D&D - Mystara - Penhaligon Trilogy 02

by The Dragon's Tomb - Heinrich, D. J (v1. 1)

  Hruddel’s eyes gleamed suddenly. “It’d be my pleasure, miss. I’ll add a couple handfuls of coarse salt, too, to put the spring back in their steps. The pair—and the rest of the lot, too—will be fit as fiddles by tomorrow.”

  Jo gave the man a satisfied nod, pleased that Hruddel had suggested the addition of salt to the mash. The hostler knows his work, Jo thought. Carsig’ll be ready to travel tomorrow. With the Black Peaks ahead of us, we all need a is night to rest. Johauna and Karleah turned and left the h stable. Braddoc, Brisbois, and Dayin were waiting for n them outside the bam door. The dwarf was standing alert, watching the few townsfolk who walked by. Brisbois and d Dayin were using their toes to flick stones in and out of a n circle one of them had scribed in the packed dirt, it Glancing at everyone, Jo said, “We re going to stay at a is place called old Keeper Graingers. She’ll let us sleep in her barn for a pittance and feed us a meal. Let’s go.” Jo started away from the stable.

  Brisbois stood slowly, planted his feet, and crossed his d arms. “I’m not going,” he said. “I want a decent bed. A man just told us the Maiden’s Blush has beds for let. I’m not going to sleep in a barn ” There was a mulish pout y around his lips, which were partly disguised by the mouse tache and goatee Brisbois was growing back. Jo was certain Brisbois had shaved them off so he couldn’t be identified.

  Jo dropped her belongings. She looked at Brisbois, then casually flicked loose one of the tabs holding Wyrmblight in its harness. “Over my dead body,” she said insolently.

  Brisbois drew his sword and shouted, “I can arrange that!” He advanced on Jo, rapidly closing the distance separating them. Jo yanked Wyrmblight from the harness in one quick pull and shifted to a crouching position.

  From the corner of her eye, Jo saw Braddoc and Dayin racing between her and Brisbois. Angrily she waved them it away and hissed, “Get back! This is between him and if j me!” The two did not stop, however. Braddoc stood before Jo, and Dayin put his hands on Brisbois’s chest. The knight stopped and stared at Jo, his anger in check. Jo scowled.

  Karleah stepped forward and said severely, “Stop it, you two! We’ve had enough. Now, just who’s in charge here?” Karleah’s black eyes flashed at Jo.

  “I am!” Jo said quickly, jerking her thumb at her chest. She stared at Brisbois, but the knight only arched his brows in mockery.

  “Then act like it!” Karleah snapped.

  Jo stared at Karleah, suddenly chastised. I haven’t acted properly, have I? she thought. Oh, what would Flinn do? Jo glanced at Brisbois, then at Braddoc and Dayin. She squared her shoulders and said firmly, “Pick up your things. We’re going to Keeper Grainger’s.” Jo looked at Brisbois, forcing nonchalance into her manner. She picked up her things and set off, only just daring to listen to the footsteps falling into place behind her. Jo let out her held breath when she heard Brisbois’s heavy tread join the others’.

  The walk to Keeper Grainger’s was a short one. The group met no one along the way, not even when they passed the little, walled garrison. A farmer from a distance did stop to look at them, and Jo wondered why the town was so suspicious.

  She turned up the walkway toward the last cottage on the north end of town. A rough rock wall separated this property from the rest, and, on the well-tended lawn, scattered patches of flowers were beginning to bloom. The house itself, though small, was tidy and trim, as was the small barn Jo could see in the background. She knocked on the pine-green door and wondered how much help old Keeper Grainger employed. Keeper Grainger’s home was the most well-kept place Jo had seen here in Threshold.

  Braddoc, Karleah, Dayin, and Brisbois gathered behind Jo just as the door opened. A thin, long-limbed woman of indeterminate age stood there with a questioning expression in her green eyes. Jo guessed that the woman’s age was closer to the cradle than the deathbed.

  Her eyes are the color of those limes I saw at the market, Jo thought, recalling seeing the strange tropical fruit once at Specularum. It was a cool, clear color, like that of a depthless pool. Could this woman really be the one she was looking for? Jo shook her head and said tentatively, “Ah . . . Keeper Grainger?”

  The woman smiled and nodded. “Yes. Is there something I can do for you?” Her pale eyes lingered on Jo, and her thin nostrils flared slightly. A shadow crossed the womans face, then she quickly looked at the others.

  Brisbois pushed forward, a dazzling smile on his face. Brisbois’s eyes never left Keeper Grainger s as he took her hand and bowed low over it. “How do—”

  Jo cut in. “We were told you rent out your barn?” She laid her hand warningly on Brisbois. Brisbois pulled back and said nothing.

  Keeper Grainger cast a lingering, inquiring look at Sir Brisbois before turning back to Johauna. “Yes,” she said simply, “but I do not use it to stable animals.”

  Jo shook her head. “We’ve already stabled our mounts over at Hruddel’s,” she said. “He recommended your place to us.”

  Keeper Grainger raised one brow. “Hruddel recommended my place?” she asked coolly. Her pale eyelids fluttered half closed.

  Jo said, “It would only be for one night, please. We’d be willing to pay, too, for a meal tonight and something for the morning. We’re leaving at first light.”

  Keeper Grainger looked at Jo, then nodded and said, “I’ll let you stay the night, and I’ll have a meal for you in an hour or so. But that'll be—” she looked over jo’s group quickly “—four goldens for all. I’ll send you off in the morning with a full belly and something for your pockets, too. Fair?” Keeper Grainger’s pale green eyes stared unblinkingly at Jo.

  The squire nodded. “Aye, more than fair,” Jo answered. Johauna took out the four goldens and pressed the coins into Keeper Grainger’s palm.

  “Thank you,” Keeper Grainger said quietly, then hesitated. “May I know your names?” Her pale eyes flitted over the group and lingered on Brisbois again.

  “I’m Squire—” Jo began, then stopped as Karleah’s bony fingers clenched on the young woman’s arm.

  “I think it’s best we remain anonymous travelers, Keeper,” Karleah interjected. Jo looked at the old wizardess and saw that she wore a carefully blank expression. Am I missing something? Jo asked herself, though she found she suddenly felt Karleah was right.

  Keeper Grainger nodded her head. Jo felt compelled to reach out and grasp the woman’s hand, but Karleah’s fingers tightened. Jo restrained herself.

  “Of course. As you wish,” Keeper Grainger said a moment later. “Please, let me show you the way to the barn. It’s quite warm and comfortable, for I haven’t used it to stable animals in many a year.” She closed the door to her cottage and picked up two lanterns resting on a nearby stone. With slow, deliberate steps, Keeper Grainger led the way past her house and to the barn behind the cottage.

  Jo glanced over at Brisbois, who seemed almost enchanted by their new host. Jo realized that she also felt an odd attraction to the alluring woman. Watching her carefully, jo tried to analyze what made the Keeper so compelling. She was physically intriguing, her tall, solid frame giving the impression of inner strength. Her face, too, bespoke strength—and beauty. Jo continued to study their host as the woman led the way to the one-story barn. Every move she made was filled with such fluid grace that jo felt instantly clumsy.

  As though in confirmation of her feelings, Jo tripped over a root half-buried in the soil. She fell to the ground, her arms and legs sprawling. Keeper Grainger was immediately at Jos side, inquiring after her. Brisbois, too, leaped to Jo s side and helped the squire stand. Jo murmured her thanks to Keeper Grainger and shot an acid look at Brisbois. The man never noticed, for his eyes were once again on their host.

  Jo brushed off a few leaves and dirt, while the Keeper bent and picked something up from the ground. “I believe you dropped this,” the woman said and handed Jo the pouch that held the giant gem she had received from the stranger in Kelvin. The pouch felt strangely chill as it dropped into Jos hand. She blushed, her secret see
ming suddenly conspicuous. But the woman knelt again, noticing something else on the ground. “And this.”

  Keeper Grainger stared at one of the small abelaat crystals she carried.

  “Oh, thank you, Keeper Grainger,” Jo said nervously. “My birthstone. I would have been crushed to have lost it ” She held out her hand, but the woman only lifted the crystal to light. Her pale green eyes were wide with fear. Karleah moved forward suddenly and snatched the crystal from Keeper Graingers hand. The old wizardess helped Jo stand.

  Keeper Grainger looked at the people who surrounded her. Her eyes were calm and clear once more, her hands serenely tucked into her shift. She stood slowly and gestured toward the barn door, only a few steps behind her. “Please,” the woman said, with only the faintest break in her voice, “make yourselves comfortable inside. I must prepare your meal.” Keeper Grainger turned to go, then pulled up short. “And then we must talk,” she whispered.

  Karleah huddled farther back into the gray horse blanket she had wrapped about herself. She was cold, it was true, but she also wrapped up to remain just beyond the light cast by the fire in the brazier. As Keeper Grainger tended the fire, Karleah and her comrades finished their meal and waited for her to speak. Setting aside their plates, Jo, Brisbois, and Dayin arranged themselves on their blankets between the old wizardess and Keeper Grainger.

  Karleah breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Her companions provided yet another screen between her and the other witch. Despite her wariness around the Keeper, Karleah was glad they had found the woman. Discovering the secrets that the Keeper kept could well arm them for battling the box once they had intercepted it. Still in the shadows, Karleah nodded her approval when Jo gestured for Braddoc to stand guard with his battle-axe. Not that the dwarf could do much good against the Keeper, Karleah thought spitefully.

  Keeper Grainger stood gracefully and began collecting the emptied plates. The womans eyes met Karleahs, and for a moment Karleah let herself feel the strange, sad attraction the woman engendered in people. Then Karleah snorted “Harrumph!” and turned away. The wizardess would not be lost in those pale eyes of green, not her.

  It was easy to see that the others had been lost—particularly Brisbois. The man acted as if he had never seen a woman before. Dayin, usually so intuitive, had also been completely taken in by the Keeper. The boy had spent the better part of the evening helping her with the meal and making sleeping arrangements in the barn. His bright blue eyes shone when he looked at the woman, and Karleah felt a twinge of jealousy.

  The old woman shook herself. I’m much too old to feel that way, she thought, then turned her musings to the dwarf and the squire. Karleah couldn’t read Braddoc, He seemed respectful of the woman, though not awed or infatuated, as Dayin and Brisbois were. Braddoc had been unusually silent since they had arrived, and Karleah wondered why. The old wizardess s eyes flickered over to the dwarf, standing nearby. Braddoc held his battle-axe crosswise in his arms, in his standard ready position. His good eye remained focused on Keeper Grainger as she walked about the barn, plumping pillows and smoothing blankets. At least the dwarf, if no one else, seems to have his senses about him, Karleah thought.

  She turned to look at Jo, sitting cross-legged in front of her. The young woman had tidied her clothing and rebraided her hair. Jo’s expression was intent upon the Keeper, but every now and then the squire’s brows knit in anxiety. Karleah saw Jo stroke Wyrmblight, which, as usual, lay beside the girl. The crone smiled. Ah, so the blade is talking to you again! she thought. Good. If anything can help you keep your wits, it’s Flinn’s sword. In her other hand Jo clutched an odd pouch she had been wearing on her belt. When the squire lifted her hand from it to adjust one of the buckles on her boot, Karleah noticed that Jo’s moist handprint remained on the pouch.

  A moment later, she was clutching it again.

  The old woman’s tired eyes flicked to Keeper Grainger, who now sat cross-legged beside the brazier. Beneath the folds of her long dress, the Keeper’s legs curved gracefully away. Karleah doubted she had ever seen a more physically perfect woman. And with a brain to match, too, the crone thought suddenly. Perhaps that is the secret of her allure.

  Karleah pursed her thin lips. The crone rested her chin in her hands. “Tell the tale as you know it, Keeper,” Karleah whispered softly, “Your time has come.”

  Keeper Grainger added one last piece of peat to the brazier and stoked the embers. Pungent smoke swirled up and away toward a hole in the barn’s ceiling. Keeper Grainger s pale eyes flicked from one person to another, apparently trying to see past the shadows that enfolded Karleah. The woman turned back to the brazier and began speaking quietly.

  “I do not know your names, it is true,” Keeper Grainger said, “but I know your purpose—and your destination.”

  “What?” Jo cried out.

  Karleah shook her head. You must learn more control, girl, she thought. You must. Your impetuousness will be the end of you someday.

  Apparently the young squire had the same thought, for she calmed herself and said, stiffly, “What do you mean, Keeper? It’s true we are on a journey, which of course means we must have a destination.”

  Keeper Grainger nodded at Jo and smiled. The light from the fire illuminated her radiant face. She said, “Perhaps it would be best if I first explain why I am called the Keeper. Then we can discuss your journey.”

  “We would be delighted to hear your tale, Keeper.”

  “Then listen, and listen well, child,” Keeper Grainger said softly, though the words rang clear to the rafters of the barn. She folded her legs together and leaned toward Jo, Brisbois, and Dayin. Braddoc took a step backward and hid in shadows, much as Karleah had done.

  The old crone hunched down even farther into her horse blanket, as if seeking protection in the wool fibers. She wondered just how much the Keeper would reveal, and what she in turn would have to tell her comrades. Let it fall as it may, Karleah warned herself. She clutched her staff a little tighter. No spells had returned to the oak, but she felt more secure with it anyway.

  “Why I am called Keeper, I will tell you now, as I was told, as my mother before me was told,” Keeper Grainger began. Her pale eyes focused on the rafters above, and the shadows from the fire distorted her upturned face. “I am the last Keeper, for I did not believe the tale—until tonight, when I saw your stones of abelaat blood, Squire-Without-a-Name.”

  Karleah saw Jo’s fingers clench on Wyrmblight, but she did not cry out. The old woman nodded approvingly.

  “I did not believe the tale handed down from mother to daughter in my family,” Keeper Grainger continued. “I did not wish to be Keeper, as my mother had before me. I did not wish to have a daughter to pass on the secrets I was taught, so I spurned all advances and offers of marriage. I wished the line of Keeper to end with me, that the secret burden of eons could end with me as well.”

  “What burden is that?” Brisbois asked gently. Karleah turned to watch the man. Could he really be looking at the Keeper with something other than his usual wanton lust? It seemed unlikely

  The Keeper surveyed the group before her. “Thousands upon thousands of years ago, so long ago that even the elves and the dwarves—” she inclined her head toward Braddoc, who responded in kind “—have but the slightest memory, our world, Mystara, was closely tied to another, whose name I dare not mention. It was a place of darkness and shadow and powerful sorcery, though not an evil place. Indeed, it had a beauty and nobility that Mystara has never attained. For in that world, there lived a race of surpassing grace. In the old tongue they were called the a’bay’otte, a name which has been corrupted by the tongues of men to abelaat.”

  Jo reflexively touched her scarred left shoulder, and Dayin crossed his arms, his fists guarding the marks on his inner elbows. Interesting, Karleah thought, that memories can be provoked from a single word.

  “Abelaats . . . beautiful?” Jo asked, incredulously. “I have never seen a fouler creature in all the world.”


  “Yes,” the Keeper said simply. She added, “Those abelaats that live now are horrible perversions of the creatures of old. The original abelaats roamed their own world in grace and constructed magical gates into Mystara—for they were a sorcerous race, and their world a sorcerous world. But Mystara, in those days, was not magical at all. Was it, dwarf?” Keeper Grainger turned to Braddoc, who stood in the shadows.

  Braddoc cleared his throat clumsily and said, “No . . . not as it is today—or so legends say.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about the abelaats before, Braddoc?” Jo asked.

  The dwarf shrugged. “It was an ancient, ancient tale, so old no one believed it anymore. I’ve plenty of ancient dwarven tales that I haven’t bored you with.”

  “Believe the tale, dwarf,” Keeper Grainger said huskily. “Believe the tale, for it is true.” She turned back to the others and continued, “The abelaats multiplied across their twilight world, where they were the master race—beautiful and shining. They crossed their magical bridges to reach Mystara, and spread out here as well.” Keeper Grainger paused for breath, and the fire crackled in the silence that fell.

  “But, in the dawn-time of Mystara, new races crawled from their birthing beds. The elven race slowly gained a foothold on Mystara, as did the dwarves. The abelaats lived contentedly with these new folk, trading with the artisan dwarves, and teaching small magicks to the elves. They even traded their blood crystals to the young races of Mystara.

  “But the abelaats had not realized the power of their crystals. They did not know the magic inherent in their blood and spittle. It was their essence, their magical essence, that they were gradually trading away to the dwarves and elves. And the land changed because of the abelaat crystals. Mystara began to crave magic, as a starving man craves food. It began to draw magic away from the abelaats’ home world, through the sorcerous portals and gates the abelaats themselves had built.