“Kyle, you’ve finally made it home,” his father said, rising. “I’d like you to meet Jonathan Cain. He is a collector of rare antiques and objects of value. He bought the silver button from us and was wondering if there were any more available.”
“I don’t know. Beggar’s is pretty muddy with all the runoff. I was out looking along the Eastern edge, near the stone wall at the damage from the run off there.”
“Oh, I thought you may have gone up near the valley, looking for more of the silver buttons.” His voice had a strained sound to it.
“No sir. I was going to, but part of the Eastern wall collapsed. I spent all morning trying to restack the stone,” Kyle lied.
The stranger stood up and rolled the map into a tight cylinder, taking a long look at the boy and then shifted it on the rolled map.
“Well, that is disappointing. I would have liked to find more of those silver buttons for my collection, but it is fortunate that even one has been found after such a long period of time.”
Kyle decided there was something he didn’t like about this stranger. In that moment, Kyle felt…knew…that everything this man just said was a lie.
“I shall be going. If you should find any more of the buttons, or anything…something gold perhaps.” He fixed his eyes on Kyle again. “Please leave word with Mr. Silverstone and he will contact me,” Cain said. He slipped the parchment into a cylindrical map case and closed the end cap.
He walked to the door, opened it and paused. “Good day,” Cain said, gave them both a glance and then closed the door behind him.
Kyle opened his mouth to say something but his father cut him off.
“Why did you lie? The black mud on your boots is from the stream bed or the entrance to the valley. You were there, just as sure as my name is Jacob Wheyman. What did you do? What did you find? Tell me”
This last part exploded from his father’s mouth. Spittle flew like white flakes in a snow storm. It was at that moment Kyle knew something was terribly wrong. The same uneasiness he’d felt with the medallion, he was feeling again. Something wasn’t right with the man who’d just left their house, but the feeling lingered in the presence of his father.
“I...I found two swords. Two short swords in pretty good shape.” Kyle quickly picked up his pack, placing it on a chair and pulled one of the swords free of the bag. The funny feeling about his father came over him again, that feeling that something was wrong and he kept a firm grip on the weapon, rather than handing it over.
“I went to where you said you found the button and started walking the stream. Where the stream makes that sharp turn, do you remember the dead tree? I found a weatherproofed bag there. Just lying there half hidden in the high grass. There were just the two short swords inside the bag. Maybe they were hidden by bandits or gnomes, but it doesn’t matter. I found them and they’re ours now.” Kyle finished with a smile. The smile weakened and finally disappeared when he saw the expression on his father’s face.
“What?” Kyle asked.
“Those swords. We don’t need those here. Tomorrow, take them into town and sell them. Maybe we can make enough money by selling them to get us through the flooded crops,”
“Sell them? We could use them to defend ourselves. We’re not the only ones that this flooding is going to affect. There are going to be plenty of people who will just take without asking.”
“And what would they take? Having weapons in the house will do nothing but attract trouble. No, tomorrow, you get those swords out of my house. Take them to town and get rid of them. Sell them. With some of that money, you purchase what seed you can and we will try to salvage what we can of the growing season once the soil dries out a bit.”
“But…”
“You listen to your father, Kyle, You’ve never seen the death…the destruction that those things can do. Get rid of them.”
Kyle snorted and put the short sword back into his pack. He carried the bag to his room, put it between the bed and the outside wall and sat down.
What happened in the valley? The runes on his palm, the loss of the medallion, and the stranger that was with his father…were they connected?
He noted the movement of the sunbeam streaming in the window and how it eventually faded away. During this time he also heard his father rattling around the house. Something was definitely wrong with his father. The way he’d gotten angry with him, and the way that he was so adamant about selling the two swords he’d found. As Kyle thought about his father, the word ‘magic’ whispered from his mouth. His eyes shifted to the doorway, hoping the father he understood and loved without question, would appear. Instead, his eyes settled on his leather pack holding the two short swords.
Finally, he heard his father slide the curtain aside separating his sleeping area from the dining area and a moment later heard it slide back and the easy creak of his bed accept his body. He waited a few minutes until he heard the raspy snoring signaling deep sleep and then slid under his own blanket, keeping his eyes on his pack until he drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
Kyle stood in the dining area of his home, but the colors of the room were subdued and gray. The fire was out in the fireplace and a chilled cool air blew in from an unseen source. The door rattled on its wooden hinges, threatening to splinter and let the unseen intruder inside.
The uneasy feeling was back. Somehow, he knew who or what it would be on the other side of the flimsy portal. He grabbed his pack, fumbled with the leather tie, and finally managed to pull one of the swords free. He held it out, pointing toward the door. It crashed open. A dark figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by bright moonlight.
“My Master wants his medallion returned to him.”
Kyle immediately recognized the voice as that of the man that he had met earlier, Jonathan Cain. The tip of the short sword dipped and rose as terror gripped him. He’d never used a sword before, yet he felt like a fight with the evil Mr. Cain was inevitable.
The shadow moved into the dining area and turned its head toward the vacant fireplace. A small flicker of flame appeared among the dead embers and flared into a crackling blaze. The light from the impossible fire cast a glow upon the specter’s face. Where skin and muscle should have been were only the smooth yellowish skull bones of one of the soldiers from the carriage.
Terror took hold of Kyle and his grip on the sword faltered. The dark specter stepped forward. His uniform touched the tip of the sword and kept it from falling to the floor. With soundless effort, it stepped forward again. The sword sliced through the messenger’s leather armor and slipped between the lower two ribs on his right side. He was now within arm’s reach of Kyle’s shuddering body.
Fire blazed in the empty eye sockets of the yellowed skull and the jaw dropped open emitting a screeching laugh. Gloved hands grabbed Kyle’s arms in talon-like claws and he screamed.
* * * *
Kyle jerked awake at the sound of his terror-filled cries. The morning sun was just creeping into his window and he found himself sitting up in his bed with his pack in his lap. The two hilts from the short swords were visible and weighing down the wide opened mouth of the pack. His hand was buried inside the pack, clutching something with a grip strong enough to cause an ache in his wrist and forearm.
“No.”
Kyle pulled his hand free and stared unbelieving at the golden medallion.
“Kyle?” He heard his father call him and got the medallion back into his pack before the dividing curtain was pulled back and the familiar form of his father appeared.
“Are you okay? I heard you call out.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Bad dream, that’s all.” Kyle rubbed his forehead for effect.
“Well-good. Look, you need to get those swords to the weapon-smith in town and take whatever he offers for them. I want those things out of this house.”
“But…”
“Kyle, let’s not get into this again.” Jacob said with a tone that indicated the discussion was over.
“Yes sir.”
Kyle quickly washed and dressed. He slung the pack over his shoulder and stepped out into the sunny morning. Across the field to the side of the house, he saw his father squatting near some greenery that fought to clear the mud and gain some sunlight.
With a deep sigh, Kyle turned from his vantage point and began walking. He was lost in his thoughts and didn’t notice when the dirt path turned to crushed stone and the two story wooden buildings of Whiteforge became visible among the trees. Five minutes later, Kyle passed through the massive wooden doors that provided the only point of passage into the walled city.
Whiteforge was a trading post in the strictest sense of the word. It had begun its history as a single shack on a well-traveled low land path between Allenon and the sloping, mountainous route to Gnorepenne. It quickly expanded over the years to multiple trades buildings, mercantile and livery stables. Following a series of attacks by bandits, the growing town was enclosed in a wooden wall of raised, pointed wooden logs towering fifteen feet high.
Kyle walked along the crushed stone road leading through the center of commerce. Along both sides were trades that kept the town prosperous and well stocked with supplies. The air was filled with the smell of sweat, fresh baked goods and the earthy smell of manure. People of different races, upbringing and classes, honest and unscrupulous, traveled through on their way elsewhere. Some of those that passed through found Whiteforge to their liking and set down roots to make a living here. Kyle took it all in as he looked around. He’d been to Whiteforge a number of times, but he was in awe every time he took in the hustle and bustle.
He located the swinging wooden placard with the crossed swords, indicating the weapon-smith shop. The air was thick with smoke from the coals being fanned by large billows in the rear of the open stall. Sweat rolled from sooty muscles as the craftsmen crashed their hammers down on glowing metal. Sparks flew and the red hot metal sizzled when it was plunged into buckets of cool stream water. Kyle stood for several moments taking in the craftsmanship and then turned away, not quite ready to give up the swords in his pack just yet.
He squinted as he turned in the direction of the morning sun and saw the tower workshop of the elder wizard Kalaldi. Along a side road, well away from the shops and partially hidden by a group of towering evergreens was the cylindrical two story tower of Kalaldi. Kyle hiked his pack higher on his shoulder and headed off in the direction of the tower.
The building was larger than it appeared when he first sighted it from the weapon-smith’s shop. The tower was constructed of pitted gray stones, matted with various shades of green moss and sickly-looking ivy. There were several slit windows that circled upwards. The slits were covered by rusted iron bars that offered little protection and hung loosely in places. Just below the peaked shingled roof was a stone balcony with a black, wrought iron railing, covered with more of the yellowed ivy. The arched opening at its base shadowed a thick, iron banded wooden door, whose rough surface hid its true strength. The atmosphere of the tower served its purpose. Travel to the tower was something avoided by the locals and advised against to the ilk that made Whiteforge a temporary stopping point.
Kyle steeled himself as he stood in front of the tower’s door. He reached for the iron knocker and then quickly drew his hand back. What he had taken for weathering of the wood was rather an uncountable number of intricate runic carvings. He pulled off the glove that covered his hand. The symbols were still there and his eyes darted from his palm to the surface of the door. The events of last day hit him with full force. He was visiting a magic-user, the type of person his father instructed him to avoid, time and time again. Warning him no good would come from it, yet, here he was. He’d lied to his father the day before and now he was going against his wishes and teachings. Should I speak to the elder?
Kyle touched the door and like a flash in a lightning storm, the door glowed a rich shade of green and then returned to its weathered wood color. He pulled his hand back. What had touching the medallion done to him? Was he now part of that group his father despised? Had the medallion changed him enough that there could be no returning back to the way his life had been? He needed to find out. He needed answers.
He reached for the iron knocker again, like a man cautiously touching the handle of a pot simmering over a fire. Grasping the large metal ring, Kyle swung it several times. Each contact with the striker plate boomed in his mind. He waited for almost five minutes, pacing in the tiny area in front of the door and then tried the door knocker again. Three more strikes and then he waited an impatient minute before he tried it a final time.
Kyle stepped away from the door and looked up at the tower but didn’t see any movement in the slit windows. He stepped back to the door and reached for the handle.
* * * *
The heavy door cracked open and the head of a young elven boy popped out. “The Elder is working on his studies and experiments. Why should he bother himself to speak to,” he paused, sizing Kyle up, “someone like you?”
“I have found several old magical items and would like to get his counsel on them.”
“Then give them to me, and I will see that he gets them and responds by courier. C’mon, c’mon, the elder is very busy,” the young page said, opening the door wider and holding out his hand as if to lead him out. He tilted his slender face that projected impatience.
“Then I will wait or find a better time for…”
“Young worm, who the devil is taking you away from your duties and more importantly, disturbing my work?” boomed the voice hidden on the other side of the door, drowning out the remainder of Kyle’s words.
The tower door flew open and the imposing figure of Kalaldi stood, dressed in flowing black robes, red striping along the seams and edges, and fire in his eyes. He looked down on Kyle from his six-foot-six-inch frame. Kalaldi seemed full of life and venom for those whom he disliked or crossed his path unwelcome, far from being the withered old man Kyle expected.
Before Kyle could say anything, Kalaldi pointed a finger at him and commanded, “What is it you are blathering about, thorn in the side of a productive day?”
Kyle was taken aback and dumbfounded. He opened his mouth and closed it once again as he realized that would not be the best course of action. Unfortunately, his deferment only ignited additional anger in Kalaldi and he unleashed a new string of belittling adjectives.
Kyle reached into his pocket and held the silver button in his clenched fist. The feel of the metal object gave him a renewed strength and when the elder paused in his stream to catch his breath, Kyle took the opportunity to pull the button free, unfurl his hand and blurt out, “I found this button near a crashed carriage and horse team in a valley near my farm.”
Kalaldi smirked. He pushed his sleeve up, revealing a bony hand that, rather than grab the button, moved it to one side and then the other with a fingernail. The smirk dropped from Kalaldi’s face and instead it turned solemn.
Kyle opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when Kalaldi stopped him with a raised open palm.
“You have a problem. Come inside.”
Chapter Three
After walking up the tower’s spiraled staircase, Kyle stopped in awe of the elder wizard’s workshop as he stood in the doorway.
The first impression he got was one of an incredible amount of clutter. The room seemed to be filled with an endless amount of objects and parchments, all piled haphazardly upon one another on the wooden tables. Off to one side were a line of stone slab tables covered with elaborate glass work, filled with colorful bubbling liquids. Noxious gases from the bottles passed through the room on the breeze from the open windows. The room was curtained with bookshelves, curved of course, filled with more books than Kyle had ever seen.
On the far wall was a rolling ladder to access the higher shelves and on the ladder was a young page, dressed like the one who answered the door, putting away books.
Off to one side, in an area that seeme
d to have been cleared of the chaos, sat the elder wizard staring impatiently at him.
“I do not have all day, correction, you do not have all day. Come here with that foul object which you have used to darken my doorstep.”
Kyle made his way through the tables and glass apparatus, wanting to stop and marvel at some of it, but he felt himself drawn to the magic user. He was careful not to stumble over the piles stacked in the pathway, lest he set the miser off. When he got to the table, he slid the button next to Kalaldi’s tapping fingers.
Kalaldi picked up the silver button and brought it closer to his eye. He turned it over and examined the backside. Without looking up, he asked, “Where did you say you found this again?”
“It was part of a harness for a team of horses drawing an armored carriage. The carriage must have been uncovered in a mudslide down Widow’s Ridge.”
“Can you take me to the carriage? I would like to examine the interior and see what other artifacts are available to identify the particular caravan you have found. Regardless, this button alone is troubling. See this dagger symbol? That is the insignia for the White Rose Guild of Assassins. They were a group of mercenaries, actually, that provided armed transport for many, and shall I say, special items. They were also good at secretly killing well protected politicians, prominent citizens and at least one king. Quite a ruthless group but quite skilled as well.”
“Are they still dangerous?” Kyle asked, his voice a whisper.
Medallion of the Undead Page 3