Tahr (The Days of Ash and Fury Book 1)

by Sean Hinn

  The little gnome completed her climb, and pulled herself out from the hole, now just barely two gnomes wide, and her sandaled feet stood upon the soil of Tahr, at the very throat of the Maw. Shyla savored the sweetness of the life of the world.

  She knew at that moment, at the very center of her being, that she was not like other gnomes. Yet she did not care.

  Shyla wept.

  ---

  Oort reached over to wipe the tears from Thinsel’s eyes as they watched their daughter, their only child, stand before the Court of Elders. She batted his hand away, trembling, then thought better of it and reached for him.

  The Court was held in the largest cavern in this region of the Maw, the size and shape of a small amphitheater, the floor sloping gently down towards the center of the room and tiers cut into the stone, allowing all to witness the pronouncements of justice. Rows of torches in intricately carved stone sconces lined the aisles and walls, and Shyla was led down through the centermost aisle toward the floor of the Court, escorted by a pair of armored gnomish sentries on either side of her, their spears towering nearly three times as high as the little gnome, causing her to appear even smaller than she felt at that moment. She felt the eyes upon her from all sides and heard the quietly uttered oaths and prayers for justice to be done.

  The flames of no less than a hundred foot-high candles burned near the stage area, arranged in concentric circles around the slightly taller dais upon which Shyla was bid to stand. If the desired effect was to make the accused feel as if they were walking into Disorder’s own realm, the design exceeded its objective. Hundreds of gnomes stood in attendance, their duties forgotten for the moment, many more than usual for a trial, as the unusual nature of the charges – and the charged – were indeed rare.

  Gnomes were not layabouts. This sort of thing simply did not happen. And Shyla Greykin was a name that had spread throughout the tunnels like wildfire those many years ago, as did the rumors of her witchery. Those who had opinions on either side of the matter held them strongly, a few in strong support of the girl, but many more adamantly opposed.

  The Head Elder, Ky’rl Gypstone, rose from his seat behind a long stone table situated directly in front of the dais. The table sat only slightly more than four feet from the ground, yet Shyla could barely see the seated Elder’s chin over the lip of the slab. The eight other Elders, seated four to each side of him, arose as one as he cracked his silver hammer three times, slowly and deliberately, upon the stone. The first rap was barely heard over the susurrating of the crowd; the third echoed for what seemed to Shyla like an eternity. Upon that final strike, a full platoon of gnomish sentries took one step forward in unison from behind the rearmost aisle, their boots clapping loudly together in concert, making their presence known to all in attendance. It was not a trivial gesture, as the restless gnomish people were prone to a mob-like mentality, and but for the threat of the guard, order could not be kept. At the thunderous echo of those boots coming together, the Elders sat as one, and Shyla nearly swooned in terror.

  Her mother did, and was caught by the gentle arms of her father.

  “Shyla Greykin,” the Elder spoke, his sharp, clear voice easily carrying the hall. “Yeh come yerself before us today to answer to the charges of indolence and dereliction of duty. To these charges, what say yeh?”

  Shyla cleared her throat and willed her tiny body to cease its trembling, reminding herself that she must be strong today, for Ma.

  “Yes and no, ah, that is, no and yes, me good Elder.”

  The crowd began its first whisper at this, as did the now seated Elders, and Ky’rl Gypstone was quick to reach for his hammer, stifling the muttering of the gathering with a single whack.

  “What do yeh mean, yes and no, and no and yes, girl? Speak plain before yer Elders!” The old gnome was clearly already agitated, and Shyla recognized immediately that she was on loose granite.

  “I meant no disrespect, me Elder, what I mean to say is, that I canna argue the charge o’ dereliction, but indolent I ain’t, nor have I ever been.”

  “They are one in the same, young lady, as yeh well know.”

  “Then why’d yeh make ‘em two different charges, me Elder?”

  Again the murmuring began in the chamber, louder this time, and Shyla could almost see the cheeks of the Elders redden, as one at the end of the long table, a female she didn’t recognize, put her hand over her mouth to hide a giggle.

  Ky’rl cracked the hammer again, loud as a stonesnap this time. “I will have silence!”

  And silence he had, as all in attendance nearly froze. Shyla’s mind raced, instinctively realizing at this point that winning over the old grizzled gnome would be impossible. The granite isn’t just loose, it’s a damned slide already, and I ain’t even said but a word yet. But could she win over the crowd? Or perhaps even one of the Elder gnomes on either side of him? It seemed that at least one Elder in attendance here took a bit of pleasure from seeing Ky’rl Gypstone frustrated.

  “I have here, in me own hand Shyla Greykin, sworn letters from the gnomes yeh work with tellin’ o’ dozens o’ times yeh showed up late fer yer work in the kitchens. Do yeh deny it?”

  “Nope.”

  Ky’rl Gypstone’s jaw dropped at this. Nope?

  “Well then I think we’ve heard all we’re needin’ to hear, from yer own mouth, no less!” The thoroughly incensed gnome crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Well then whadja haul me down here fer, if I ain’t to get a chance to speak up for meself?”

  That did it. The crowd behind her didn’t break out into a whisper, or a mumble, but into a raucous mix of oaths, laughter, and calls for the little gnome’s head. It took more than a few bangs of the hammer to quiet the crowd this time, and finally, the little old gnomish woman at the end of the table stood and raised her arms, making a slight twisting gesture with her hands. After but a moment, this calmed the crowd, and even comforted the frightened Shyla a bit. As Shyla looked into the kind reddish eyes of the woman, who then looked directly into her own eyes, she knew that some magic was at work there.

  “Elder Gypstone, I wish to address the accused, please.”

  Ky’rl stopped banging his hammer, gave Shyla a glare that spoke volumes, and waved his hand dismissively at the old female as he sat down, yielding the floor.

  “Shyla,” the gnome spoke softly and clearly, “I am Cindra Sandshingle, do yeh know of me?”

  Cindra Sandshingle! Shyla had heard tales of the magic Cindra had employed to save their people the last time the goblins had cross-dug their tunnels…but that was a century ago! No gnome lived that long! Shyla had been sure the Lady was long gone…

  “I, ah, yes me lady, er, Elder Cindra, I have heard o’ yeh.” Shyla was at a complete loss, wholly off her guard.

  “I would have yeh tell me what yeh have to say, Shyla Greykin, but do not dissemble, for as yeh know, I have magic, and I will know if yeh lie to me.”

  “Yes, me lady.”

  “And with a tone courteous to the Court, I’ll be addin’.”

  “Yes, me lady.”

  “Then go on, child, I’ll be hearin’ ye.”

  Something about the way Cindra spoke to her, something in the crystalline quality of her voice, or perhaps the way she looked at Shyla, no, into Shyla, completely disarmed the young gnome, so much so that she immediately began to cry, not only out of sorrow for herself, but also out of a sudden sense of….something? Peace? Release?

  It all came rushing out of her then, before the hundreds of gnomes there in that chamber. From the day she spoke to the tunnelers, to the day she heard the stonesnap that began the crumble, hearing them die in screams of horror, to the day she found her secret route to the surface, to her private love of mathematics, and science, and astronomy, and how no one understood her, and how she wasn’t no witch and could never hurt no one never anyhow, and oh how it hurt when she would see the staring eyes follow her, and the shame she felt when awoke late, when she arrived late
to work, how much harder she worked to make up for her embarrassment, yet the pull, the insatiable need she felt to climb her tunnel would not abate, for she needed to count the stars, and measure the progress of the Twins, and to learn, and to make the notes on her parchment, for didn’t it matter? Were not the mysteries of life and element and time important, to her people, to all peoples?

  When she finished, there were many with moist eyes in the great chamber, yet Shyla detected the sorrow in the eyes of the dear old gnomish woman she had thought to be her champion, and knew what the verdict of the Court would be.

  The Elders retired to a nook for no more than a few turns to debate their decision, and in that time, Shyla looked back upon her parents. She saw pride in her Papa’s eyes, but so much sorrow in Ma. She looked back into the crowd; more than a few faces she recognized, and she saw pity reflected there in some, yet in others, the same hatred she had come to know her whole life.

  For she was not like other gnomes, she knew. Nor could she ever be.

  “Shyla Greykin.”

  It was Cindra who spoke, not Ky’rl Gypstone, who was standing beside the gnomish sorceress with what looked like shame etched upon his face.

  “We all, to a gnome, are sorry beyond words for the pain yeh have known.” Cindra glanced to the other Elders threateningly. “On behalf of we Elders, it gives us no pleasure at all to see one of G’naath suffer the cruelties yeh have, through no fault of yer own.”

  Shyla looked down for this last part, for she could not look into the eyes of this kind lady as she said these next words.

  “But our law is our law child, and by yer own admission, ye’ve not pulled yer weight.” Shyla could distantly hear the sobs of her mother now, as if they were coming from down a long, empty tunnel. “So, with me sorrow goin’ with yeh, yer to be expelled from G’naath,” her mother wailed now, “fer a period of eight seasons.”

  What? Eight seasons? Wasn’t banishment forever? Shyla was in shock.

  “Me lady, I don’t–”

  “Quiet, child. Yeh’ll be required to leave at dawn three days hence, or the night prior if yeh prefer to leave by the light of the Twins. I bid yeh come see me afore yeh leave. This court is adjourned.”

  IV: THE WHISTLING WENCH, MOR

  “That’s eight! Two to go, my dear fellows, and you’ll be buying my dinner!”

  Barris peered across the smoke-filled tavern over the heads of the two dozen or so patrons eating their suppers, watching the brash young man boast of his throw, and shook his head, returning his attention to the barkeep. “I wish to buy some provisions for the road, friend,” the knight said to the burly man, who looked back at him with surprise.

  “The general store’s on Taper street elf, and the butcher’s right beside it.”

  “The stores are closed for the night, and I must be on my way this evening. Will you sell me some bread and cheese, and perhaps a bit of wine to fill my skin?”

  The innkeeper leaned over the counter and glowered at the elf. “My food is for my guests, elf, and if you’ll not be staying…”

  Barris sighed, understanding the nature of the game. “Then allow me to pay for a room for three nights, good keeper, which you may still rent to another, only help me fill my sack with all the dried meats, cheeses, nuts, and whatever else you would part with for such a price.”

  A slight smile then, from the innkeeper. “If I’m to fill your sack elf, it’ll be five nights. And the wine’ll be extra.”

  “Pay up, boys, that’s ten in a row! Ha-hah!” Barris heard the young man across the tavern holler with joy, clearly unaware that he would not likely leave this inn unchallenged, no matter the wager.

  Barris leaned in over the counter, a hand’s width now from the innkeeper’s face.

  “My name is not ‘elf’, keeper. It is Barris of Thornwood, and I believe you wish to make a more equitable exchange than what you have just proposed.”

  The innkeeper blanched and took a step back, only now looking down at the brooch that rested on Barris’ collarbone, as recognition began to flicker behind his eyes.

  “Ah, my apologies, First Knight, I may have misspoke.”

  Barris lowered his thick, dark eyebrows just a touch more. “You did not misspeak, friend, yet I would request that you reconsider.”

  “Of course, of course. Ah, three days rent will be fair enough, although the wine…”

  Barris did not blink.

  “Ah, the wine’ll be a gift from the Wench, we’ve always been a friend of the Wood folk, don’t ya know. Uh, a scale and a half seem about fair to you?”

  “I will pay two full scales, but your best and oldest wine if you please, in a new skin.”

  “Fair enough, el–, ah, Barris. Sir.”

  Barris moderated his expression as the man took the four coins and brought his sack back to the kitchens to be filled. He did not begrudge the man for seeking the best price, yet nor would he allow himself to be cheated, for an elf is nothing if not prideful.

  He settled at the bar and turned to watch the commotion developing in the far side of the inn, where the young blonde haired man had just thrown – and stuck - ten dinner knives inside a target not bigger than a human head from more than ten paces.

  “You’re a cheat, boy, and I don’t know how ya did it, but I’ll not be payin’,” this from the biggest of the five men now forming a semicircle around the youngish man.

  “And neither will I,” said another.

  “Nor I,” remarked the third. The remaining two stood with their arms crossed, words unsaid.

  Barris saw the young man only smile wider at this…perhaps he is thinking to charm the men? Not likely, thought Barris, as he watched the drama play out.

  “Aw, c’mon fellas, I didn’t cheat, I’m just really good with a dagger is all, always have been. Tell ya what, I’ll give you all a chance to get your money back, and if I win, I’ll ask nothing extra from any of you, only what I’m owed so far.”

  “Hmph.” The big one spoke. “What’s the bet, kid?”

  The young man cleared his throat. “Alright then. I’ll bet I can hit that target, ten times again, but this time, while riding on big Earl’s back.”

  They all roared with laughter at this, even big Earl, who was certainly the least merry of the quintet.

  “You’re gonna ride my back, hit that target ten times, and stick it every one? It can’t be done.”

  “It can be done, my outsized friend, and I’ll do it. And you may prance around all you like. All I ask, though, is that you all put the money on the table before I try, so that I know I’m not being swindled.”

  “He thinks to take the money and run, Earl,” this from the tall, wiry one. “Well good luck tryin’! I’m in, and I’ll be standing over the money with my own dagger if ya try.”

  “To Fury with ya, boy,” Earl said, “I’m in too, if just to watch you make yourself a fool.” The money left the men’s pockets, and sat there in a pile on the table, Wiry standing behind it, dagger in hand.

  The young man sighed. “Well, let me get on up there, Earl. Come on now, bend over a bit, you’re a big one!”

  The huge man bent down and let the thrower climb onto his back as the innkeeper returned to Barris, full sack and new skin in hand.

  “Here you go, sir Barris. I hope your travels…wait, what in Disorder?” The innkeeper started around the bar, seeing the boy struggle to climb onto the back of the massive man.

  Barris raised a hand to stay the man, smiling mischievously. “You’ll want to watch this. I believe we’re all in for a good show.”

  “Well as long as it’s not a show that ends with my tavern busted up! Hey boy!”

  “Be still, friend, I will not allow them to destroy your inn.”

  Earl spoke as he turned towards the target, the brazen young man straddling his back, an arm around his collar. “I’ll even be a good sport boy, and let you throw the first one with me standing still!”

  “Alright, well, clear the target the
n gentlemen, and one of you bring me the first knife!”

  The innkeeper audibly moaned at this, and brought his hand to his head, rubbing the tension from his brow. “Aw, Fury, here we go.”

  The young man lined up his shot, and with a solid thwack, hit the target dead solid center. The tavern went quiet, and Barris saw a man at the far end of the bar put his head in his hands, as if the sight of it all troubled him greatly. Odd…

  “Yeah, yeah, good shot boy, but try it now, with me dancin’ all around!”

  And Earl danced. He slid left and right, spinning wildly, and his men began to clap in rhythm as the young man struggled to find his aim. He timed his second shot to match the turn of the great dancing Earl…

  …and his knife missed the target completely, clanging harmlessly off the wall and onto the floor.

  “Haaaaaaah! I knew ya couldn’t do it boy!” Earl laughed, and the men clapped, and they all danced around now, as if they couldn’t be more pleased with themselves.

  The boy slid off Earl’s back, turned to bow dramatically at the diners in the tavern, who were all clapping and laughing now, and finally turned to the big man.

  “Well, I have to admit, my good Earl, you danced with much more spirit than I had counted on. You have bested me.”

  “You’re a damned fool boy, but I like you,” Earl clapped the boy on the back as he smiled ear to ear.

  “Well, I’ll give you a reason to like me all the more, friend.” The boy leaned up and whispered into Earl’s ear. Earl’s eyes went wide as saucers as he listened, and his smile widened even further. The bulky man looked to the bar, and turned back to nod at the blond-haired hustler.

  The knife-thrower walked confidently up to the man at the end of the bar, Earl and his entourage in tow.

  “I’ll be having that ring now, good merchant.”

  “No you most certainly will NOT!” said the man, trying to appear taller in his stool than he really was.

  “What’s all this about then, Earl?” asked Wiry.

  Earl just smiled and shook his head.