“ What did he say?” Darcy said once he could catch his breath. He knew this would probably be the chance the innkeeper was after to drop into one story or another. The man seemed to have little else to occupy his time. His daughter seemed to be running around tending to the needs of the patrons and the fat innkeeper did little more than slowly drink himself to death.
“That he was on a mission for the king himself, something about finally beating the bloody Poles. Good thing to. I don’t think we can take any more attacks from them. So I say good luck to the crazy cow prodder that head off into the ash.” The innkeeper said lifting his cloudy glass in a lame toast. Before supping it dry. “Oi Maria, Another one over here.” He called out to what Darcy had presumed was his daughter.
“ In a minute Frank, I’m kind of busy here.” Maria called out from the other end of the bar as she struggled to balance a tower of glass tankards as she waded her way through drunken shoulders.
“ That’s dad to you.” The innkeeper called back and his fox tail like moustache sagged. “Want my advice posh pants? Never have kids. They’re nothing but bloody trouble.” The old bar keeper, which Darcy now knew to be Frank said.
“I can imagine she’s quiet the handful .” Darcy said innocently but the gaze Frank shot him made Darcy fluster. The young lady did seem to have ample assets but that was not what Darcy had meant at all. “Um, Thank you for the information, it sounds a little farfetched but you never know I guess. Now about these rooms, we’ll need them for tonight only?” Darcy said desperately trying to change the subject from the young barmaid and reaching for his coin purse.
With the rooms booked Darcy decided to make the most of the fair weather and the hours before the sun would set. He could just make out the fort a mile or so in the distance beyond the wheat farms and curiosity won the battle. He had to go see his father. He could be there and back within a few hours and there was no sound of battle in the distance so he should be safe. The road was a gradual climb but it was still tiring, the wind zipping across the open farmland didn’t seem to make it any easier. The sky seemed to be clearing in the strong westerly wind and Darcy was thankful that it brought the smell of the countryside. As he grew close enough to see the high walls of the fort he could see in the distance the Poles fort and it drove home to Darcy just how constant the battles must be. The two forts must have been no more than two furlongs apart and a decent archer could easily fire an arrow that far so neither side spent much time outside unless they really had to. The serene views of rocky outcrops and fields faded and the thick brush reclaimed the land by the fort. Upturned wagons littered both sides of the road and confirmed the stories Darcy had heard of the constant raids from the Poles. The wagons were not the only litter around, there were rusted weapons just discarded in hedge rows from countless battles both Pole and Neeskmouthain craftsmanship. It was a pleasant surprise to Darcy that neither side seemed to leave their dead on the battlefield as there were no corpses left rotting that he could see or smell and the huge mound of earth at the side of the fort gave a hint of the mass burial below. The huge wooden gate to the fort was sealed shut and Darcy was met by a pointy headed guard staring at him through a slit in the smaller door inside the large one as he approached. The fort itself loomed above with its towers pressing into the sky like the hunched shoulders of the giant mossy beast. What windows there were in the walls were bared with thick iron crisscrosses and looked like it would take an army of giants just to rattle them. The stone walls were thick, three or four feet thick but showed signs of wear and looked like they had begun to crumble.
“ State your business or do one.” The rather grumpy owner of the eyes growled from behind the door in a voice that sounded like a badger chewing on a bag of nuts and bolts.
“ I’m here to see my father. Sir Dean.” Darcy said nervously. He wasn’t sure if the guard would believe him. It was strange really. Darcy was the son of a war hero and a renowned soldier but he had never really had to speak to anyone in the army. The harsh tone and discipline of the old man’s accent made him nervous, not a stranger of an emotion for Darcy who seemed to always be running on his nerves. The hatch in the huge door was slammed shut and after several minutes of silence Darcy heard the metal latch being slid aside and the fort door opened.
“Come with me .” The short man in front of Darcy with the coarse voice said. The old man walked with a hobble and could have probably benefited from a cane, but he still looked like he would have been strong in his youth. It occurred to Darcy that the man was probably retired from the army due to his age but he was still within Hallows Fort for some reason. If he had been at the battlement as long as it looked then maybe the old man had nothing in the world to go home for. So he did the only job he was fit for now and watched the gate. A sad thought but one that was only fleeting as Darcy’s attention was drawn to the fort around him. The inner courtyard was empty of people as he had expected. The realization that an arrow could fall from the sky at any moment made Darcy suddenly feel very uncomfortable. There were several closed doors that led off into the stone keep. The only thing of real note inside the clearing apart from the high walls and gravel floor was the small cabin Darcy was being escorted towards.
“This is him.” The guard said as he opened the creaking door. When no orders came from inside the cabin the old man quickly scurried back towards his stool by the main gate nervously looking up the whole time. The hut was dirty and its windows too had been boarded up. Its roof littered with little points, the shafts of arrows that had rained down into the keep. Darcy noticed the faded paint on the wall inside the hut and couldn’t help but feel a little family pride. Behind his father was a huge motif of the family coat of arms, a sign of the great knights that had come before Darcy.
“ Well well, it really is you Darcy.” Sir Dean said from behind the table that sat in the centre of the cabin. The cabin was pretty bare apart from a few scattered side tables and old chests that obviously used to store weapons. “Come in take a seat my lad and let me take a look at you.” Sir Dean stood and pulled out a chair next to his own, which Darcy nervously sat down at.
“ Hello father.” Darcy said barely able to believe his eyes. He had been told several times that he looked a lot like his father but the man in front of him could very well have been Darcy of the future. Apart from the muscle build and wrinkles every detail was the same. They had same green eyes and hooked nose, an identical beard down to the bald patches at the side of his lips. Their hair even did the same flick behind the ears before cascading down over his shoulders. One large difference was the scar above Sir Dean’s eye that ran down his cheek. If looked like he had been slashed open and then sown together badly by a blind woodpecker. It was an old wound but still looked raised and swore.
“ Not that I am not happy to see you my boy but Darcy what are you doing here?” Sir Dean asked with a smile. Darcy didn’t know for sure but he could almost feel his father’s longing for his son to join the army. In the few letters that had came home for Lady Dean he had often asked if Darcy was growing into a strong man.
“The king is sending me to see the mages and, well I wanted to see you while we were at Briers Hill.” Darcy said sounding slightly disappointed. It wasn’t really the heartfelt reunion he had wanted. There had been no huge weight lifted from his shoulders, no loving embrace. If he was honest it was like meeting a stranger. Someone famous he had heard of. He respected his father but after years of pining for him. There was no real love. He could feel something near. A spark of emotion but the fire had long faded and the smoldering ashes were all that was left of what relationship should have been.
“Well whatever the reason it is good to see you again Darcy. It has been far too long. How is your mother?” Sir Dean asked giving a half hearted smile. He had once loved lady Dean but after ten years away from her the love had faded into little more than a distant memory clouded by battle and bar whores.
“I don’t really know. She is fine I guess. The kin
g has her off on diplomatic affairs still. I see her almost as often as I do you.” Darcy said in a tone which oozed with years of neglect. Darcy didn’t want to blame his father for choosing the army over him. He knew that with Harvey you seldom had a choice but just being in front of his father. Darcy had so many questions he wanted to ask, too many that his mind tripped over them leaving him unable to actually settle on one to ask.
“ I’m sorry Darcy. This isn’t the life either of us planned for you. It’s the war, you understand right?” Sir Dean said and he seemed sincere but Darcy wondered if things were different would his father would still have found some way to go off and be a hero. Would he have taken to the sea and joined the battles in far off Gologan or sail off as an explorer to find the empty corners of the map. Darcy had been alone for so long he could not imagine his father finding any life to be had sat at home.
“I need to go before it gets dark father. I just wanted to see you one last time.” Darcy said as he stood and made for the door. He had waited ten years to see his dad and for all that time he had felt alone. In his mind he had built up this impenetrable wall that he thought would crumble the moment he saw his father. When he realized he felt no different. Darcy knew he would have to dismantle the wall himself brick by brick and waiting here staring at the face of a stranger was pointless.
“ Please Darcy stay a while.” Sir Dean called out but it was too late. Darcy had shut the cabin door and was striding towards the forts huge door. The guard by it reached for his weapon but Sir Dean, who had followed Darcy out of the cabin shook his head, and instead the guard lifted the latch opening the door. Sir Dean returned to the cabin alone, a mix of pride and shame washing over him. His boy had grown into a man and he had missed so much, but he didn’t feel like he had a choice. Darcy may never understand it but Sir Dean had given up his love and his life to protect that most precious gift, the baby boy that had just started back down towards Briers Hill. If he would never see Darcy again, then so be it. Sir Dean would fight through hell and back to keep his child safe from the slaughter of the Poles.
Many people would have gone soul searching or sulked into an empty spirit bottle but Darcy was never a normal person. He marched back to Briers Hill with his head spinning with emotions. He remembered just how lonely he had felt the night of the celebrations and he knew it was his doing. He still wanted to blame his parents but he was old enough to run his own life. He could not keep it on hold any longer. He knew he had been an empty shell for so long now. Maybe that was why Granny spent so much time with him. She had seen he was still a needy child even at the age of twenty seven. Darcy had put growing up on hold while he waited for his parents to finish the hash pretentious façade they were living and come home. He had done what was needed of him to make their lives easier. He had be-gone anything that mattered to him and it had taken leaving the city and seeing things a fresh to realize it. He felt deep down inside himself that he had mourned the loss of his parents’ years before and although they still lived and breathed they could not be part of his life. He could not hide behind their loss to him as a way of avoiding his own life. He had used it for years as an excuse for not making friends, not finding time for them. Darcy had felt horrible for leaving the keep in the way he had and turning his back on his father but he had to do it. It was on his way back to Briers Hill, with the cool wind clearing his head and drying his eyes that Darcy made a decision to start this new life come sunrise. His heart was filled with a resolve, he was determined but he had no purpose. That was something he would have to work on. Darcy felt bad for leaving the fort the way he had. If the Kings words were true Darcy might never see his father again but Darcy didn’t see any other way. What good would have been done by sitting talking to a stranger that knew nothing but war? Darcy realized he would have to stop mopping around and start living. He would deliver the letter for the King and then find his own life. The estate could crumble for all he cared. It was just a mausoleum of memories from his dead past. Darcy would hand over whatever gold he could squeeze from the estate to Granny and head off away from Neeskmouth and the pressure the king put on him. There had to be something better out there for him.
Darcy had spent the night alone in his room at the Dragons Blood Inn thinking. He had to travel to the mages and drop off the letter but he wanted some purpose in his life afterwards. He started asking what he would do when he returned to Neeskmouth. He could take sail in one of his father’s ships, but that would still be his fathers and he would have to wait for it to return from Raidaridin with could be weeks or even months. The crew, if they did decide to leave with him, would see him as his fathers’ son and would treat him as so. He needed something of his own. He needed his own story but that would have to wait for morning. The inns room was basic but it was warm and comfortable, nothing like the lice ridden room Darcy had expected. It was fairly empty, hosting just an empty wardrobe and the bed. The bed was low and basic with linen sheets and the head board was plain and had no decorative carvings that Darcy was used to. Darcy wished he would wake to a bowl of water brought in by Granny in the morning but he knew the room would be as bare come sun up as it was in the dark. Most of the knights from the fort had staggered off sometime around two and the inn finally started to rest with creaks of aged beams. The smell of the clay was relaxing; it was an improvement to the wet grass and cow dung from the roadside the last few nights. In the silence of the night and with his thoughts spinning to a new life Darcy fell asleep to the sound of glasses clinking. He awoke early as the sound of the horses being fitted back into their harnesses echoed out from below his window. It sounded like the caravan driver was having a bit of trouble with the chestnut mare at its front. Darcy pulled himself to his feet and went to run his fingers through his hair. His fingers froze as they felt the sharp spikes that met them. The memories from the day before washed over him once more and he remembered taking the blade to his hair. He wasn’t completely sure in himself why he had chosen to cut it away and leave it short. It was probably to distinguish himself from his long haired father, or to signify a new start. Darcy didn’t care to much the reason why and as he stood running his fingers through his cropped hair and looking out the window he knew today would be a better day, it was his day. The first day of his life and not just a day he owed to someone else. He would leave the loneliness at Briers Hill with the dead-locks of hair.
Chapter four – who needs the questions, when you have the answers Six days had passed since the celebrations of the century and the guest the Arch Mage had spoken of was due to arrive at any time. But Calvin was far from ready to receive guests of any form or lend the aid the Arch Mage expected him to give. He’d blacked out a few times since he first came around from the shadow realm. His memory was a mix of dreams of the spirit and snippets of being carried down from the Arch Mages room. When he finally came too in his bedroom, his eyes had barely opened before he was sent retching to his knees. Vomiting is never a nice process but watching it cascade through a wiry gray beard and splattering against the floor somehow seems to make it even grimmer. The aged wood of the tower as dry as it was made light work of the moisture leaving only carrot shaped lumps and the smell of dehydration. Calvin had always been a sickly child as far back as he could remember but this was different. He had never felt this wrong. It felt like his insides were burning and his mind was sloshing around like damp cotton wool in porridge. If you can imagine that moment when you first wake up, that muzzy feeling in which it feels like you’re not fully in your body. That is exactly how Calvin felt continually since the demon had released him.
“ Pull it together.” Calvin said to himself as he tried to focus on the gaudy curtains fluttering in a gentle breeze creeping in from outside the tower. The curtains had been a gift from one of his students. Calvin had always hated the things but he was soppy at heart, so he had decided to keep them. He’d never been a fan of the bright pattern but the floral swirls on them at the moment seemed to burn his eyes like he was staring
into the sun. The room was dull and gloomy and should have seemed dark but Calvin’s eyes seemed ridiculously sensitive to the light and colors. It was like he had spent his whole life below ground and was seeing sunlight for the first time. His head felt heavy and he let it drop down hanging from the side of the bed but the view below of his explosion a few moments before made him roll back onto the bed and shut his eyes.
“ Yes, Calvin even for me that was disgusting.” Something inside Calvin said in a chorus of voices that echoed around inside his skull like a leaf in a storm. Calvin went to ask what was happening but he could feel it all too well. He had known that when the Arch Mage had sent him off to the shadow realm he would end up being possessed in order to become a warrior mage but he hadn’t realized just how literal the experience would be. Calvin could feel the demon inside his skull. The inside of his mouth tasted like a thousand years of rotting fish. His fingers ached and felt like they were held together with twigs. When Calvin’s heart beat it seemed sluggish and labored as if it was being held in a vice but all of this would have been mildly pleasant in comparison to actually being able to hear the demons thoughts. Calvin wondered if anyone else could hear the voice of the beast, he must have - after all - been being looked after by some junior mage or another over the last few days. If they could hear the demon what lies could it have told?
“ Look Calvin, don’t worry. It’s only you who’re blessed with me. The bond isn’t strong enough for me to speak. Not yet anyway.” The demon Rinwid cackled obviously delighted by Calvin’s discomfort. Demons by definition are psychotic and perverted and Calvin had spent the last few days in between his brief moments of lucidity sharing the demons dreams. They were memories he knew he would never be able to shake no matter how many bottles of strong spirit he tried to use. They dreams had allowed him to learn several new ways to sexually harass an array of animals and he would never be able to look a weasel in the eye again.
Dragons Blight (Valadfar Book 1) Page 7