BlackThorn

by DeWayne Kunkel

  Carl smiled, “Have it your way. Though I have to admit, at my age sleeping on the floor is none too good for my back.”

  Casius smiled at the mans honesty, “I can not thank you enough for what you have done.” Casius wrapped the blanket across his shoulders and stretched out on the floor.

  Carl smiled, “Tis nothing, any decent folk would do the same.”

  “Peyetor was a lucky man to have parents such as you.” He did not hear them leave the room, falling into a deep sleep as his head touched the pillow.

  Winowa crept through the room and extinguished the oil lamp. A soft darkness settled within the cote, broken by the flickering light of the low fire burning within the hearth. Outside the wind howled in fury, shaking the stout walls of the Dunburrows’ home.

  Carl stood in the doorway for a short while. He watched the shadows play across the walls as he smoked his pipe. The memory of his son's death, sent tears streaming down his cheeks. “I could not save Peyetor,” he whispered in the darkness. “But I will not fail again.” He tapped the contents of his pipe into the fire; setting it upon the mantel he quietly went to bed.

  The storm lingered for three days, hammering against the slopes of the Copper hills. On the third day the rain lessened and eventually stopped. The wind died down as well. It remained a strong breeze, but no longer threatening to rip the roof from the cottage.

  They stepped out onto the porch. Watching the dark fragmentary clouds drifting southward in a sky of burnished gold.

  Carl set to work immediately, righting rain barrels and seeing to the needs of his livestock. Casius pitched in and helped where he was able. They accomplished much in the few hours of sunlight they had. Exhausted from their rushed labor they trod through the thick mud back to the cottage where Winowa had prepared a hearty meal.

  Chapter Five

  On the morning of his fourth day since coming ashore in Lakarra, Casius and Carl prepared to leave. Carl hitched his small two-wheeled cart to the largest horse Casius had ever seen in his life. It was a powerful beast bred for pulling Plows and overloaded wagons, light tan in color with a mane of dark russet.

  “Tis no nobleman’s buggy but she’ll get us to Graystone safely enough.” Carl reached into the wagon and tossed him a worn leather belt. Attached to it was a scabbard holding an old short sword. “Wear this,” he said fastening another about his own waist.

  Casius drew the blade; it was a poor-man’s weapon, crudely fashioned with an edge that had been sharpened many times. “I do not know how to use this.” He said sheathing the blade. He attempted to hand it back, but Carl refused to take it.

  Carl looked at him strangely, “You are close to sixteen. Did your father teach you to defend yourself? There are brigands in these mountains, to go unarmed is to invite attack.”

  My father taught me to wield an axe,” Casius answered strapping the belt around his waist. “We had no brigands on Kale.”

  Carl shrugged, “There’s a wood pile round the back. Take the axe if you wish.”

  Casius retrieved the axe and swung it a few times. The balance was off but it was a stout tool with a sharp edge. He placed it in the back of the cart within easy reach of the wooden seat.

  Winowa came down out of the cottage and handed Carl a linen wrapped bundle that smelled of freshly baked bread.

  Carl hugged her close; “ I’ll be back in a week if the weather holds.” He smiled, “ Don’t you worry none, I know the way as well as I know the back of my hand.”

  “I know Carl,” she smiled softly. “But I shall fret just the same.” She turned and gave Casius a hug as well. “Listen to Carl,” She told him. “He is a good man who will not lead you astray.”

  Casius nodded, “Thank you Winowa,” he said.

  Carl climbed up onto the riding seat and took the reins in hand. “Come on Casius,” he motioned to the seat next to him. “The days this time of year are short and there is little light we can afford to waste.”

  Casius climbed up and once he was seated Carl clicked his tongue. The horse responded setting off at a brisk walk. Casius was nearly thrown backwards by the sudden jolt. Up the rutted trail they went the wagon lurching with each bump in the road.

  Casius took one last look over his shoulder at the weathered cottage. Winowa stood upon the porch her gray hair touched with gold, reflecting the light of the rising sun. She waved and went indoors; not found of good-byes she preferred not to watch them go.

  The countryside about the farm was colored in the soft hues of autumn. Trees of gold and burgundy stood amid fields of rich brown earth. Pools of standing water left by the storm glinted brightly, mirroring the colors of the sky.

  The air was brisk, but tolerable. Thanks to the heavy coats and gloves they wore. Before them out of the morning mist emerged the foothills of the Copper hills. Although named hills, they were in truth a range of snow-clad mountains with deep valleys and soaring peaks. The upper reaches of naked stone rising high above a dense Forest of evergreens.

  The trail they followed skirted the lower reaches of the foothills, following the contour of the land it clung to the edge of the wood. They passed by old farmsteads whose buildings had collapsed into disrepair. The once tended fields about them now sporting scattered groves of young trees.

  Carl guided the horse little; the beast knew the way and stayed the course. As they climbed higher into the hills Casius could see in the distance where the mountains reached down to the sea.

  The snow-clad peaks spellbound Casius. He had never seen a mountain in his life. He had thought the eastern crags on kale were tall, they hardly compared to the foothills through which they were now traveling.

  Now and then the road would enter the wood. The lofty pines whispered in the wind above them as they passed. The aroma of their needles was a pleasant touch to the gentle breeze.

  They crested a rise and came to a fork in the road. The right branch led down a steep slope into a low valley that was bordered on one side by the sea. Clustered tightly together along the shore stood a sizable town, the whitewashed buildings glowing with the morning sun. Ribbons of smoke snaked up into the air above the roofs of slate, leaving the only marks in an otherwise perfect sky.

  “That be Ansell,” Carl said taking the left-hand way. “To the north there are miles of good bottom land. Rich soil worked by many farms.”

  Casius strained to see but the mist blowing in from the ocean obscured the landscape just beyond the town.

  “We’ve gotten here early enough,” Carl said around the stem of his unlit pipe. “Not a soul will see us, and once beyond the next ridge they never will.”

  “Surely,” Casius said turning to face the old farmer. “These people can not be all bad.”

  “Good or bad has nothing to do with it,” He said. “Those people are scared, and a frightened man can be just as dangerous as one of them Raiders. That’s why I choose to live away from the town. It is a sad thing when a neighbor cannot trust another.

  “Ever since Ganeth seized the crown and founded the Senatum, Lakarra has become a den of thieves and frightened informants.” Carl spat loudly as if the words left a foul taste in his mouth.

  “Senatum?” Casius repeated.

  “Aye,” Carl replied. “Little more than thugs and hoodlums who wear the King’s colors. They supposedly uphold the law, but it is they who break it more often as not. Lakarra is going through dark times, Casius. If we see any of the Senatum we will be sure to make ourselves scarce.”

  Casius nodded he was overwhelmed by the strangeness of this land and by the chaos that his life had become.

  They rode on mostly in silence throughout the day, following the winding path higher into the mountains. The thick forest blocked out most of the sun's light and it was within their shadows they rode. Overhead a blanket of clouds drifted down from the north covering the sky.

  Casius marveled at the beauty of the mountains and it's surrounding forest. Carl seemed to be enjoying the ride himself. It was not often t
hat he got to venture far from his homestead.

  As the sun began to set they were traveling along a narrow ridge. There were few trees this high, only an occasional stunted pine that stubbornly clung to life amid gray stone. Carl stopped the cart and lit two oil lanterns that hung from poles on either side of the wagon.

  The road was narrow here with steep slopes on each side. The road snaked along the ridge top. The lanterns gave off enough light that they could see a few feet ahead of the horse. Carl kept his eyes on the way ahead. It would be easy for them to lose the path and inadvertently roll off the ridge.

  “There’s an old toll house less than an hour away,” Carl said, his eyes never leaving the torturous path. “We will camp the night there and cross over in the morning.”

  It was the longest hour of Casius’s life. Dark shapes loomed in the darkness, massive boulders that had fallen from the heights long ago. The darkness on either side of them echoed with the sounds of the horses hoof beats. Vast yawning chasms of black that threatened to swallow them should they stray from their way.

  Carl’s estimate was accurate and within the hour the trail opened up onto a wide plateau that sloped gently upward disappearing into the gloom. A small cote of rough stone stood nearby. The roof was in poor condition. More than a few of its slate tiles were missing exposing the wooden beams beneath. An empty doorway faced the road its opening looming darker than the surrounding night.

  “Here it is,” Carl announced. “Not much to look at but it will keep the wind off our backs.” He took one of the lanterns down and handed it to Casius. “Don’t wander far,” He warned him. “You wouldn’t enjoy falling off a cliff in the dark.” He looked up into the looming darkness overhead. Only two stars were visible, burning weakly through the veil of clouds.

  Casius went to the back of the building and relieved his bladder. He looked about the grounds nearby but could find nothing but barren earth and stone.

  “Not much wood to be had,” He told Carl returning to the cart.

  Carl looked up, from where he was busy tending to the horse’s needs. “What do you think happened to the door?” He asked patting the horses flank as he walked to the back of the cart and lifted a tarp exposing a neat stack of wood.

  Casius grinned, “I take it you’ve been this way many times.” He lifted an armload of wood and entered the ruined building.

  “A few,” Carl answered following him into the room carrying the lanterns.

  The swinging lantern light revealed a simple square chamber with an earthen floor. It was sparse but dry, in the shadows it’s sole occupant a large rat scurried along the wall escaping through a chink in the stone. In the rooms center a shallow pit had been dug. Its bottom littered with the blackened debris of many fires.

  Casius started a small fire, the dancing flames spreading heat throughout the room. Carl covered the doorway with a tarp sealing off the cold mountain breeze.

  Carl sat across from Casius the fire burning between them. “By tomorrow night we will be through the mountains and on the upland plains.” He opened the bundle Winowa had given them. It contained a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese. He cut these in half and passed them to Casius.

  Casius took his share and began eating watching the wood pop and sizzle.

  “We will leave at daybreak,” he said around a mouthful of bread. “Winters bite is soft here but once beyond these mountains the warmth of the sea fails and the plains will be in winters grasp.”

  “What’s your nephew like?”

  “Nice fellow,” Carl said prodding the flames. “In his thirties with a wife but no children as of yet.” Carl lit his pipe adding the pungent aroma of tobacco to the smoke from the fire. “He’s a shrewd businessman as I hear it. Always seems to come out on the best end of a deal, very much like his father.” Carl leaned back against the wall and smoked his pipe.

  Casius wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and lay down, closing his eyes he tried not to think about the rat that he was sure was skulking nearby.

  Carl finished his pipe and lay down as well. “Get some rest, we have a long day ahead of us and dawn comes early in these parts.”

  Casius awakened several hours later, the fire had burned low and the cold was creeping back into the building. As he put a few logs onto the fire. He thought he had heard something outside but now was not so sure. It could have been anything. Carl lay on his side oblivious to the world and snoring loudly. Casius thought about awakening him but decided to let the man sleep.

  Casius lay back down and as he was about to drift off when an eerie cry broke the silence, a dreadful wail that echoed softly from the surrounding rock. Casius cringed, that is what a spirit must sound like he thought.

  Three times the piercing wail sounded, each time growing father away. Casius gripped the axe protectively and sat against the wall his eyes on the gently swaying tarp covering the doorway.

  Eventually the call subsided and only the sighing of the wind competed with Carl’s thundering snores. The hour grew late and Casius inevitably fell asleep once more.

  The light of dawn filtered through the tarp covering the doorway. Where it shone brightly, a multitude of dust motes drifted lazily about. Carl sat up and stretched smacking his lips loudly. He looked well rested and ready to take on the day.

  Casius groaned and rolled over putting his back to the light. “How could you sleep with all that wailing and screaming going on?”

  Carl looked puzzled for a moment. “I should have warned you,” he said laughing. “Those were the calls of the Nightsinger, a small bird with a very large voice.”

  “Bird?” Casius laughed pulling on his coat. “I spent half the night frightened by a bird? It sounded more like a demented spirit wandering these hills.”

  Carl chuckled packing up their supplies. “Just a bird, nothing more. There are many strange tales surrounding it though.”

  Casius grinned. “Anything that sounds like that is bound to have started a few stories.”

  “Aye,” Carl agreed. “Spun by drunken travelers, and told for a spot of ale in many an inn.”

  Casius helped him load the cart. They left the wood stacked neatly against the wall inside the building. Carl said it had been a common practice at one time that was rarely followed anymore.

  “Always leave a little for those that have none.” Carl had said. “The next man to come this way may be half frozen and without supplies. A lost hunter, or a waylaid merchant.” Carl shrugged, “It costs us little and may actually save a life.”

  Casius climbed up onto the cart dreading another day of bone jarring jolts and bumps.

  The small building stood at the edge of a shallow slope that led up between two peaks. The pass itself was a broad saddle of barren rock littered with scree. The way ahead had been cleared of debris long ago. The discarded stone lay piled in mounds along the way.

  The air grew cooler as they climbed the winding trail. The horse’s hoof falls echoing from the gray rock walls became a monotonous cadence marking the slow passage of time. The pass was shrouded in gloom. The sun’s rays would not reach into the break until late in the afternoon.

  Cold air flowed down from the snow-clad peaks above. Thin tendrils of fog coiled and drifted down the face of the rock. Through the gloom they passed coming out into the daylight.

  The land beyond the mountains spread out below them. A vast low plain dotted with dense woods and gleaming rivers.

  Down the western face the road took them disappearing into a dense wood that spread out over the foothills. They were well within the wood as the sun slipped below the horizon, as the light faded Carl stopped the cart.

  “We’ll go no further tonight.” Carl said stepping down from the cart. “This is the Braelin wood, we will be within its borders until we come to Graystone.”

  Using the tarp they improvised a shelter and lit a small fire.

  “Keep your sword handy tonight.” The old farmer suggested. “This wood is safe enough, safer than most. Bu
t trouble has a way of showing up when you least expect it. There is always the occasional Cut throat wandering about.”

  They spent the night huddled beneath the tarp. Carl told Casius many entertaining stories of his youth. How he had met Winowa while serving in the King’s army. They talked late into the night, while the fire crackled.

  They were on the move once more with daybreak. Down through the tree shrouded hills they rode, the dense pines giving way to tall stately oaks. Their leaves a riot of fall colors from brilliant red to gold. The fallen leaves concealing the path ahead.

  It was late in the afternoon when they crossed a fast flowing rill spanned by a well built wooden bridge. The forest ended here rather abruptly, only a few trees grew across the stream.

  The sky was overcast and gloomy with scattered openings that allowed rays of golden light to fall onto a vast expanse of wavering grass turned golden by the first touch of winter.

  Graystone stood in the distance, a massive wall of stone that stretched a mile across. Forty towers were spaced along its length, rising fifty feet they were twice as high as the wall itself. Beyond the walls rose the high peaked roofs of various buildings many of them clad in tarnished copper. From poles on their tops flew pennants of many colors.

  Two large gates led through the wall. The city was better than a mile away but even at this distance they could see the throng of people milling about the entrance.

  Carl reined the horse in allowing Casius a good look. “Imposing isn’t it?” He nodded to the wall. “Well that’s just for show, only the wealthy live within those walls. The real city lies on the other side, along the banks of the Taelus River.”

  Casius watched in awe as they neared the city. Along the tops of the walls and towers he could see men moving behind the crenels. The sunlight reflecting from their polished armor glinting as they passed between the merlons.

  “That’s where the money is made,” Carl said looking at the rooftops beyond the walls. “Ore from the mines is loaded onto barges and sent to markets in the south. If it weren’t for the river, Graystone would not exist.”