Alyn had never seen him look more handsome—such a jemmy fellow, dressed in his polished warrior leathers, topped off with a deep red woolen cloak edged in gold that draped off his shoulders. He wore new boots, unscuffed, and his beard and mustache had been neatly trimmed. Who would have believed that she, the orphaned daughter of a stone-mason, would ever marry a man of royal blood? Yet here he stood, waiting to pledge himself to her, and she almost feared she must be dreaming.
Kael grinned as Dian brought Alyn forth. When his father handed her over to him, he bent and whispered into her ear, “You look exquisite.” The subtle fragrance of the rose oil complemented her own scent and Kael allowed the smells to linger in his senses for a moment before standing erect once more. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.
She had been running her vows over and over in her mind, and hoped she wouldn’t stumble over them. He appeared so calm and self-assured while she was plagued with jitters. As she nodded in answer to his question, he clasped her hands to escort her into the center of the circle of stones. Only then did she witness his own nervousness, evident with the sweat upon his palms.
Still holding hands, they stood facing one another. The milling crowd quieted as Kael began to speak, gazing into Alyn’s eyes, focused solely upon her.
“Within this circle of stones, the symbol of eternity, I, Kael, son of Dian, and warrior of King Tilla IV, do hereby pledge myself to you, Alyn, as your husband. I vow to protect you, to provide for you, to honor you, and to respect you. I promise to keep you in my heart, now and forever. I promise never to harm you or give you reason for doubt or shame. I will cherish you as my wife, as my companion, as my friend, and as my confidant through whatever trials or fortunes may come our way, and vow to keep myself unto you and you only. These things I swear until I die and beyond, before the gods and in the name of King Tilla, and in the heart of Kael, to my beautiful wife, Alyn.”
His words brought tears to her eyes and she hoped her own words would not seem pale in comparison. She began to speak, fighting to keep her brimming tears from spilling.
“Within this circle of stones, I, Alyn, daughter of Karn, do swear my love and allegiance to you, Kael. As your wife, I promise to comfort you, to care for you, to keep your home and hearth, and keep myself only unto you. I promise to be proper and dutiful and obedient, and give you no cause for shame or disgrace. I promise to love you until I die. These things I vow, before the gods and in the name of King Tilla, to my husband, Kael.”
Kael smiled wide and gave her a quick, respectable kiss. “It is done,” he announced. The warriors in attendance laid their swords inside the circle and hand in hand Kael and Alyn walked the circle three times, jumping over the swords as the crowd cheered and wept and applauded.
The pipers and lutists began to play and the wedding feast began.
There were baskets of fresh fruits and nuts, and baked pies and cobblers, and bowls of boiled turnips and boiled carrots and boiled peas and boiled cabbage. There were loaves of bread and rounds of cheese, farls and cream, and heaping platters of roast goose, roast pig, roast venison, and various sausages. There was tea and cider and buttermilk, and for those who wished to imbibe, the pub offered plenty of brandy, mead, and ale.
The crowd made merry and toasts were made and Evan and Thoren teased Kael for having kept Alyn a secret and threatened to abscond with his bride, at which Kael merely glared at his friends, and Kael danced with Alyn, and Kael danced with Elva, and Alyn danced with Dian, and Alyn danced with Evan, and Evan danced with Elva, and Dian danced with Elva, and Alyn danced with Thoren, and Evan danced with Kael, and the festivities continued until the sun began to set.
As Kael helped Alyn and Elva onto his gelding, Dian came and took him aside.
“I’m afraid I have to attend to some business in Fead,” he said, giving his son a wink. “I won’t be back for three days.”
“Safe journey, Father,” Kael called, mounting the gelding behind his bride. Dian was granting him three days alone with his new wife. He intended to use them well.
A year later, Alyn gave birth to Kael’s son, whom they named Lundin, and the following year she gave birth to a daughter, Sashi. After the birth of their third child the following autumn, tragedy struck. Kael’s third-born was another son, named Devon, but when Devon was only one month old, he unexpectedly died in the night.
On a crisp autumn day, Kael buried the infant upon the hillock behind the house. He knelt long beside the gravesite, staring into the sky above. Life was such a precious, fleeting thing. The child had shown no sign of illness. It had simply died, and Kael was at a loss to understand it.
The child’s death was hard on Alyn and for many days she refused to rise from her bed. Kael did what he could to try and console her and eventually her spirits were renewed when, in the dead of winter, she came again with child, much to Kael’s relief, and he prayed that she never lose another.
Though Elva was no bigger than two-year-old Lundin, she was as precocious as any five-year-old. She adored her papa and when he would come home in the evening, she would race to him and he would scoop her up into his arms.
“Papa,” she would cry, tugging at his beard. “Tell me a story. Please, Papa, please.”
How she loved her papa’s stories. He told tales of Blasties and Corkers and Dragos and parties at the palace, but her favorite story of all was the one about her father Fane. She never tired of hearing it.
Kael would take her and sit in the inglenook, and Lundin and Sashi would come, and Kael would set the three children on his lap to tell them a tale while Alyn would prepare their supper.
“Many years ago there lived a great wizard named Fane,” Kael began and Elva shrieked in delight, knowing she was about to hear her most favorite tale.
“This great wizard, who was my brother, was also a mighty warrior, and one day he and another warrior named Jink set off on a treacherous journey. At the beginning of this journey, Fane met a bonny girl named Alyn and they fell in love and married. But Fane couldn’t stay with his wife, and promised her he would return one day as he and Jink left once more on their treacherous journey. And do you know why it was such a treacherous journey?”
Lundin’s eyes grew wide and he covered his mouth with his hands as Elva shouted, “Because they were going to fight the dragon!”
“Yes,” Kael said. “They were going to the top of Skur to take the treasure from Ragg. Now Ragg is the evilest, most powerful dragon in the land, and many men have sought to steal his treasure and those many men have all died, for Ragg is just too powerful.
“But the wizard Fane and the warrior Jink were determined and so they went to Skur, battling and defeating a great host of dreadful beasts and bogies along the way.
“Then, one day, when they were nearly to the top, Seret, the terrible winged-lion, swooped from the sky and caught Fane within his huge paws, intending to eat him up in one single bite.”
The children always quivered at this point and Lundin buried his face against Kael’s chest.
“But Fane was saved when Jink swung his mighty sword, cutting the lion’s head clean off,” Kael continued. “But, alas, some magical creatures do not die right away and even though the lion had no head left, it dropped Fane and grabbed Jink instead, and it carried the poor warrior to its missing head and the lion’s mouth snapped Jink up, swallowing him whole before the beast finally fell dead.”
The children never did question the impossibility of this feat, too engrossed in the tale.
“Fane was left all alone, and he continued the journey by himself. But when he reached the mountaintop he was caught by Ragg, and Fane’s magic could only stop Ragg from killing him. So the evil Ragg imprisoned him instead, locking him in a cave where the trolls dwelt, telling Fane that if he ever left the cave, the dragon would kill everyone in Avar.
“Now Fane loved the people of Avar so much that he stayed in the troll’s cave and that is where I found him, nearly a year later. Fane was so weary from bei
ng held prisoner, but he knew for the sake of Avar, that he could never, ever leave. So he gave away his magic protection and he asked me to please take care of Elva and her mother. The only escape for Fane was death, and he died with great honor, high atop Skur, at the evil hand of Ragg.”
This story, more than any other, conjured wild images in Elva’s mind, and she dreamed of growing up to be a mighty wizard and a warrior, just like her father Fane, and she would someday go to Skur and avenge her father’s death. Yes, she would kill the evil Ragg and feed him to the trolls.
The story was complete and Kael shooed the children away. “Off with you, now. Off to your room. It’s Mama’s turn for a story.”
The children scurried to their bedchamber as Kael pulled Alyn to sit bestride his lap. Wrapping her arms about his neck, they shared a kiss.
“This had better be a good story,” she said with a seductive smile. “Or you might not get any supper.”
“It is a most wonderful story,” he whispered, slipping his hands beneath her skirt. “It’s the story of a man who loves his chopping wife and has missed her after a long day in the saddle. It’s a story filled with passion and desire.” He buried his face into her bosom.
“I like the tale already,” she murmured. “The beginning has great promise.”
“Just wait until you see how it ends,” he told her, caressing her pregnant belly.
“I can hardly wait. Just do not rush to the ending, my husband. Let me enjoy the entire tale.”
“I will tell the tale my own way, woman. But I would hope you will enjoy it nonetheless.” He had never grown tired of these quick, stolen moments with his wife. Often he would sneak her out to the barn when his father was home, or to the banks of the brook beneath the bridge, but the inglenook, by far, presented the most moments of opportunity, and Kael would seize them every chance he got.
He had not quite reached the tale’s climax when the clap of hoof beats sounded outside.
“Confound it,” he groaned. “Father is back from Fead a day early.” He pulled free from his wife and retied his trousers before she stood, setting her skirt straight.
“You’ll just have to finish the story later,” she told him with a wink. “But I already know how it ends.”
A sharp knock came upon the door. It was not Dian after all. Kael arose and swept Alyn into his arms, gazing into her blue eyes. “But the ending is the best part, my dear wife, and I wouldn’t think of depriving you of that.” He gave her a quick kiss and headed for the door as the knocking commenced again.
Kael swung the door open. On the threshold stood a tall, red-haired warrior. He was dusty and somber. Within his hands he held a rolled parchment and Dian’s coronet.
“Evan?” Kael tried to keep his voice steady, knowing in the pit of his heart that his father was dead.
“May I come in, Kael?”
Kael bade Evan to enter. The curious children peeked out from their bedchamber and Alyn held her place, watching from the inglenook.
Evan laid the coronet before Kael as they sat at the table and Kael forced himself to speak. “Why … is this no longer upon the head of my father?”
“We were transporting a group of Corker prisoners to the Keep at the castle,” Evan said. “Somehow, they broke free and during the fray, Dian fell.”
Kael remained silent, staring at his father’s coronet through glazed eyes.
“We were able to recapture the prisoners,” Evan continued. “But I’m afraid Dian’s wounds were mortal. We could not save him.”
Kael was raging inside and struggled to keep under control. With trembling hands, he picked up the coronet and traced its outline with his finger. It was a simple gold headband, coming down to a point in the center front where it was engraved with the king’s seal. Dian had worn it for as long as Kael could remember, the soft gold band weathered and bent in conformation of Dian’s head.
“He will be buried with honors in the palace cemetery in the morning.” Evan grasped Kael’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m truly sorry, Kael. I did not want to have to bring you such ill tidings, but I thought you should hear it from a friend.”
Evan continued. “The king has proclaimed you, Kael, son of Dian, the Chief Warden of Avar. I will ride with you to the palace if you wish.”
Kael nodded.
Evan clasped Kael’s arm again. “The loss of Dian is a tragedy for us all. I must go now to post the proclamation in the square. I’ll return for you soon.” Evan arose and silently left the house.
Alyn rushed forth and wrapped Kael into her arms. Although she had seen him close to tears before, she had yet to see them spill and knew her stalwart husband would stolidly fight against those tears that needed to be shed.
Stroking his head, she caressed him softly. “Dian was a proud, strong warrior, my husband,” she whispered in the hushed mood of the house. “And it may not be right for one warrior to weep for another, but as his son, do not be ashamed to grieve. Your tears will only honor him. Honor him, Kael. Honor your father now, as any son would do for a father who loved him a dearly as Dian loved you.”
Kael succumbed to the flow of tears he could no longer stem, clamping the coronet against his chest as he clutched onto the refuge of his wife. She hugged him tightly as his tears soaked her bosom, her own tears trickling down her quivering cheeks.
Peering through the curtain of her bedchamber, it broke Elva’s heart to see her papa cry. Papas weren’t supposed to cry. But something had happened to Granpapa. She could understand from the red man’s words that Granpapa would never come home again, and it made her mama and papa cry, covering them in the palest blue. She crawled into the bed, whimpering with a pain in her heart she did not quite understand.
9
The Wizard and the Blastie
The blastie and the wizard walked east down the road to Avar, dust clinging to the hemline of the wizard’s dark, hooded robe. The brown-faced blastie trudged beside him, his boots by now worn and cracked. The baldric across his chest held a short sword, not much bigger than a man’s dagger, but of ample size for the dwarfed being. The wizard beside him was not much taller, and had it not been for the beards upon their chins, they might have been mistaken for a pair of wandering children.
The blastie was beginning to grow weary of this quest. They had travelled throughout most of the Tillaman realm by now, their journey having begun long ago in the south, but still they had had no luck in finding what they sought. They had yet to find the warrior who wore the blue crystal.
“I believe, Blugort, that our journey is about to end,” the wizard spoke as they reached the outskirts of Avar. “I can feel its presence. The warrior is in this village.”
“With a town this small there can’ts be too many warriors,” Blugort said, pleased that his master would finally find the blasted stone. He was tired and wanted t’get home. If it weren’t for the reward his master promised, he would have abandoned this pursuit long ago.
“Our search will be short,” the wizard said. “For I believe I may already know who it is.”
“Then lets finds him and takes it so’s we can get back home.”
“Be patient, Blugort. I have told you, the crystal cannot be taken. It must be given. Now that we’ve found it, we must find a way to make him want to part with it.”
Nearly a year ago this blastie had come to him with a tale about a Tillaman warrior who wore the blue crystal. Blugort’s kin in the south end of the East Woods had aided this warrior during the War of Aarl, and for the past year, he had searched the land in vain. Now, the stone was once again within his reach. This time he would not fail.
Kael rode his gelding past the marketplace, spying Alyn and the children there and reined his horse to a stop. It had been a quiet morning. Perhaps he would relax and tarry with them for a time.
He was preparing to dismount when he caught sight of the two strangers across the way, one of whom was a blastie. He could not recognize if the hooded one was also a blasti
e, for he was taller than the average dwarf, but still shorter than the average man. It was uncommon to see blasties this far north. He would go speak with them and discover their business.
“Papa,” Elva shouted as Kael rode forth. “Mama, look. It’s Papa.”
He was the biggest, most handsome man in the kingdom, Elva thought, and now that he wore Granpapa’s crown, he was even more handsome. She raced to him, raising her tiny arms. “Lift me, up, Papa,” she begged. “Let me ride with you.” How she loved to ride the horse with him, especially when they went really fast across the valley. She loved the feel of the wind in her face and the power of the horse pounding the dirt beneath her. It was like flying on a rainbow. As much as she loved riding with Papa, she could hardly wait until she was big enough to ride all by herself.
“Not now, my little rum kinchin,” Kael told her, hating having to deny her. “But later, I promise we will ride.” She may have been Fane’s child, but she was definitely her papa’s daughter. Sashi was far too young to care and although Lundin endured it, Kael knew his son did not enjoy riding. He was much too timid.
Elva crossed her arms and pouted. “I want to ride now.”
Kael looked to his wife for help and Alyn rushed forward, taking Elva’s hand. “Papa’s on duty right now, Elva. Come, help me with Sashi.”
Elva frowned. “Papa’s duty always gets in the way. Why can’t he just forget about his duty?”
Alyn led the reluctant child away, reminding her of her papa’s importance.
Kael rode on, coming before the two strangers. “Good day,” he said, reining his gelding to a stop.
“Good day, sir,” the hooded one spoke. The voice was deep and resonant and it jarred Kael’s senses. He had not expected such a bold voice from a man of that size.
“I hope you’ll forgive my interest,” Kael said. “But it’s not often we see the presence of Blasties in Avar.”
“I’m sure,” the hooded one said. “Allow me to introduce myself, good sir. I am the wizard Gar, and this is my servant, Blugort. We are merely travellers passing through, perhaps to stay a day or two.”
The Legacy of Skur: Volume One Page 25