The Chronicles of Crallick

by Brad C Baker

  “It’s been a while since I wore this, that’s all,” growled Crallick, “I sure as hell didn’t do this for your amusement.”

  Still chuckling under his much shortened and bedraggled beard, Vlados offered, “C’mere and let me help you, you graceless oaf.”

  Crallick obliged the dwarf, getting down on his knees to accept his help. Ten minutes later, the mail shirt adorned Crallick’s chest. Crude leather breeches clad his legs in dusky coal grey. Black lacquered metal-plated boots shod his feet. The ratty, rust red cloak wrapped his shoulders and hooded his long brown salted mane. Warrior braids kept the hair out of his eyes.

  Vlados pointed at a brown leather cord around Crallick’s neck. “What’s that for?”

  Walking to the pile of boulders that he called a mantle and chimney, Crallick reached up for his serrated greatsword. Glancing over his shoulder he grimly smiled, “Trophies.”

  Crallick lifted a ladder up and used it to grab a black leather scabbard from the rafters. He slid his sword into the sheath, cinched the strap over his shoulder, and then doubled his travelling pack to the same strap. He inhaled deeply, “All right, I’m ready. Let’s get the money, and then we can get you set up and go.”

  Vlados followed him out to his still. Taking a splintery mallet, Crallick knocked the dented top off the copper pot. He reached in through the corn mash soup and pulled out an oiled leather pouch. Crallick opened it to reveal a fistful of gems.

  “Whew,” Vlados whistled lowly. Then he looked sharply at Crallick. “Are you kidding me?” he exclaimed.

  “What?” puzzled Crallick, cinching the bag closed after taking six gems out.

  “You mean to tell me you have all that money, and you can’t hire some craftsmen and artisans to fix yer damned home?”

  Crallick looked shocked and a little hurt. “What’s wrong with my home? I did all the work myself.”

  “Fine, fine,” Vlados soothed. Then under his breath, “Ye can tell.”

  “Huh?” Crallick looked up.

  “I said let’s get going, swell,” Vlados lied.

  Crallick saddled up a horse and a pony. He mounted the horse, then handed the reins of the pony to Vlados. “To the inn then,” he invited.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, the pair galloped up to the gutted and smoldering remains. Crallick dismounted and began pacing around the mauled landscape of the inn’s yard. His attention was grabbed by first this rut, then that print, as he paced around mumbling to himself.

  Vlados tentatively sifted through the ruins of his life. He carefully avoided hot spots. He gazed down the hole that had once been his brewery cellar. He picked up the lump of metal that had once been his coin box. He dolefully followed Crallick back to the road. On the signpost that cheerfully advertised, “Vlados’s Rest Inn and Tavern; put your troubles and yourself to rest,” were two markers that had been helpfully posted by the townsfolk. One said, “Closed for renovations.” The other attended Vlados to come to the town hall.

  “The slaver wagons head west down the royal road. That also runs through town. We can get you kitted out for the road, and you can see what they need at the town hall,” Crallick observed dryly.

  An hour later they cantered into the cluster of buildings at the heart of their Vitani community. Signs for a smithy, ferrier, and general store dotted the clustered buildings. The stone town hall and the Jyslinnic shrine stood slightly apart.

  Crallick glanced at his friend. “What do you need? I’ll pick it up for you while you touch base with the town council.”

  “All right,” Vlados thought a moment. “You’ve done this longer than I have. I’ll trust if I neglect something, you’ll cover it. I am good at using a crossbow, and a hammer as well. I’m used to light armor though. Nothing heavier than cuir bouilli, please. I’ll meet with the healer to pick through her apothecary for chemicals for mixing.”

  Crallick nodded his understanding, “I’ll meet you back here after midday.”

  “All right.” Vlados then turned his pony towards the path to the healer’s cabin.

  ***

  The healer met Vlados on her veranda. “Well met Vlados! I see you haven’t heeded my advice to rest! I assume your delinquent friend is just as uncooperative?” She shook her head.

  “Well, no. I guess we must make a pair of lousy patients,” Vlados conceded. “We’re setting out to hunt down the villains who did this and stole our daughters.” His lower lip began to quiver, as though speaking these words aloud to any other than Crallick somehow made them more real. Somehow.

  “Say no more,” the elder woman said. “I see your resolve as clear as day. I shall put together for you a travelling kit to aid your wounds.”

  Vlados handed her a crumpled list, hurriedly scratched out along the path. “Can you add these reagents as well?”

  She glanced over the list. Cackling, she laughed, “Why Vlados, your writing is getting as terrible as mine.” When no mirth returned to her, she continued, “These shouldn’t be a problem.”

  About half an hour later, she returned out of her cottage with a strapped wooden box. She offered the pair of leather straps to the dwarf.

  “Thank you, Marte. How much do I owe you?”

  “Now don’t you dare insult me by asking me to charge you! You go get those sweet young girls back now, you hear me? When you return, you may settle up with me by telling me your tales. If you happen upon some interesting reagents along the way, I wouldn’t object to a souvenir or two.” Marte smiled warmly.

  Vlados hugged her briefly, then quickly muttered, “Of course, thank you so very much.”

  As he went back to mount his pony, kit upon his back, he heard her call out, “You mind you watch over that no good drunkard!”

  “You can rest assured I shall!” he called back over his shoulder as he rode away, back to town.

  Crallick, meanwhile, had found a studded leather jacket in a green dappled colour, leather britches and hardened boots. He had found a passable hammer at the smithy’s, but was unable to find anywhere with a crossbow. He figured that would have to wait until they got to the city. His old bow had rotted away, but he was undaunted. In this elven community, he knew of many who were talented in bowery and flecthery. Erathyn was among them. Walking across the Groveholme circle, he noticed Vlados jogging from the hitching post up to the town hall. Crallick took his finds and went to the Vitani Elm to wait for Vlados among the roots.

  The cool interior of the town hall was refreshing for Vlados. He walked up to the table at the farthest point of the single room. Benches stretched out left and right of the aisle that he walked down. The three council members waited at a triangular table with rounded ends; this allowed each council member to sit effectively at an equal point from each other, while keeping the widest edge of the table to the town populous for meetings. For today, however, there was only Sathira, Goonderyn, and Fillantos. When the three were not ruling the council of Gladeholme, Sathira was the wife of the smithy, Goonderyn was an accomplished farmer, and Fillantos was the town constable.

  Sathira was the first to speak, “By Jyslin’s breath, we are so sorry for your loss.”

  Vlados held his tongue, lest his traitorous lower lip betray him again.

  Fillantos nodded, “Worry not, my friend, we have discussed the matter at length already, and ascertained unanimously that you are not to be held at fault. There is no culpability or negligence related to the thirteen deaths, five of which were children, nor the arson that led to the destruction of the inn, tavern, and adjoining stables, nor the abduction of the two women.”

  As Vlados heard the matter-of-fact manner in which the constable addressed the damages, he felt his temper rise and rise, until beads of sweat broke his crown.

  Goonderyn saw Vlados’s peril and quickly spoke to salve his rising ire. “Now that unpleasantness is over with,” pointedly he added, “permanently.” Then he continued less at the council members, and more directed at Vlados, “We can get down to why we are r
eally here. Whatever melted currency you have, take it to the smithy and he will slurry it, purify it, and cast coins for you. These will go towards rebuilding your inn while you’re away.”

  “How do you know I’m going anywhere?” Vlados interrupted.

  Sathira said, “My husband.”

  Goonderyn, overlapping, said, “Marte sent a bird.”

  Fillantos, likewise, quick with a source, “Erathyn made a bow for Crallick. Also, it was yours and Crallick’s daughters that were taken.”

  All three said in harmony, “We know Crallick.”

  “Okay, so we’re going to get our daughters back, and now maybe try to avenge ourselves upon them for thirteen others.” Vlados conceded. “But I have no idea how to do any of this. And I know Crallick too. He’s a drunken, failing farmer. I don’t see how we’re going to survive this. Sure, he has a temper and fights in barroom brawls like a man possessed. And sure, he boasts about having a dragon cloak from a wing of a great servant of Asha, but really, c’mon, we need to find our daughters and take on really well-trained men.” Vlados shrugged, “I don’t see how we do this and survive.”

  Sathira smiled sweetly, “Then why, good Vlados, are you going?”

  “If the crazy gobhole wants to commit suicide, why should he do it alone? Besides, it’s not like I have anything left to live for. And he is my gobhole friend, so I may as well commit suicide with him,” Vlados confessed. No one needed to know the mind-set of his friend so shortly after the rescue. Not a single gods-be-damned soul.

  “You’ve known him what, eight years now?” Goonderyn asked.

  “Yeah, about that.” Vlados couldn’t see the relevance.

  “What if I were to tell you that, knowing Crallick from the old days, I believe he has no intention of committing suicide? Would that make you feel better?” Fillantos asked.

  “I’d assume ye were trying to shove sunshine up my ma’s kilt,” Vlados grunted, “or that you seriously overestimate Crallick’s ability.”

  “Crallick used to be a great adventurer, then when the Vitani war of sedition happened, he fought as an elite elven ranger, in a demon hunting unit. He survived that until the war was won. Whether that fireproof coat is demonic or draconic hide, I don’t know, but I’d promise you it’s genuine. He may be a drunk, but he is skilled. You have a good chance of coming home Vlados. I’m sure of it.”

  “No shit?” Vlados said hesitantly.

  “No shit.” Crallick’s voice echoed through the chamber. He had entered unseen during Fillantos’ roll of Crallick’s deeds. “I promise you Vlados, if I didn’t feel I could keep your miserable self alive, I would never let you come along.”

  “Crallick, sorry…” Sathira began.

  “If you say one Chessintra-be-damned word of apology, sympathy, or anything other than a lead, I’ll kill you and let Vlados see how effective I can be against the town guard.”

  “Crallick,” chided Fillantos in a soothing voice. “She only means well. She doesn’t understand men like us.”

  “Few do,” acknowledged Crallick.

  “The only leads I was able to gather were some sightings as they galloped through town. Predominantly black attire, with a white hand motif. Fingers upwards, palm out. I couldn’t get if it was the right or left hand. Most of the host were human or elven. One seemed to be a Nekomin wizard.”

  “That’s the gob-child who torched my bar and killed the thirteen,” Vlados confirmed.

  Fillantos scribbled a note, then continued, “Thanks. There were a pair of reptilemen: one riding, and one driving one of the slave wagons. There were two wagons, with reports of captives ranging from one to three.” Fillantos glanced up, “I know it’s not much, but I hope it helps.”

  “Thanks, it’ll do,” growled Crallick.

  The pair made their way back out to the hitching post, where Crallick had tied his mare beside the pony. Crallick passed the procured armor, hammer, and some travelling rations to Vlados. Vlados changed, and mounted up

  On their way out of town, Vlados quickly ran into the general store. He emerged a few moments later with a wide-brimmed hat. “I have to do something about my hair,” he grumbled. “The last thing I need is sunburn on the bald spots on my head.”

  Smiling, Crallick turned them towards the west route out of town. “Let’s go get them,” he growled.

  Chapter Three

  “By gloaming's bloodthirsty grin the day's march did end.

  By a little hamlet, quaint in the coastal hills,

  Seaview huddled, awaiting doom to descend.

  By north and south two armies did begin to mill.”

  -Verse 4: Ballad of Ser Crallick Carnage-born.

  Riding west on the Royal Road was short-lived on that first day. The pair had left Gladeholme just after midday, and the spring days had not yet lengthened to allow for more than five hours of riding. They camped that first night in a hollowed rain wash that ran the side of this part of the road. They slept uncomfortably among the deadfall, without the benefit of a fire, and awoke in the morning chilled with a teeth-chattering numbness.

  Their second day’s travels began with a hurried handful of oat porridge that would have tasted better with some honey, or sugar, or even if it had been cooked. After their wolfed down meal, the pair again hit the poorly cobbled road and headed westward. They rode twelve hours that day.

  The next four days were much as the second; quick meals that punctuated three-hour stints of riding.

  On the seventh day, they came to a fork with roads leading west, and northwest. A signpost indicated the Port City of Marahaven, and the other indicated the direction to Aurumhold in the north. The latter was where Vlados’s family hailed from. The other was the city-state sized capital of the Bannathyr Kingdom. Crallick inspected the prolifically scarred road. There was some time of pacing back and forth, occasionally getting low to the ground or grabbing clumps of dirt. Then he remounted and declared, “This way,” as he gestured and pointed his horse towards Marahaven.

  Furrowing his blond brow, Vlados asked, “How can you be sure?”

  “Do I ask you for your familly’s ale recipe?” Crallick paused to glance at Vlados, reveling in the dwarf’s horrified expression.

  “No, and I’d never give it to you,” Vlados glowered. “You’d only end up buggering it up anyways.”

  “Exactly, now let’s get going,” Crallick answered.

  “But…” Vlados began.

  “I’d bet my daughter’s life on it.”

  That shut the dwarf up. They rode the next four hours in silence.

  They came to a roadside inn. The Merry Gold Inn. The proprietor obviously took pride in their sense of humour, as the lane leading up to their yard was flanked by wide stone walls that had plants growing atop them. Vlados imagined that they were marigolds and later in the spring, there would be a ton of them around the place. There were large flower beds in front of the bay windows, and beds on the side of the stables.

  “It’s getting late in the day,” suggested the hopeful dwarf.

  “There may be clues,” agreed the grim half-Vitani.

  They dismounted and took their mounts up the drive to the stable doors. A cheerful, rotund man waved to them, “Welcome, let me take your steeds, good sers.” The wobbly character held out his bulbous hands and grasped the reins in rubbery palms. He then turned his attention to the two animals he led into the stables. “Who are lovely and noble steeds? You are so deserving of comfort. I bet you’re starving? Well, well, Yanni will take care of you right quick.”

  Crallick exchanged glances with Vlados. “They’re in good hands I’m guessing.”

  Vlados harrumphed, “I’m just wanting a soft bed for my arse, and a warm meal for my arse.”

  “Don’t you mean a warm meal for your belly?” Crallick opened the front door of the inn to let loose a puff of cumin and cinnamon air that mixed with the scent of burning maple.

  “Nope, I mean arse. I haven’t been able to have a good shite for three
days now with all those oats ye been stuffing down my throat.” Vlados walked in and inhaled deeply, “I should finally be able to pass a movement after a warm meal of venison and vegetables.”

  Crallick barked a short laugh then headed over to the innkeep.

  The innkeep was behind a low desk with potted marigolds at either end. This was to the immediate left of the door. Midway along that wall rose a flight of stairs to an upper mezzanine that looked down on the dining area. Doors to rooms led off that floor. There was also a door on that side that led to a kitchen, Crallick mused from the traffic going in and out. Six circular tables, each with a potted plant in their center and holding eight chairs around them, accommodated the dining patrons. There was a hearth, and a mantle adorned with potted plants opposite the door; maple logs burned merrily in the fireplace. The right wall that adjoined the stables held a small stage for entertainers to ply their trade.

  “I need two beds for the night, two meals, and two breakfasts.” Crallick fished out a single small gem. “I hope you can make change.” Then as an afterthought, he added, “I also have two mounts, a horse and a pony being stabled.”

  The ruddy-cheeked inkeep, whose eyes had widened greatly, said. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.” He licked his lips, glistening eyes focusing brightly on the stone.

  Crallick cynically grinned. “I’m sure we can.”

  “I will hold it in the cashbox until you are ready to leave ser. I am Harold Freeman, and my wife is Lara Freeman. We are honest folk you can trust.” Harold began to assure Crallick.

  “Ser, I assure you, I do trust you. I trust that you and your wife wish to continue to live. You won’t cheat me.” Crallick gave a predatory smile, “Actually I’m hunting someone. Perhaps you can help me. Please come and find me after I sup.”

  “Of course ser,” Harold gulped.

  That evening a passably pretty human woman played a passable performance of a passably cheerful song. An exquisitely spiced roast of venison neck was presented to both Crallick and Vlados by a buxom, blond-braided woman. Their meal was served accented by a side of carrots and bread. They had ale to wash it down with.