Tales of Kingshold

by D P Woolliscroft

  But I will not go down without a fight! Though it seems my friends have forgotten me, I refuse to let this sham continue and I shall never give up my lands or this realm to the hands of usurpers and charlatans. I am a rich man, and the banks of Kingshold are venerable institutions who are solid in their dependability. Mercenaries and sell swords are on their way from the continent as I write.

  My wife and daughter bring you this message and I ask your aid in helping them find a good home to purchase, and in the hiring of dependable and trustworthy servants. They are the light of my life and I want to ensure their safe keeping while my son and I protect our home.

  For the good of Edland, and your throne.

  Your servant,

  Lord Marchial Eden

  12th Eighthmoon, 1085

  To my darling Eliza,

  It is with great sadness that I write to you today. The ignominies visited on our family know no end.

  What does Arloth hold against us that we must suffer so?

  For now our son has been taken away from us, cut down on the road by the men of the Second. The army that I commanded for many years, used as the weapon to take away the light of my life.

  Nathan was a good boy and left this world in a way that brings me pride to mix with my tears. He personally led a night-time raid on the encamped army some fifty miles from Aria. The raid was initially a great success, sowing discord and crippling our enemies in the dark. It was only an opportunistic arrow fired from a sentry as he and his men melted away into the night that coldly took him in the back.

  I know your grief will nearly match mine and I wish we could be together during this troubling time.

  But now the defense of our home rests on my shoulders. We have supplies, our walls are secure and I know I can rely on the love of our people to fight for the defense of our home.

  We will be together soon my love, once this is over with.

  Marchial

  22nd Eighthmoon, 1085

  Guildmaster Wren,

  These are sorry days indeed. I miss our games of Queens over a glass of fine brandy but, alas, I fear that it will be some time until we can repeat these more pleasurable activities.

  The usurper’s army attacked Aria, and I am proud to say that my people defended it well, giving their lives to keep their countrymen from the door. I led from the front, of course; prowling the walls and commanding the defenses that we relied upon, hardly sleeping for days until I sensed that Arloth called out for me.

  I retired to my chapel, letting my captain know that I sought counsel from our lord and to defend the town at all costs until I returned. Truly, I was ready to lay down my own life, and all of those who swore service to me, in the name of this most noble cause. But while I fasted and prayed in the chapel I was visited by Arloth himself.

  I don't believe it is fitting to attempt to describe on such a poor medium as ink and paper the vision that I received, and I find myself unable to do glory to his words; but he showed me a terrible vision for the future of Edland if I was to perish and not be in place to stop the chain of events from happening. And so I left my home, by secret tunnel during the dead of night, to the coast where a boat that I thought I would never use lay waiting for me. While my friends and subjects continued to fight for my survival.

  I am now bound for Pienza, so that I may fulfill this calling that Arloth has laid out for me. I have lost so much this summer, but let me assure you that I remain resolute in what must be achieved. I will contact you through other channels in the future, to organize further our plans of liberation and salvation. Arloth himself chose the symbol I will use. The Red Hart, most noble of the beasts of Edland, synonym for the courage that we must all show to make this world better.

  Yours sincerely,

  Lord Marchial Eden

  Circles

  The walk from Kingshold to Wombourne on the coastal road, and then on to the Dark Forest by the pathway known as The Spine, had taken the better part of a fortnight. Though the roads were paved, well maintained and free of bandits, Motega’s insistence that they travel on foot had turned a few days ride into something of an expedition. Not that Neenahwi was against the quality time with her brother; she had only just been reunited with him after many years apart, and now she finally had him to herself.

  Neenahwi walked hand in hand with Motega—like they used to as children—and found the physical presence to be reassuring in a way that she had not realized she missed. In Edland it was considered strange for people to hold hands, but in her homeland her people were not afraid of being close to each other. Though it had been many years since the death of their parents and the tribe, she could still remember seeing her father walk hand-in-hand with his champion.

  Traveling in this manner also brought back bitter sweet memories of their flight from the Pyrfew raiders who came with fire and steel to their happy little village. Back in those days, Motega was little more than a boy, and though he rarely got scared, she remembered their escape, traveling hand-in-hand during the day and holding him until he would fall asleep at night. Thinking about that time, after so long pushing it down deep inside her, brought a tear to her eye.

  Neenahwi looked at the man walking by her side, so different than he had been back then. Now he was a few inches taller than her, and he walked with a confidence that made her think of her father. His hood was down, exposing his short hair, close beard and the markings on his face; his two-tone skin pale white except for bird wing shapes around his eyes. On his face was the same content smile that she remembered from her mother as she would play with them; Neenahwi found herself mirroring that smile.

  “What is it?” asked Motega, noticing his sister’s attention. “Do I have breakfast on my chin? You know I’m too big for you to clean my face with a spit cloth.”

  “Hah! Like you’d ever let me do that anyway,” she said. “I was just thinking about how familiar this feels. I missed it.”

  “Me too, sis. And it will be so good to see Kanaveen again after all this time.”

  She was feeling a little apprehensive about seeing Kanaveen again, even though she was no longer a child relying on her father’s champion to help them escape their pursuers, or to act as a conspirator in her teenage yearnings for revenge. Now she was a sorcerer; battle tested and independent. She’d just fought a draco-turtle during the recent troubles in Kingshold, for Marlth’s sake. But the thought of seeing the man who had been like a father to her for many years made her stomach squirm.

  Motega had seen Kanaveen most recently, when he had undergone the Quana, the traditional vision quest where he had been gifted with the falcon spirit animal that circled above her head. And though she was older than her brother, and many years past officially coming of age, she was about to tread the same ceremonial path to adulthood that all of the members of her tribe had followed.

  “I only wish we didn’t have to walk the whole way,” said Neenahwi.

  “Yep, it’s a long way on foot. But Kanaveen said in his message that you needed to reconnect with the earth before you can start the ceremony.”

  “I could transform into a wolf and be there in half the time you know,” she said, though she had no intention of doing so. Being out in nature, the air clean and fresh, was a marvelous change.

  “Hah, you read the message. No magic,” said Motega. “And you’d leave me behind then, so what would be the fun in that? After the past few weeks, it’s a relief to settle into a peaceful rhythm. Even for me.”

  She had to agree with that. The election of a new ruler of Edland had been an intense affair. Riots, assassinations and a pirate raid—hardly the most auspicious way for Mareth to come to the role of Lord Protector, but she still believed he was the best option on the table. Not that she didn’t have concerns about his ability. After all, a tavern bard is not typical training for running a country. And now that Jyuth, her adopted father and wizard of Edland, had disappeared, she was left feeling responsible for Mareth and the nation. Motega nearly had to
physically drag her away from court to come on this particular trip, reminding her of the promise she had made on their reunion. But now she was on the road, she had to agree that the tiredness in her legs and feet, and the feel of her brother’s hand in hers, was an excellent way to forget about other troubles.

  They left The Spine later that day and made out across the foothills toward the eastern edge of the Dark Forest. The Edland countryside was beautiful; rolling hills covered in green grass, fluffy white balls of sheep idly going about their business, and only an occasional stray summer shower blotting out the sun. Their pace slowed as they strode up hill and cantered down dale. At night they camped on soft beds of turf, the wayside inns only lining the well-traveled roads.

  On the fourth day from The Spine, Neenahwi and Motega crested a hill to see the land fall away slowly to a line of tall dark trees. Nestled close to it, visible by the thin trail of smoke rising from a chimney, was a small wooden cottage.

  The sun was nearing its zenith as sister and brother neared the house—close enough to see a figure chopping wood, a string of animal pelts hanging from a line nearby.

  “Ho!” called Motega. “Kanaveen!”

  The old warrior turned at the call. He still looked just as she remembered him. Tall, with weathered brown skin and long hair tied behind his neck. She knew he must be approaching eighty, but still looked as fit as any of the soldiers in Kingshold. Her people, the Alfjarun, were like the humans of the Jeweled Continent in many ways, but being constrained by such a short life was not one of them. Kanaveen wedged the axe in the log he was chopping, waved, and walked over to greet them.

  “Motega!” said Kanaveen, his voice deep, emanating from his broad chest. He enclosed the younger man in a tight embrace. “It is good to see you. What happened to your hair?”

  Motega rubbed at his shorn hair self-consciously. Neenahwi knew that it had hit him hard when he had lost his braid in a work-related accident (that is, getting stuck escaping from the scene of a crime), but he did seem to be getting over it.

  “Oh yeah,” said Motega, “it was either my hair or my neck. My neck won.”

  Kanaveen nodded, as if in understanding at such a choice. Then he turned to face Neenahwi. “So, Neeni. Finally, you have come to see me. Or have you just come to inspect your property?”

  Neenahwi paused in reaching out to hug her old protector, taken aback by his words. “Oh Kanaveen, it is so good to see you. I am sorry I have been absent, but what do you mean?”

  “This house is yours. It belonged to Jyuth and he has let me live here for as long as I like. He sent me word of his retirement, and told me that his property is yours now.”

  More surprises from Jyuth. He hadn’t see fit to mention this in his going away letter. “I don’t want it, Kanaveen. I am just here to see you.”

  “Well I am very happy to have you here, Neeni,” he said, as he finally took her in his arms, lifting her in the air as he squeezed her in one of the bear-hugs she used to love so much. “And I am glad that you will finally come of age before the World Tree. You are chief of what remains of the Wolfclaw clan. Us three here. But you can both add to that number one day, eh? Come, you both must be weary. Let me prepare you lunch and we can talk about what comes ahead.”

  Lunch of roasted rabbit with stewed fiddleheads was simple but enjoyable, and Neenahwi found herself reveling in being able to rest her feet. They sat in Kanaveen’s house, a simple construct of sawn logs and daub, with a stone chimney reaching out from a pitched thatched roof. The interior was just as functional; a single room with a bed, small table and a chair, and a few cushions on the floor by the fireplace. Neenahwi sat cross-legged, a wooden cup of chamomile tea in her hand as she watched Kanaveen clear up after their meal, her protestations at not being allowed to help being waved away.

  Eventually Kanaveen joined her and Motega on the floor. Kanaveen sat opposite them both, a serious look on his face.

  “Tomorrow, you will start your Quana,” said Kanaveen, his back straight as a rod and head held high. “As all other Wolfclaw clan members have done for centuries. The shaman should lead this ceremony but you will have to make do with me. He would tell you tales of how it started and the connection to our ancestors and gods. These stories alone could take days and I do not know them anymore, but what is important is that we do this for two reasons. Do you know why?”

  Neenahwi considered this, unaccustomed to the note of formality in his tone. It had been a long time since she had heard Greytooth welcome the tribe to celebrate the beginning of a Quana, and she had been but a child then, with a child’s habit for finding other things to consider during long monologues. “We believe that you can’t rejoin your ancestors when you die, unless you have been formally admitted to the tribe,” said Neenahwi, playing along with Kanaveen’s role of teacher. He nodded his agreement. “But I don’t know the other,” she admitted.

  “The other reason is the most important. It is for you to find your purpose in life. How will you help the tribe?” Kanaveen paused, letting the words sink in. Neenahwi considered how that had not been in her thoughts for a long time and it did not sit well. “We all have the potential for great things; and your Quana, your vision quest, helps you to see what that is. Some people discover it through their own introspection. Others have spirits who help them. But it is always your choice, Neeni, to decide whether you accept it.”

  “Did you find your purpose in your vision quest?” she asked, wondering if he had known where his path would take him.

  “Yes. I knew I was to protect the tribe from great challenges,” said Kanaveen. “And so I dedicated my life to being a great warrior. I thought I would be protecting our people against other tribes, or the horrors that can roam the plains. When our tribe was attacked by the demon and the men in steel, I thought that was my moment of testing—that I would protect our tribe or die trying.” He paused for a moment, tears visible in his eyes. “But I was wrong, my purpose was to protect you two. To take you to safety so the tribe would survive. Sometimes I think it would have been easier to fight and die with our friends.”

  Neenahwi leaned forward to give her old protector a hug and brush the tears from his cheek. “I understand. I think the same sometimes. Thank you for taking the hard path, Kanaveen.”

  Kanaveen forced a weak smile, and took a deep breath to steady his voice. “Who knows what your vision will tell you? And from my story you can see that you may think it is one thing and it could turn out to be something else. Don’t let your certainty of what your vision tells you turn you into a rock. Stay flexible like the reed, bending in the wind of life; continually question your destination.” He paused, and Neenahwi nodded in understanding. “Now, there are certain rules you must follow. Are you ready to hear them?”

  More rules. She’d spent more than a decade with Jyuth learning not to accept rules. She was sure ‘no magic’ would be part of it. Nevertheless, she said, “I am.”

  “Good. You will remain in the wilderness for four days and nights and you will not eat anything. This was your last meal until you are reborn. You will use no magic to make the time less arduous.” There it was, as she had expected. “You will walk into the wilderness with the clothes on your back and a small knife. Nothing else. The land here is different than where I did my Quana, but the forest seems to have been a reasonable place for your brother’s ceremony.”

  Motega nodded. “That forest is a wild place; you’ll need to stay alert,” he said.

  “On the first day you will choose your home in the wilderness. Build your shelter.

  “On the second day you will spend your time as you wish. Walk, sit, sleep, wait. It matters not. Time will slow and it will test your patience.

  “On the third day you will build a stone circle. Be thoughtful on the stones you choose. Place them like so.” Kanaveen drew a circle on the dirt floor with a stick, indicating stone placements at each of the eight primary points of direction, two stones placed in the center.

 
“And then on the fourth day you will enter your stone circle and wait.”

  “Wait for what?” she asked, still unsure of what was going to happen.

  “For your enlightenment. When you leave your circle, you are reborn and like your physical birth, you cannot return. So leave only when you know it is time.”

  “I understand, Kanaveen,” said Neenahwi.

  “At dawn tomorrow, I will walk you into the Forest and then leave you to your journey.”

  “Be careful he doesn’t hit you on the back of the head as you walk, sis,” said Motega, chuckling.

  “Do not worry, Neenahwi. I will not do that.” He shot Motega a scowl.

  “Then why did you do that to me?” asked Motega, his brow furrowed.

  “You were always a difficult child,” said Kanaveen, waving his hand in irritation. “You don’t listen to what you are told. I had to make sure you weren’t taking tools that would spoil the ceremony. As I remember, you had four knives, string, flint and a biscuit in your pockets. It was for your own good.” Motega looked sheepish at the litany of contraband, avoiding Neenahwi’s appraising, but amused, gaze.

  Kanaveen got to his feet, his knees clicking as he rose. “And now, we should finish our preparations. You will need water, Neeni. Let us fetch it. And, Motega, I look forward to sparring with you these next few days. I have been restricted to shadow fighting for too long.”

  Damn deer tracks.

  This was the second path that Neenahwi had followed that had disappeared a few hundred yards along, right before a thicket of thorns. Of course, if she was allowed to use magic, then she could become a deer and leap over this collection of evil vegetation. Or she could be a wolf and her fur would provide protection. But Kanaveen had warned that magic was not allowed. He’d even reminded her this morning as he escorted her to the edge of the forest—the sun just starting to peak up over the horizon. He had handed her two waterskins and reminded her of the rules, before he had embraced her, and told her how proud of her he was. Hearing those words from Kanaveen had brought back a rush of emotion. Again! What was it about this journey that was turning her into a blubbering wreck?