“Thanks for the advice,” Walter said.
“That’ll be three marks,” she said.
Walter fished in his satchel, forgetting he had given his last, and only, priceless mark to Mrs. Jacklabee. He groaned.
“C’mon now, I don’t have all day –’tis closing time and the pub is callin’ my name. What? You think this is a charitable operation?” She laughed as she started unwrapping the skewers.
Walter’s eyes glowed a fierce yellow in the light of the setting sun. He emitted a low rumbling growl. “Listen,” he said. She flinched when she saw into his glowing eyes.
“You will give me those out of the kindness of your heart, and I will let you live another day.”
She faced him with her arms crossed over her narrow chest. “Who do you think you are–”
“Quiet,” he hissed. “Hand me the lamb and close your cart, or this sword here will be through your gut. If you tell anyone about this I’ll remove the skin from your bones, slowly.”
She frowned. “Not worth the trouble,” she muttered and tossed the skewers to him.
Walter watched as she pushed her bouncing ramshackle cart east from the square. Did I just really rob a woman who could’ve been my grandmother? I have to get this off, it has to go now. He yanked on a slate bracer with four small spikes, but to no avail.
He felt frantic. The recurrent, crushing weight swelled in his chest, making his hands sweat. His heart raced and the pores on his face opened with nascent sweat. You already are a monster. “No!” he shouted. People near him moved a few steps away and cast curious glances in his direction.
**
Wooden mugs of ale collided in uproarious cheers, and voices laughed over the din of jovial conversation. It was Friday night in The Hissing Gooseberry, and it seemed all of the locals had arrived for the pub’s special, half-mark bacon-and-elixir-flavored ales. Baylan, Walter and Nyset sat together in a corner at a sturdy table, sipping on their dark ales. Walter discovered that Nyset had brought a quite a few marks, and so he hadn’t needed to resort to thievery. He would keep that to himself.
Two fellows you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley arm-wrestled at the table beside them. Three older couples dined together at a wide rectangular table on the side. Walter caught bits of a spirited conversation about the future of elixir beans, and whether it would be a profitable crop in the north. He found himself tempted to chime in, but left it alone, preferring to have a relaxed night.
“Great place! I love the energy,” Nyset said.
“I wonder how they’ve produced such a marvel on the taste buds,” Baylan mused.
“I don’t know, but what I do know is that it sure is nice to do something normal again,” Walter said, wiping foam from his upper lip.
“Hmm, normal,” Baylan said distantly, peering into his mug.
“What is life like in the Silver Tower, Baylan?” Nyset asked.
He emerged from his reverie. “Oh, it’s wonderful! We have the grandest library among all of the realms, there is so much to understand and discover. There are thousands of artifacts from the first Age of Dawn with undiscovered secrets to be extracted. If you want to follow the path of scholarship, as I’ve gathered from our limited time together, that would certainly be the place to go,” he said.
“Fascinating. I’ve read what little I could find of the Tower, but it seems to be difficult to find much written about it in depth.” Nyset said.
“That is by design, dear,” Baylan said, lines forming around his eyes when he smiled.
“Oh?”
“Yes, well, the Tower has many enemies. Fighting a blindfolded foe is preferable.”
“C’mon, you can’t possibly have enemies. Who can fight against this?” Walter said as a tiny indiscernible spark danced in his palm. Baylan wrapped his hand around Walter’s, closing his hand and extinguishing the light.
“Please, Walter, this is not something to put on display. If this wasn’t entirely obvious, your ability to use–” He cleared his throat. “To use both sides of the mark, as it were, and therefore the sundering chains, is rare. You are probably a target now,” he whispered. “Please use discretion with your ability, for all of us,” he said, shifting his eyes to Nyset.
Walter nodded, worry streaking across his eyes, “OK.” Both sides of the mark.
Nyset set her sharp eyes on Baylan. “My parents seem to have developed a bad impression of the Silver Tower, warning me to hide my ability lest someone from the Tower discover it. You seem pleasant enough, why were they so worried?”
A loud thump and a victorious cheer erupted around the arm wrestlers. Baylan peered over his ale towards the commotion and then back at Nyset, brow wrinkled.
“Your parents are wise to be weary of the Silver Tower. Two hundred years ago, someone such as myself would have snatched you from your bed at the slightest inkling of magical talent. Times have changed, mostly. There are still some that adhere to the old ways. I–this isn’t the place for this discussion.” Baylan said, back stiff and eyes tightening.
“Hey, elf shoes, are you man enough to arm wrestle?” a high-pitched yet masculine voice said from beside Walter. A bulky man with a round face and heavily tattooed, crossed arms sneered at Baylan’s shoes with their curling tips. They do look strange for these parts. The man wore an open vest revealing a wide muscular chest and thick abdomen.
“I surely can’t deny a challenge,” he smiled at the man that resembled a stone wall. “What’s the wager?”
“Three marks,” he grunted.
Baylan set his mug down, and waved to the barmaid for a refill. “Agreed,” he said, moving to the small table behind Walter and Nyset. It wasn’t actually a table, but an empty beer keg with stools on either side. The surface had two indentations from years of elbows causing wear.
“Alright, set your marks here, sir. You too, Babs,” said his friend, pointing to a third indentation in the keg.
“Happy, Fretus?” Babs said with annoyance. Fretus had a deep scar stretching from the corner of his lip to his ear, and long hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Alright, no lifting the elbows off the table, a good clean wrestle. When the back of your hand hits the wood, it’s over.”
They nodded, and clasped hands. Babs smiled, proudly displaying his five teeth.
“One… two… three, wrestle!”
Baylan hung on for what seemed like a long second before the back of his hand came smashing down upon the top of the beer keg. “Ow!” He squirmed in the clutches of Babs’ giant hand. “Such strength,” Baylan said, walking away.
“Any other challengers?” Babs boasted with arms wide.
“Hey,” Nyset hissed to Walter. He turned to her, smiling and feasting on her eyes.
“Yes?” he said, slurping down more ale.
“Go and make use of that suit. We don’t have many marks, and I’m sure we’ll need them.”
He sighed. “I thought you had more? Alright, let’s hope this works.”
“I accept,” Walter said, attempting to hide his armor in his cloak and sizing up Babs. Hopefully these two don’t recognize this armor.
Babs leaned in towards Walter with a bright-eyed look. “I’m gonna get me new skin designs!”
Walter inhaled and exhaled with a five count, slowing his breath and quieting his heart, slipping into the calm of Warrior’s Focus.
“What are ya waiting for?” Babs called from his chair. Walter shifted to the empty seat at the keg table. The din of the crowd muted as he turned inward, mentally scanning his muscles, flexing and priming them for work.
“OK, clean wrestling on three. One… two… three, fight!” Fretus yelled.
Their hands locked in a shuddering stalemate. Babs’ expression changed from a smirk to gritted teeth as he struggled against Walter’s strength. He’s strong, but the armor has made me much stronger. Put on a good show – not too much.
Walter allowed his arm to be pressed halfway toward the keg’s surface, wincing i
n a feigned struggle. He started reversing the bout, pushing Babs’ arm a quarter beyond the middle starting position. Babs grunted in surprise and inhaled sharply. Babs was incredibly strong, and Walter did have to work to wrestle him, but, he could finish this at any time. In a burst of explosive force he smashed Babs’ arm onto the keg with a thump.
“What the–?” Babs said, staring at his arm as though it had betrayed him.
“Incredible, a win for the newcomer!” yelled Fretus with his arms overhead.
Walter puffed his chest out and sat a little taller. “Yes!” He clapped, rubbing his hands expectantly. Inquisitive heads turned, wondering what the fuss was about. As Walter reached for his winnings, Fretus’s hand caught his wrist.
“What is this?” Walter said, glaring at Fretus.
“Wait, how about triple or nothing against another challenger?”
Walter took a deep breath. “Alright, but this is the last one.”
Fretus called something to a behemoth of a man who sat hunched over the glowing hearth. He turned, revealing the true size of his massive body. The moisture from Walter’s throat seemed to have fled, causing him to swallow. He reached for his mug on the nearby table where Nyset and Baylan watched wide-eyed. How did I miss this bastard before?
“Good luck,” Baylan said. Nyset nodded reassuringly.
The man had arms almost as wide as Walter’s abdomen and stood two hands taller than him. He had a black bushy beard that enveloped the lower half of his square face, and bright blue eyes.
“Hey, Grimbald! Up for a challenge, champ? Nine marks,” Fretus said, nodding towards Walter.
Grimbald paused, sizing up Walter for a few seconds. “Sure,” he said with enthusiasm, meeting Walter’s stare. He moved with little grace as he plopped onto the stool opposite Walter. His shoulders are like the twin peaks of the Denerian Cliffs – what have I gotten myself into? Walter gnawed on the inside of his cheek.
They clasped hands. Walter felt like a child grasping this man’s engulfing hand. Don’t fail me now, blasted armor. A small crowd of a dozen onlookers gathered around for the excitement. Grimbald wasn’t challenged often, for obvious reasons. “Get’im, Grim!” a stout man shouted.
“One… two… three… wrestle!” Fretus said, beaming with excitement.
Grimbald’s power was stunning. His veins throbbed as he used the full force of his bulk to violently twist Walter’s arm within a finger’s length of the keg’s surface. He was hoping for a quick win. Walter’s mind panicked but his body reacted. His muscles fired to resist Grimbald at the last instant, honed by years of combat training. Grimbald’s expressionless face slowly transformed into a confident smile as he struggled to pin Walter’s hand. “Finally, a real challenger!” he bellowed.
Walter felt beads of sweat forming on his brow. Pain wracked his shoulder and muscle fibers tore as he fought. He’s not human. Walter groaned as he forced his Cerumal-plate-infused body to fight even harder. I will win, I will, you big bastard. Grimbald’s hand moved a smidgen, creeping towards the starting point. Yes, keep pushing. People around them whooped and raised mugs. Grimbald narrowed his glowing blue eyes.
“Enough playing,” Grimbald said. With a renewed surge of strength he slammed Walter’s hand onto the keg with a dull thump. Walter winced as he pulled his arm back and attempted to rub his shoulder through his armor. “The champion reigns!” a woman in the crowd yelled.
“Nice work, Grim,” Fretus said, handing him glittering marks. Grimbald looked into his palm and frowned.
“You said nine, this is seven marks.”
“Well, the dealmaker needs his cut too,” Fretus said. Grimbald grunted, stuffing the marks in his pocket. He turned his bulk to face Walter.
“You are very strong for… for a man of your size.” Grimbald folded his arms.
“Uh, thanks. I see you’ve been eating well,” Walter said with a nod.
“I was always big. It can help for some things, but if you want to blend in, not so good,” he said, soft-spoken.
“I can imagine. My name is Walter,” the boy said, offering his hand. Grimbald took his hand and Walter braced for a hand-crushing shake. Grimbald had a surprisingly fine calibration of his strength, as his shake felt like that of a normal man’s.
Nyset emerged amongst the dispersing crowd. Walter looked to the table to see Baylan frantically scribbling away in his notebook. Walter shook his head. He spends more time in books than reality. “That was impressive,” she said, putting an arm around him. “But now we’re really broke.”
“I see you’ve met my boy’s wrath,” said a beaming man beside Grimbald, wiping down an ale mug with a sodden cloth. He wore an open, light-green vest over a cream tunic. He had a tuft of hair that wrapped around his bald head and a bizarrely trimmed mustache.
“Need rooms for the night, travelers?”
“Is it that obvious that we’re not from here?” Walter replied.
“I see many come through here. I know the locals.”
Walter nodded.
“Where y’all headed?”
“We’re not sure–”
“Midgaard,” Nyset said over him. Walter glared at her. She blushed and her lips formed a line.
“Yes, probably Midgaard,” Walter said. Grimbald turned from another conversation at the mention of Midgaard.
“Oh, wonderful!” said the mustached man. “Grim is headed that way tomorrow as well – you will travel together? He just turned eighteen, and is now old enough to join the Midgaard Falcon. They promised you an officer’s position if you joined, didn’t they, Grim?”
“Yeah, pay seems good,” Grimbald said, yawing. Nyset and Walter shared a glance. Walter imperceptibly shook his head at her. Baylan slid up behind them, listening. The moon shone brightly through an open window beside them.
“What is your name, sir?” Nyset asked.
“Charles, I run this lovely operation,” he said, waving his arm in a wide arc. “And yours, young lady?”
“It’s Nyset, pleasure to meet you. This is Walter and Baylan, my travel companions.”
“So, yes, you will travel together?”
“No–” Walter said.
“Yes, in exchange for beds for the night we will bring Grimbald to Midgaard,” Nyset said, interrupting Walter. He gritted his teeth.
Charles tugged on one of his mustaches. “I only have two beds left, if you want to call them that. You’ll have to sleep in the barn. I’ll have one of the servants get them set up for you.”
“Done,” she said. “We’ll see you in the morning, then. Goodnight.”
“Nicely done,” Baylan said, as they made their way to the attached barn.
“Great, now we’ll really blend in. At least it’s not like anyone is trying to kill me or anything,” Walter said.
“I think he would be quite capable of fighting if the need arose,” Baylan noted.
“So you’re taking her side now?”
“No – well – I think it will be OK,” Baylan said.
Walter shook his head. “I hope so,” he said, yawning and slumping onto the small wooden cot the servant had set up. Nyset slid into bed next to him. Her warmth lulled him into a deep sleep.
Chapter 20 – Midgaard
“Within my flesh I stood in a new land and found streams of rippling souls, awaiting domination.” –from Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness
Walter’s eyes opened to the screech of a crowing rooster on the barn roof. The edge of the morning sun had just started cresting the horizon, casting pink and blue rays across the open skyline. The scent of hay reminded of him of home and feeding the few dairy cows. It crunched under his weight as he shifted his body.
Nyset stirred and resumed softly snoring. This was his first time sleeping in the comforting arms of a woman. For a moment, he felt happy. A glacier forged in the torrent of the passing week encased his heart. Her warmth had punctured a hole in the glacier, allowing in a sliver of warm light. But how long will this feelin
g last?
The rooster stalked into the barn, pecking for insects. Walter narrowed his eyes and outstretched his right arm, allowing Stormcaller to spring to life. Not long. He slashed at the rooster, bisecting it as it released its last squawk. The other tendrils of Stormcaller had struck the ground and small flames danced as smoke spiraled from the layers of hay on the floor.
“Shit!” He jumped out of bed, pushing Nyset aside. He started smothering the flames with his thick cloak, snuffing them out.
“What happened?” Nyset said groggily. Baylan appeared beside him, stomping on tiny flames with his boot.
“Can’t say I’ve ever awoken to almost being burned alive,” Baylan said drly, eying him.
“Must have been some kind of spontaneous combustion, that happens sometimes,” Walter said.
Nyset lay propped up on her elbows, staring bewildered. “What is wrong with you?”
Walter growled and stalked from the barn. He found a quiet spot on the outskirts of the village where the thick forest of the Woodland Plunge met scrubland, and he worked through the Sid-Ho forms. He jabbed with his left fist, delivered a cross with his right, grabbed his imaginary opponent with both hands behind the neck and delivered a flying knee, followed by a spinning kick. He worked his body through every maneuver he knew as clinking and the scent of morning supper permeated the air from The Hissing Gooseberry. An hour passed and he panted from the exertion.
He stared into the forest, hands on knees as he caught his breath. That was what I needed. Three shimmering humanoid figures materialized before his eyes, wavering in and out of existence. One was a young boy with a gaping neck wound, another a man with a curved sword through his chest, the third an elderly woman with a knife lodged in her eye socket. They stood between trees and shrubs, unfathomably without disturbing the vegetation. Walter stood tall, taking a few steps back. “What do you want with me?” Their bluish light became wisps of black smoke, dispersing in a gust. Am I losing my faculties? What is this madness? His skin crawled.
Walter strode inside. “Ah, Walter, decided to finally wake?” Charles said, smiling and flipping a flour cake on the stove.
Stormcaller (Book 1) Page 15