn’t some pleasant memory for him. It was the day his best friend had died. No happy ending to that story. My mother wasn’t pleased one bit. She had instructed Robert’s old comrades to not speak of his death to his only son. Drunken fools. I imagine she had some special revenge set aside for those drunkards. One should never anger the mother who is also a shaman. Anna has an arsenal of curses and afflictions at her fingertips. I imagine more than one Northman woke up impotent the following morning. Touching the stave I keep secured under the bar, I gave a ghost of a smile. After my ‘training’ with Jaine today, the brawl wasn’t entirely unwelcome. I did get a chance to help Scon pacify the crowd and a good opportunity to vent my frustration as well. I continued to clean up the mess as Scon went about closing up his establishment. When he had finished, he shuffled to the bar and took a seat on a stool. "Battle’s still several weeks away and this sorry lot can hardly contain themselves. I only hope for our sake they don’t decide to battle while stone drunk." He slapped the stool under his rump and laughed. "Or decide to take these into the fray. Hells, I’ll have to replace half of them tomorrow as it is." I examined a beer stein closely, looking for any spot or smudge on it. "Will you go to battle with the Wolves of the North, Scon?" He raised his eyebrows and looked thoughtful for a second, "Nay. Not me, Cymrick." He cracked his knuckles, "Been many years since I was forty, many more since my sword saw battle." He touched his bruised nose, "Nowadays, my foes have to be soused for me to best them." He took the dishrag from my hands and flicked at a crumb of bread on the bar top. "What of you, Cym? You’re young and fond of battle I’ve heard. You’ll be going out with the Shaman of Justice? Or Clan McMarrin?" I shrugged. "I’m not sure yet. Our leader, Margyn, is heading out with her clan. Master Malioch will be leading the Shaman of Justice. We are having a meeting early tomorrow to discuss the order of battle." Scon wiped his hands on the dishrag and hefted up his hatchet. "Careful with that one, Cymrick. I’ve heard he doesn’t tolerate any sort of foolishness amongst his followers." I gave a wry smile. "I’ve heard that also. Can’t remember from who though." I sat with my elbows on the bar and waited as Scon hid the hatchet in the kitchen. Once he returned I spoke up again, "Scon? I have a question of you?" "What is it son?" He took his apron off and hung it on a peg. "We’ve both got early mornings coming, so it’d better not be a deep question." It was a deep question but one I had to ask. "About the day my father died?" Scon was the only person who was there when Robert passed and I had to find the answers to certain questions. "Aye?", he was picking at the stains on his apron, his back to me. I sat at the bar, perfectly still, "You were the only person there when my father died?" "I wasn’t there when he died, lad. Though both Robert and I knew it was coming." he sighed explosively and turned towards the kitchen, still not looking at me. "You’ve heard the story before. I dun see any reason to tell it again." "I’ve heard *a* story, Scon, but not what really happened." I insisted. "You been talking with your mother? She tell you this?", he finally turned to face me, his fists clenched and face set. "No. She didnae tell me anything but her own version of what happened that day. Her story and your story have some differences I’m interested in." The only noise in the bar was the popping of embers in the fireplace and the drumming of my fingers on the bar top. "She never mentioned a potion saving my life, for one thing. In fact, I’ve never heard of the druids practicing alchemy either." Scon looked away, "Cymrick I..." "Scon, the nice tales you told Angus’ crew five years ago aren’t good enough anymore." I interrupted Scon sharply. "If anything passed between you and Robert, I need to know before I go into battle." "Aye, aye. There were a few things he said." A look of defeat on his face, Scon took a seat at the bar again, across from me. "Some were for your mother’s ears, some for me and a few for you as well." I waited. "Robert said that you should seek out a man named Saggius in Surefall Glade." Scon spoke at last. I stopped drumming my fingers, "That is *very* important, Scon. Why’d you keep this from me for so long?!" "Cause he’s dead, Cymrick. Saggius Hothwell died when you were four. I checked myself." he said heatedly. "There was no point even bringing it up!" Tamping down my rising frustration, I started drumming my fingers again. "Robert also said ‘you had to find your way in the span of his life’" he said with a scowl, "but I dun know what that means at all." I spoke slowly, my mind working, "Certainly doesn’t make sense. Robert was dead before I was one." Scon smacked his palm on the bar, "Look Cymrick. I knew your father well and he didn’t want you feeling you had to follow his footsteps, whatever his fool comrades may think. Don’t go chasing after phantoms. They’ve got nothing to do with who you are." Thinking of my father’s desperate journey to Surefall Glade and my own miraculous recovery, made me not so sure about that. And through it all, there was the black-jawed wolf watching. "I suppose..." was all I said. "It is late and I’d best get going. I need my sleep and so do you." I stood up and got out from behind the bar. Pausing near the door, I turned back to Scon. He hadn’t moved at all. "I’m sorry for bringing this up, Scon. I know it’s not a pleasant memory but I had to know. I’d not want to face death again without knowing what I was risking." He blinked, "If you got some peace of mind, perhaps it’s for the better." "Aye, perhaps... G’nite Scon." With that I left the bar. I didn’t find sleep until the night was nearly done though, as thoughts of what to do next were knocking about in my head. The Wolf told me to find the answers, perhaps that is what I will do. Malioch stood before the assembly of junior shaman in the full trappings of his station. Olive steel armor clad his mighty frame and a great mammoth hide cloak rested about his shoulders. It looked as if half a mammoth was skinned just to make the garment capable of shrouding his broad shoulders. Resting loosely in his grasp was his fabled war spear, Dragonspite. Instead of a helmet, he wore on his head a crown of iron. The gathering was outside of the Halls of Justice in the standing stones before the temple. He was here to speak to the newest rank of shaman in the Order and to announce his expectations of them. Scanning the small crowd of men and women, his grey eyes appraised them shrewdly. Nearly two dozen in number, and they show some promise. Not worthy of meeting the Sabertooth Tribe yet, but they will carry our honor before I am done. Mindful of the other purpose for this gathering, he scanned the group, looking for one in particular. Most of those whom I am not happy with have already decided to join their clans for the coming struggle. There is only one other. Malioch’s eyes found the boy amidst the crowd of his peers, resting on his haunches and staring at the base of the stone table behind the great shaman. Phah! He is probably the only initiate here who’s mind is not on the coming battles. Deciding to prolong the silence, he waited until the initiates seated before him began to shift anxiously before speaking. When the wool-headed lad finally fastened his attention on his elder, Malioch favored the crowd with a tight smile, but stared directly at the boy. He saw the boy’s eyes narrow suspiciously. "Greetings and well met, young shaman." Malioch began, "As you have doubtlessly heard, we are fast approaching a time when we will meet the Sabertooths of Blackburrow in combat. What you may not have heard, is that my cousin has elected to have me organize the Order for the trial ahead." Malioch paused for effect. Scanning the faces before him, he was pleased to note the uniformly serious and attentive demeanors. Except for the boy, Cymrick. Although he was paying attention now, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. Not a fool after all, eh? We will see. He continued, "Before I discuss details, I must regretfully send one of you away. Though I do not wish to deprive our order of a single ‘battle worthy’ warrior in this time of conflict, there is a matter which I cannot entrust to any but a fellow spirit caller." Malioch was surprised to see the tension slide from the boy’s shoulders when he made this announcement. His reaction was exactly opposite to that of his peers. Because he knows... he knows that I will pick him when there are no volunteers. Is this what he wants? Could he really be that afraid to do battle? Trying a different tact, Malioch continued again, "Bear in mind, this mission is dangerous and of the highest importance to our order and our people." There was still no reaction from the boy, just a relaxed smile. "If there are no volunteers, I will select one of your number." There were no volunteers. All of the initiates were silent and still, none wanting to be removed from the battle before it even began. Malioch was about to speak when a voice emerged from the crowd. "I’ll go." It was Cymrick. A sick thrill of surprise ran through Malioch when he hear the familiar tenor. "Step forward. What is your name, shaman?" What is your game, shaman? "Cymrick of Clan McMarrin." the boy spoke clearly. "You had best leave this assembly now then, I would not wish you to carry knowledge of our plans beyond our encampment." Malioch wanted to send the boy away and give himself time to think. He couldn’t believe this was cowardice, regardless of his initial impression of the lad. There was more going on behind that vacant stare than he knew. Motivations other than those typical of a young man of the Order. The boy left without a word. Malioch was not in the best of moods. Though he had gotten what he wanted, there were a number of things that still troubled him. Foremost was Cymrick McMarrin’s behavior. The boy’s smug acceptance of his impromptu exile was unsettling. The fact that Shamus Felligan and some of the initiates seemed disappointed at Cymrick’s departure had also enticed Malioch to re-evaluate his appraisal of the youth. Kadrick’s appraisal was not entirely accurate. This boy, Cymrick, is not well liked, but his abilities are respected. It was the nagging feeling that he was missing something that bothered Malioch the most. The thought that he made the right decision for the wrong reasons did not sit well with him. The boy’s attitude is disturbing. I am unmoved from my position that he would be a liability in battle, but I am no longer certain of his motivations. Malioch made haste to the dwelling of Anna McMarrin, eager to see this duty dispensed with so that he might return to more important tasks. He paused long enough at the doorway of the house to knock and then entered swiftly. At once, a voice drifted to him from the kitchen, "In here Malioch." Striding into the kitchen, he saw both the boy and his mother were waiting. They were sitting opposite one another at the table and both silently observed his entry. As near as he could tell, he had not interrupted any conversations. They had been sitting in silence, waiting for him to come. "Well again, Malioch. You look well." Anna greeted him neutrally. "Anna McMarrin..." he suddenly felt as if he had strode into a lion’s den. An uncomfortable feeling. Recovering some of his drive, he spoke firmly, "I have brought some dispatches for your son to deliver to Einhorst in the Plains of Karana." The boy stood and accepted the package with a nod, "I’ll pursue this most diligently." Feeling a pinch of irritation, Malioch couldn’t resist the urge to question the boy, "You hardly seem bothered that you will miss the coming battles. Why is that, boy?" His eyes didn’t leave Malioch for an instant and he responded levelly, "I am secure in the knowledge that I perform a necessary task for the Order. I know that you would not send away any shaman capable of battle at a time like this." Eyes narrowing and a scowl falling across his features, Malioch answered, "You do what is best for the Order." Different than before, he is not the boy with the vacant stare and absent-minded mannerisms I confronted only two hours earlier. "’Tis as I thought." he nodded, smiling brightly. His eyes were icy. "I also do not fear the possible sacrifice of my life either, because I know that Master Malioch would not endanger an initiate on a pointless mission." His anger flaring, he retorted hotly, "What is it you imply?! Again boy, I warn you not to speak of that which you know nothing." "Of course." his words were soft but his eyes gleamed. His eyes said – I know more than you think – "I have nothing more for you, boy. Be about your preparations." With that Malioch stormed out. His mood had only worsened. Before he felt disturbed, now he felt threatened. Leaving the house, he could not shake the notion that he should not be letting the boy leave his sight. But it was too late to reverse his decision now. I will speak with him again once he returns. "An interesting decision, son." Anna remarked mildly. "There was no decision to be made. He would not have let me fight, even if I had stayed somehow." I shook my head fiercely, "Sod Malioch, he only makes this easier for both of us. Although he doesn’t know the extent of it." "Be careful of Malioch. Though he isn’t the friend of all within the Order, he is well respected." Anna cautioned. "He is very traditional. Just the kind of man who would judge your secrets in the harshest possible light." "All the more reason for me to pursue his pointless mission. Perhaps I can stay away until he loses interest." I muttered, running my fingers over the scars on my left hand. "You plan to deliver his dispatches then?" Anna gestured to the package on the table. "Yes..." was all I had to say. "And then?" my mother inquired, asking the question to which she already knew the answer. "Surefall. I’ll go to Surefall Glade." I was staring ahead, far ahead of myself now. "If there is somebody there who knew Saggius Hothwell, I will find him. When I do, I hope to find out what business my father conducted there. And what it had to do with me." Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | ||
|
directed via e-mail to the web master. All original content is ©2000 The Children of Tunare. All rights reserved. All copy righted material mentioned is © of their respective owners. No part of this site may be reproduced without permission. | ||