She extended a hand and chanted, calling on the druid spirits to answer. The ground trembled and the earth cracked at her feet. She knew she was in the right spot, and yet nothing rose up out of the well to meet her hand; she had expected the staff. She closed her eyes and tried again. After several attempts, she sat down and rested.
She pulled out her goat skin and took a long drink.
As she sat in the shade of the well eating a piece of beef jerky, she saw something poking out of the ground down the street. She pushed herself up and walked down to take a look. There, in the middle of the street, twenty paces away was something wooden buried in the dirt, only extending a few inches out of the ground.
She wondered if it were possible…
She extended her hand and chanted. The ground shook at her feet and spider cracks fanned out in every direction as the earth opened up. The wooden tip wiggled in the dirt and slowly edged its way up, exposing a staff. A smile spread across her face as the staff cleared the dirt and rose to meet her palm. The ground stopped trembling and sealed itself. She held the dusty staff firmly in her grip and felt its warmth spread up her arm. She knew that this was what she had come for. This was the staff of the druid, left here in hiding all these centuries.
She opened her pack and pulled out her old dress. She used the dress to wipe it free of dirt and grime as she poured water from her water-skin onto the dress and wiped away the centuries of mud and debris. As she rubbed, the wood began to glow and she and was surprised at how quickly the luster had come back. She examined it carefully and found the stones of power embedded in the shaft, including the thunder-stone embedded in the very end. The stones made her fingers tingle as she touched them one by one. She had forgotten the feel of them. The skill for making them had been lost with the last druid. A pity really, they could have been used to do such good in the world. She smiled and held the staff lovingly.
She was thankful that Skra never found it—his intentions were not to use the staff to do good, of that she was sure. As far as she was concerned, the man was a waste of skin. She bent a knee and said a prayer to the gods to watch over O’Rôy. He had been right. She never would have found the staff without his help. She also needed to thank Men’ak. That boy had a way with the dreams. She was certain that he would play a pivotal role in the events that were starting to transpire. She hoped he would be up to it. His constitution was a bit weak.
Hagra left the town, not wanting to waste any more time. She stepped into the forest and heard the dryads talking. A huge smile spread across her face. She didn’t think she would ever hear the musical sound of their voices again. She used the staff, touching it to trees as she walked along the narrow path. Now that she had the staff, she needed to find someone to wield it. She could feel its power, but she hadn’t the skills needed to make it work to its full potential.
She found a secluded spot, deep in the forest, and sat down on the ground to chant. It had been a very long time since she had sung the Song of Deidra. She hoped she still remembered the words.
For a long time, she swayed and sung the tune. The air was still—and no answer came. Then, the wind rustled through the leaves. A voice rose from the leaves, half sounding like the whisper of leaves in the fall. Her sisters answered.
“Hagra, it has been a long time,” the voice said. “I am…surprised…to hear from you.”
“Aye, it has been a long time, mother.”
Hagra stared at the mist that had gathered and formed into a face. The face had long flowing hair and hollow eyes. It seemed ageless.
“Why have you contacted us?” the voice asked rather standoffish.
Hagra caught the tone and sighed. “We need to talk.”
“We have little to talk about. You have violated the vow of non-interference.”
“I did,” Hagra admitted. “I broke that vow over nine-hundred years ago. Things have changed…”
“And they have not…” countered another voice.
Hagra shifted her position, trying to get a little more comfortable. “I didn’t come here to fight. I came here to ask your help.”
“You dare ask for our help?” the voice asked incredulously.
“I do,” Hagra nodded. “There is a great evil that is rising. We need to act.”
“Do we? We do not need to do anything…”
Hagra snorted. “Yer just as arrogant as ye were when I left. Ye know what has risen, and I’m guessing it’s a dark mage. Ye also know that the Keep has been attacked.”
“You may be right, but that still does not mean we should interfere.”
“Ifin ye want to be left alive to be able to monitor prophecy ye will…”
“You are so sure of our demise, daughter. Remember, we survived the battles of Ror just fine.”
“Yes,” Hagra swore. “Only because of the Keep, the Ten, and all those who died to protectin’ ye.”
“Nonetheless—”
“There are none to step up and protect ye now!” she screamed. “They’re all dead!”
There was silence on the other side.
“Ifin ye do not help us, I will march the gates of halla right through yer little valley,” Hagra threatened. “Then ye can choose. Maybe ye’ll come to yer senses!”
“You would see us removed from the pattern?”
“I would. Ye serve no useful purpose ifin all ye do is watch!”
“Our purpose is to watch,” hissed a reply.
“That isn’t a purpose,” Hagra countered. “The world doesn’t care whether ye watch or not. If the information doesn’t serve either good or evil, it is of little consequence or use.”
“We have purpose…”
“Bah! Ye don’t! And ye know it! Yer just too damn pigheaded to admit it. Ifin yer as good at reading prophecy as ye think ye are, then ye should know what’s coming. Ifin it don’t scare ye none, then ye ain’t been reading the prophecy correctly.”
“We will talk…” the voice said, “but only if you can bring the Keeper along. We do not promise that we will act.”
Hagra stared into the mist that had gathered about her.
“Ye know what yer askin’?”
“We know,” came the arrogant deadpanned reply
Hagra spat at the ground and shook her head. “Yer asking me to have him marked.”
“We are. It is our price!”
“But he is the Keeper and he’s the only one standing between you and the dark one!”
“We know…”
“And yet you insist on this…childish request.”
“May we remind you that we were not the ones who betrayed.”
“Neither was he. It was the Ten that did it.”
“Yes, and they have paid the price, but the Keep stood by and let them have free reign. They did nothing to stop the slaughter.”
“And exactly how were they supposed to do that against the Ten?”
“The same way we did.”
Hagra snorted. She knew the price they had paid. “He’d be a fool to agree.”
“Then his need is not that great.”
“You risk the end of the known world with yer stupid requests.”
“It is not us who are here with requests for help. Do you agree?”
Hagra was quiet. She knew that Ja’tar would never agree to be marked. He would be giving up much. The Keep would be thrown into chaos.
“I can try,” she agreed, but privately she wasn’t so sure she could convince Ja’tar to go along. “But, you have to promise me that you will not kill him or injure him in any way.”
She listened for an answer. She waited a long time.
The wind rustled through the leaves and the mist dissipated. On the tails of the wind she heard her response.
“We….agree.”
Hagra stood and used the staff to call upon the dryads. The dryads individually have little magic or power, but as a collective, they controlled the forests and possessed strong life magic. Hagra could see the small faerie creatures pe
eking their noses from behind their trees. Their green skin and diminutive size hid them from the view of most. Most thought they had just seen leaves rustle, but if you knew what to look for, their tiny winged features could be made out.
The wind blew through the trees showing her the direction to travel, as the trees talked amongst themselves. She watched as word spread out through the valley and then rippled back. The trees bent and showed her a path. She broke into a run and followed them. She was surprised because the direction she was going was north, away from the Keep. She wondered what could have possibly gotten Ja’tar out of the Keep and her brow furrowed. Whatever it was, it could not have been good.
She came to a clearing and saw one of the ancient gates. She walked to the gate and placed her hands on the stone and chanted. The gate began to glow and a deep mist gathered near her feet. She knew the place this one went, so she forwent entering the destination into the stones. She stepped over the threshold and disappeared.
Taila led Margret, Gretchen and Wanda, down a narrow path at the back of the Keep. They carried but small bundles, personal items, mementoes. The path wound along the side of the mountain and stopped before a tall nondescript slab of rock.
Taila dug in her pack for the stone. She pulled the green emerald out and held it before her face and chanted. The rock started to smoke.
“We will not have much time to cross,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “When the mist clears, we will have but seconds.”
The mist formed. Taila saw the lush landscape she had left behind many centuries ago. Her eyes welled up with tears and she stepped through. The remaining sisters hurried, their skirts flowing in the soft breeze as they stepped across the threshold.
The mist stopped and faded, leaving nothing but rock.
Change of Plan
Brag sat in the bustling tavern, making love to his ale. He had woken in a sour, disagreeable disposition this morning, but the numbness of many drinks had mellowed his mood…a bit. Halla, it wasn’t even ten yet and already he was fed-up and angry with the world. Seemed that everyone wanted a piece of him. ‘Brag do this…Brag get me that’… on and on it went, from morning ‘til dusk, he never had a moment’s peace. Toulereau was the worst, but he couldn’t very well say no to a lord, could he. He drained his glass, feeling sorry for himself, and grabbed the one that was already sitting in wait at his table.
He scowled at the crowd filled with faces he didn’t recognize. What with all the newcomers in town, his favorite watering hole was always busy these days; he couldn’t hide, and he had to resort to pulling rank to get a seat at his own table... He shook his head, unable to believe that Grump had given away his table! He reached over and shoved a patron who had stumbled too close and bumped his arm, causing him to almost spill his beer. The man looked over his shoulder, nodded and went back to telling a loud yarn, complete with animated gesticulation.
Grump had better watch his self, or he may just take his business elsewhere. He had a choice! A new arrival from Ovalbrook had set up business at the far end of town across the street from the apothecary. If Brag had his druthers, he would have no part of it…even though he threatened Grump daily with his defection. Not that he held anything against the new business owner, it was just that he and Grump had history. History was important. But he would only take so much. A man had his limits.
Brag shrugged to himself and stared at the amber liquid in his glass. The drink they served at the far end of town was different, darker. It tasted bitter to him and thick. Still, it was popular with the southern folks who were eager to put down their coin to buy a tankard. Besides, it packed more of a wallop; Brag enjoyed the fact that he could enjoy several tankards of Grump’s home brew without falling off his stool.
The man who ran the new establishment came from a little town just outside of Edu’bar. Brag couldn’t recall or pronounce his name, but the man had a thick red beard and spoke with a harsh accent. To Brag, he sounded like he was talking with his mouth full. For the time being, he served his drink in an open tent, but business being what it was, he had quickly built up enough of a following to start building a proper tavern. On the positive note, he had girls! Not the kind you’d take home to your mother though, rather the kind you would seek for comfort. They wore skirts cut too short for the imagination and their blouses hung open more than they should. Brag smiled. Even if the beer wasn’t the best, the girls more than made up for it. The other women in town were none too happy about it; they gossiped and pointed whenever one of the new girls strolled by. Brag grunted. Weren’t that just the way women were?
He rolled the drink around the edge of the fancy glass and admired the deep foam of bubbles that floated on the surface. He liked Grump’s place. He could escape his duties, crawl into his glass and quiet the world from shouting in his ears.
When Dra’kor arrived, he didn’t even look up. Dra’kor pulled out a chair and waved at Grump. Grump nodded, already knowing what his favorite was and pumped the beer engine in preparation to pull the draft from the keg. More often than not, Dra’kor’s beer was free. He was a wizard and he had done the town more favors than they could ever repay. Grump felt it was the least he could do.
“More people are arriving at the gate,” Dra’kor commented, wiping the sweat from his brow after he removed his hat.
“Aye,” Brag said, not willing to comment further.
“Toulereau wants us to move the wall out another thirty feet.”
“Does he now…?”
Dra’kor nodded. He didn’t agree with the move and felt that the entire town should be marching to Toulereau’s castle while they still could. The longer they waited, the longer the line of wagons would be. As it was, he knew he may be forced to make several trips.
“Were you just out there helping?”
Dra’kor nodded. “A little magic goes a long way to making those poles lighter to move around.”
Brag grunted. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this magic. “Glad you could help,” he muttered.
Dra’kor’s face broke into a smile as wide as his hat, as he accepted the complement. He felt good about his ability to help the good folks of Three Rivers. It felt more like home to him than the Keep ever did.
Things had settled down a bit. People had gotten accustomed to him being a wizard and were no longer filled with fear. When people first heard, they expected him to go around commanding everyone and turning those who disagreed with him into toads or newts. Dra’kor shook his head at the thought. Sometimes, people were just funny. They feared what they didn’t know, concocting all kinds of stories in their heads about what-ifs and might-bes. Of course, some of those stories had a grain of truth to them, but most were just fabrications of overzealous imaginations.
Those that knew him came around first; the newcomers seemed to take it in stride. He used his gifts to heal those that arrived. Many had not weathered the journey well. His skills had been greatly appreciated and word spread like wildfire. He spent a better part of each day working with Sheila in the apothecary, and tending the food stores; keeping them safe from rats and keeping the vile magic at bay so that the crops could grow proper. The rest of his time was spent far outside the walls, working with Sheila on his magic.
He now was able to wield several spells with sufficient power that he felt like a wizard. For the longest time, only the spell for fire would work. He spent countless hours trying to adapt other spells, but for many, the key to their success eluded him. He knew that given enough time, he would be able to figure them out. Trouble was, he didn’t feel he had time. The frustration grew with each day that passed. His notebook was filled with his attempts and failures.
“Toulereau wants us to make a trip to Rolling Rock and Glenn Haven.”
Brag set his glass down. “What the halla for?”
Dra’kor shrugged. “He thinks that there are people stranded there that need an escort. One of the men that arrived yesterday said he was from there and that everyone was holed up i
n the church. I guess they have better than twenty-five folks there, half of them children.”
“Twenty-five? Might as well be a hundert..” Brag grumbled under his breath.
“I guess that the hamlet of Glenn Haven is bigger. Who knows how many are stuck there.”
Brag slammed is glass down on the table, causing Grump to frown.
“Shit! We don’t have room for more people. Can’t he get that through that thick, little, elf-head of his? We can’t feed them either!”
Dra’kor raised a brow, surprised at Brag’s outburst.
“Well, I’m not going,” Brag emphatically said, “…at least until I’ve had another beer or two.”
Dra’kor suppressed his smile. “I’ll be waiting by the gate…” he said, as he pushed his stool back, drained his brew and pushed his way through the crowd, heading toward the door.
“You’ll be waiting for a while,” Brag yelled across the room, causing several heads to turn in his direction.
“What are you looking at?” he hissed, motioning to Grump for a refill.
Toulereau sat in his room at the inn and read the scroll that had been delivered by messenger early that morning. Killoroy was marching on Jonovan. Jonovan had sent word to his brothers, O’Brian and Igneous. Igneous was a brute, rough around the edges and just plain blood-crazy. If he joined the battle, all halla would break loose. And his men…they were worse than most. They didn’t live by the warrior’s code. They were berserkers. Toulereau shuddered. There would be much collateral damage.
Toulereau held his head low, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t slept in four days. How could he afford to rest when the world was coming apart at the seams. Reaching across the small table, he grabbed a pot of hot water, burning his fingers. He poured the water into his mug and pulled a leather pouch from his pocket, opened it and stared into the pouch, considering his choice. Hesitantly, he poured some of the red powder into his cup, measuring it carefully. The potent root would keep him focused…for now, but he would pay a price. Eventually he would crash, perhaps sleeping for days, but not today. He stirred the liquid and drank it down, scrunching up his face from the bitter taste.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 41