Stone of the Denmol

by R C Gray

  “And what about Skara?” Faine said, tilting his head to the side and looking at the wolf sitting quietly next Renna.

  “I think we’ll see him again. He just needs a bit of time to think. But I have a feeling he’ll come around. There are things at work here taking us where we need to be.”

  Faine let out a grunt and started digging around in the pouches of the dead man on the ground in front of him, pulling out several silver coins and holding them up in front of Renna. “This is what puts people where they need to be. Even the temples pry this from the hands of the people they’re supposed to be helping. You know the world is dark. It’s about having the will to take what you need from the those that abuse their power.”

  Renna nodded in agreement and put her hand on Faine’s shoulder. “And we will. It’s always better to be the wolf than the prey.”

  THE WAGON JOLTED TO a halt as the Brothers of the Flame pulled into camp just outside of Banrielle. Lowering himself from his horse, Gregor looked back at the wagon and began to shout orders. “We make camp here. Unpack the tents and get them set up before nightfall. Onrin, take several men and survey the area. We’re supposed to be meeting up with a group that’s been waiting in town, and I’d like to know where they are. I want to know the situation on food, water, and supply deliveries. If we’re going to be here a while, we might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

  Braig laughed to himself as he watched Gregor barking orders. That’s right, he thought, enjoy it while you can. It won’t be much longer now.

  Standing in the cage to stretch his legs, he spotted a man in black armor running up the nearby hill and head straight to Gregor. He strained to hear what the man was saying, but he was too far away to make out anything. But if his expression and gestures told him anything, it was that something had happened in town that needed Gregor’s attention.

  “Onrin, hold on that order. Men, with me; we have a situation in town. It seems most of the men waiting for us were poisoned. This man says that an elf and goblin were sighted in the inn before this happened, but they’re nowhere to be found. Two men went off in pursuit, but they have yet to return. Take to your horses and go get information. If the men were poisoned, we find the means of poisoning.” Gregor flung back the edge of his cloak and once more mounted his horse, reining it towards the path into Banrielle. “You two,” he said, looking at a pair of guards, “stay here and keep watch over the dwarf. We’ll be back before nightfall.”

  Braig shook the bars of his cage, trying to rattle the door loose as soon as the brothers passed out of sight. “Let me out of this cage, you little worms. I’ve been in here all day, and I need to step out to piss.”

  “Then, you might as well just piss yourself. Because you’ll be stayin’ in there ‘til we say you can come out,” one of the guards said, straightening his back and flexing his shoulders.

  “You mean until you’re told you can let me out. You have no say in anything here. You’re just Gregor’s lapdog,” Braig said, tightening his grip on the bars. His broad shoulders and muscular arms looked tense and ready to be flung out through any open space to break any part of the two men that got anywhere near the cage. Eyeing them fiercely, he waited for them to respond or move closer, but both guards turned their backs to him and moved away from the cage and began unpacking the supply cart.

  Leaning back against the bars, Braig let himself sink down and closed his eyes. He was tired of waiting for something to happen, tired of being locked up and treated like an animal. But he knew that the door would be opened soon enough, and he would show them just how much of an animal he could be.

  GREGOR RODE TALL IN his saddle as he made his way towards Banrielle. As he crossed through the gates near the back wall, men and women were gathered in the streets talking and pointing towards the inn and the approaching brothers. Dismounting, he tied his horse up to a pole near the stable and strode into town, pushing through crowds of people as he walked towards the inn, ignoring their questions. Giving a quick look around the area, he could see the line of merchants leading out towards the main gate, and several established shops positioned around the square. One shop, the Greencap apothecary, caught his attention as he stepped up to the wooden door of the inn and went inside.

  The room was empty aside from the barkeep and the barmaid, standing nervously behind the counter. In the back corner of the room, table and chairs were flipped over, and bodies were scattered across the planked floor. Grimacing, Gregor walked up to the man they called Dalkuk and squatted next to him, moving his face from one side to the other. White bubbles frothed out of his mouth, and his eyes were bloodshot and glassy. Blue veins wormed their way over his pale skin, and his tongue was nearly severed from his violent thrashing.

  Checking each of the bodies, Gregor noticed a single bottle lying on the floor between them. Bringing it to his nose, he smelled its contents several times before putting it back down. Reaching for one of the mugs, he swirled the last few drops of wine around the bottom and noticed herbal sediment and slight sheen on the wine.

  “What’s this?” Gregor said, motioning to the barkeep and holding the cup out to him.

  Running from around the bar, he took the mug and peered into the bottom. “It’s just the herbs that they use when they make the wine, sir. Some wines are filtered, but this batch of Andoran left some in. All the bottles I have are like this.”

  “And how many bottles do you have?”

  “Only about three or four left now,” the barkeep said as he set the mug back on the table.

  “Tell me, how do you think this happened?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”

  “Then, let me explain. I was told that a goblin and an elf came here and were seen with these men before they made a hasty retreat from the town right after. So,” Gregor said, placing his hand around the back of the barkeep’s neck, pulling him closer, “that means that they were either poisoned by the elf and goblin, or by you putting something in the wine.”

  “I swear, sir,” the barkeep said, trembling slightly as he looked at Gregor, “it wasn’t me. I just serve drinks to the ones that buy ‘em.”

  “Perhaps you do,” Gregor said, loosening his grip on the back of his neck. “But let’s try something. Onrin, go to the back and get the bottles of Andoran wine and bring them out.”

  Smiling, Onrin ran to the back room behind the bar and brought out three bottles of Andoran wine and set them on the table in front of them. “He only had three.”

  “Just three,” Gregor said, looking at the barkeep and smiling. “That’s good news for you.”

  “Good news, sir?”

  “Yes. It’s good news because,” the smile on his face quickly faded and was replaced by a scowl, “it’s less you have to drink. Onrin, open the bottles.”

  Nodding, Onrin pulled the corks from each bottle and set them back on the table.

  Motioning to the bottles, the barkeep looked over at Gregor. “You...you want me to drink all three?”

  “Yes, unless there’s a problem. Is there a problem?” Gregor said, resting his hand on the golden pommel of his long sword.

  “No, sir. No problem at all,” the barkeep said, grabbing the neck of one of the bottles. Raising it to his lips, he began to drink. Squeezing his eyes closed, the man swallowed drink after drink, only stopping to occasionally take a deep breath. Setting down the first bottle, the man belched and swallowed hard, the color slightly draining from his face.

  Sitting down on a nearby chair, Gregor eyed the barkeep. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good, sir. It’s just strong, and I don’t drink that much, is all.”

  “Well, today is an exception. Because the men and I are going to sit here while you finish the other two bottles.”

  Onrin reached for another bottle and handed it to the barkeep before picking up a fallen chair and sitting. As the men laughed around him and made bets, he noticed a gold coin on the floor at his feet and bent to pick it up. Lookin
g around to make sure no one was watching, he slid it into his belt pouch and leaned back in his chair, feeling happy about seeing a show and finding a gold. “Don’t just stand there. Drink the wine,” he said, tossing a cork at the barkeep, laughing and pointing at the man.

  Flinching as the cork hit his stomach, the barkeep raised the second bottle and slowly began to drink. As the bottle became emptier, the man’s face grew paler and sicklier. “I... I can’t do it,” the man said. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Then, be sick,” Gregor said, looking sternly at the man. “And then keep drinking.”

  “Please sir, I already told you,” the barkeep stopped, suddenly putting his fist over his mouth to keep from vomiting. The room around him began to spin as he placed a hand on the table to steady himself before he continued, “that I can’t finish it.”

  “Oh, you’ll finish it. Or you’ll die trying. Now stop talking and drink. The men and I have work to do, and you’re keeping us from it. But,” Gregor said, turning to the barmaid, “this is making me thirsty. Bring me an ale.”

  The barmaid poured a mug of ale and brought it Gregor as the barkeep continued to drink. Finishing the second bottle, he dropped it to the ground and fell to his knees, retching on the floor in front of him. The men around him laughed and exchanged coins from the bets they had made on how long he would last before losing the contents of his stomach.

  “You,” Gregor said, looking back across the room at the barmaid standing near the corner, “are free to go. I don’t think that it was you that poisoned the wine, and I think you’ve seen enough for one day. Let her pass, brother.”

  A stocky man carrying a two-handed sword on his back stepped to the side as the barmaid ran to leave, stopping to look one last time at the barkeep before running out of the door, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Now, let’s finish this. Men, sit him up.”

  Several of the brothers moved forward and picked the man up off the floor and propped him on his knees. Handing him the third bottle, the man weakly took it in his hands, taking a small sip before gagging and vomiting down his chin.

  “Please, sir, no more. I just want to go home to my family. I just want to go home,” he said, his face pale and wet from the tears and sweat.

  “And I wish you could. But unfortunately, you helped kill these men. And an assault on the men under our employ is the same as an assault on a Brother of the Flame.”

  “I’m sorry. I was only told to bring out that bottle for a special occasion. I didn’t know it was poisoned. It wasn’t me.”

  “I believe you. I know it wasn’t you, at least not directly. But a price must be paid. Onrin, make him drink.”

  “Please, no,” the man said as the bottle was shoved back into his mouth and tilted upwards. The wine poured down the man’s throat as he coughed and sputtered, choking as the red liquid poured down his chin, spreading like blood over the front of his white shirt. Trying to reach up and pull the bottle away, two men grabbed his arms and held them behind his back. As the barkeep coughed, the wine spilled from his mouth and splattered on the floor beneath him. Gasping, the barkeep struggled for breath, coughing roughly before his body heaved and went limp.

  “Looks like he’s not going to finish it after all,” Onrin said, tossing the bottle to the floor and signaling the men to let the barkeep go.

  The man’s body fell to the floor, his face a sickly white with red stains on his cheeks and chin. The inn was silent as the brothers around him looked to Gregor, awaiting their orders.

  “This is the way of the flame,” Gregor said, peering down at the man. “When you walk in the darkness, the flame will either guide you to the light or burn you. Now let’s show them we will not tolerate our men being killed, or the harboring of criminals working against the progression of the light. Burn the Bramble Thorn!”

  The Red Banner

  Skara walked through the forest, his mind wandering as he absently swung a small stick in the air in front of him. What had Faine been thinking, giving him poison in the wine? Although it wasn’t meant to kill him, it could have. What if the antidote hadn’t worked? But then, it did work; and Skara had a feeling that Faine and Renna didn’t want to see him dead. They had several opportunities if that’s what they wanted, but they had saved his life instead.

  And what if Faine was right about seeing new places and this not being all there is? But that would mean leaving, and that hadn’t crossed his mind in a long time. There are so many places to see out there, but also so many people that would like to see him dead just for being what he is. And after his fight with the mercenary, he wondered if he would have what it takes to kill someone if he needed to? Faine had done it so easily, and it didn’t seem to affect him at all. Maybe all it would take is the right reason and the will to do it. But it was a simple choice for Faine to poison everyone because they would have killed them, and not had a second thought about it.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Skara said, throwing his stick to the ground. “Should I just leave everything behind and see where it takes me?”

  Skara sighed and walked down the steep hillside that his home what built into. His front wall was the only section of his house that was visible outside of the hill. It was made from long branches standing vertically in the hillside and latched together with rope, with a small door in the center. Stuck in between the gaps in the front wall were clumps of moss and balls of clay that helped to keep out the wind. Unlatching the door, Skara stepped inside and closed his eyes, standing still in the silence around him.

  The inside of the hovel was a large rectangle dug deep into the hillside. On the left wall, a small hole for a fire had been carved into the wall and lined with stones that led up through the narrow chimney and out to the top of the hill. A wooden bedframe stood in the corner with a worn-out mattress made from leaves and moss shoved into several lumpy sacks laid out over its length. A small, solid wood table and a single chair chiseled from a stump sat in the opposite corner near the firepit. Several candles and hunks of carved bone and wood littered its surface, along with a few sets of runes in old leather pouches.

  Between the bed and the desk was a sturdy looking door that was just big enough for Skara to crouch into. The tunnels behind the door split off into several crawl spaces leading different directions, and each passageway led to a sealed exit a short distance from his home. Ladders stood at the end of each of the tunnels, each leading to a wooden hatch that could be pushed open from the underside for a quick escape. On the surface, the doors were covered with soil and debris to keep them hidden and padded in case anyone happened to walk over them.

  Laying his pouches down on the table, Skara walked over to the firepit and set kindling and tinder into its center. Holding a piece of charcloth on the edge of the flint, he struck down with the steel, sending sparks different directions. Striking again, a spark jumped and landed on the charcloth, burning a small corner as it smoldered inwards. Placing the cloth into a bundle of straw, cedar bark, and birch shavings, he blew gently until the ember burst into flames.

  Placing the burning bundle into the kindling, he stacked thicker sticks in a circle around it until the flames lit the up the inside of the room, casting dark shadows from his table and lone chair onto the walls around him.

  Lying down on his bed, he gnawed at a piece of sweet cane as he looked around the empty room. “And who’d want to leave all this behind? Miles from town, alone in the woods with no one to talk to, and giant, poisonous spiders roaming around.” Throwing his piece of sweet cane across the room, he turned over and closed his eyes, thoughts about how there might be something more out there rolling through his head as he drifted off to sleep.

  Skara awoke several hours later to a scratching sound at his front wall. The fire had burned down to embers, gently lighting the dark walls in a soft, red glow. Grabbing his daggers and buckling on his belt, he quickly ran his arm over his table, knocking all the bone carvings and runes into a cloth satchel
and slung it over his shoulder at an angle across his chest. Backing deeper into the corner, the scratching outside became louder. Rays of sunlight passed through the gaps in the door, and he could see a faint outline of something crouching just outside. A soft whine poured through the wall as the clawing became harder, shaking the door on its rope hinges.

  As Skara began to move towards the door to the tunnels, the whining became a ragged howl as his front wall started to shake under the weight pushing against it. This wasn’t the first time that something had tried to get in, and like before, he didn’t want to stay and find out what it was. Unlatching the door to the tunnels, he climbed inside and shut the door behind him. Looking out through a small gap in the wood, he could see a pair of dirty paws pushing under the wall as the creature frantically began digging a hole under his door.

  Turning away, he scampered down the tunnel and climbed the ladder to the first escape hatch. Pushing open the door, he looked around the forest, the evening sun showing dimly through the branches above. Climbing out of the hole and quickly covering it back up, he began to move away when he heard a low howl coming from the front of his house. Shaking his head and hoping he wouldn’t regret it, he crawled over the slope of the hill and peered down at the creature standing in front of his door. It was a grey wolf with patches of its fur missing and bits of muscle showing beneath.

  “Undriel,” Skara said, standing and looking down at the wolf.

  The wolf let out a low whimper and ran up the side of the hill and began pacing back and forth in front of Skara.

  “I don’t know what you want. Why are you here?”

  The wolf hunkered down on the ground and crawled towards Skara, turning around to run off in the other direction when he got too close. After seeing the wolf do this several times, Skara began to get irritated.