The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path

by Douglas Van Dyke

  Loved?

  Love and healing was the specialty of Sir Wilhelm’s goddess, Abriana. He remembered Jareth saying that love and hate couldn’t exist without each other. It was only in the darkest times suffered under hate that you truly appreciated what love meant. Only after you lost things could you truly appreciate how much you loved them. Jareth had also talked to him about death, and the healing process after one experienced it firsthand. Healing was another area of the goddess’ influence. Even as Trestan considered all this in his mind, he was aware that a part of him was trying to shield the better portions of his soul. The words and memories were there to protect his heart with the armor of faith. The young man knew he would grieve for some time, and he felt he had a far path to tread before he really accepted his losses that night. He was full of grief and anguish, but he was alive and had to find a way to go on.

  Trestan Karok kneeled by the side of Sir Wilhelm Jareth, placing one hand over his own heart and the other hand over the heart of his teacher. He bowed his head and prayed. “Revered Abriana, Goddess of Love and Healing, I pray to you now in my moment of suffering and loss. Take this man who has fallen while in your service, and send his soul to the paradise he has earned. Thank you for the guidance and knowledge he has brought me in the time I’ve known him. I ask that through such knowledge and the healing strength of your love, my heart and mind will heal from the blow dealt to my senses this night.”

  The young smith had to pause and consider his next words, “Guide me in what path I choose next in this life. The ‘enemies of love and healing’, as Jareth would have called them, have struck and rode off into the night with a prisoner. The dark ripples that started tonight will spread outward from the ones who created them. I am a humble smith; I don’t know what I might do to change things. At the same time, I consider myself your servant. If there is anything I can do to heal my heart and others, I ask that you make me your instrument in this world. I pray my path will further the course of love and healing to those around me. I do not want others to experience the pain and loss I have felt tonight…I would not wish the same on anybody.”

  A call came from down the street. Cat was yelling for his attention. Trestan slowly got up and turned his head that way, listening for the words. Her voice drifted to him over the empty, silent street. “It’s your friend Petrow! He’s hurt.”

  The young man brushed the tears from his eyes. He started to walk back to the south end of town, slowly testing his legs. His muscles felt as good as ever. The damnable miracle had finally worn off. He noticed a welcome sight near the end of the church boardwalk. His quarterstaff was hanging off the edge of the roof of the next building down. He jumped up to grab it. Trestan felt some small relief at getting his weapon back, even though the need had passed.

  He passed window after window that was dark. Not all merchants lived right next to their shops, but there should have been people who heard the noise on the street. No one was coming outside to investigate. No one wanted to be involved. There should have been one constable on duty at night, walking the main street, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was grimly possible Sahbin had taken that duty when she knew she was bringing the horses in to the smithy. If that were so, then no help would come until someone got up the courage to run to Lord Tessald’s house and ask for the guards sleeping in the barracks there. The young smith was concerned that none of his fellow villagers showed interest in helping. But, he reminded himself that most wouldn’t have ran out into the street in the face of such trouble unless there had been good reason for them to risk death. The windows stayed dark and quiet, yet there was no telling how many eyes were watching the street from behind the safety of locked doors.

  Katressa had trouble forcing Petrow to drink the healing draught. The young handyman, dazed and angered, fought any attempt to help him. The half-elf was not unused to wounded people acting in that way. Mindful of his injuries, she attempted to pin him down. Katressa subdued him in a position whereby she could force the drink down his throat. Once the blue-eyed man finally swallowed, he calmed a bit and continued to drink. The potion acted fast. Petrow stopped flailing and regained strength and clarity. He drained the miraculous draught down, and Cat released her hold on him. They sat together on the dusty street, while Petrow took some deep breaths. Trestan ran up as he was thanking the half-elf. Though Petrow was healed, Trestan saw Revwar’s horse still suffered a leg injury, unable to get up. Trestan also noticed Petrow’s wood axe lying nearby.

  Petrow looked from Katressa to Trestan, rubbing his abdomen from the remembered effects of the minotaur’s heavy stomp. Katressa put away the empty vial, speaking to Petrow, “Good sir, you are not the worse for wear now. I didn’t expect to run into someone who would give me a few more bruises tonight, but I’ll heal. What happened to put you in the way of the mage’s horse?”

  Petrow looked up the street at the battle scene while collecting his thoughts. “I peeked out to investigate the noise up the street. I saw the battle during Sir Wilhelm’s last moments. I recognized Lady Shauntay being held by the minotaur. I saw Trestan rolling on the ground hurt. I guess when they finally rode my direction I wasn’t thinking. I had my woodcutter’s axe with me, and I thought to somehow do something. I was angry…probably wasn’t thinking the brightest.”

  Petrow reached over to his axe and pulled it closer to him. “They were riding right towards my spot. I ran out into the street to hit the elf with my axe. Somewhere out there I think my courage wore off. I realized what a dangerous thing I was doing! I remember the shock on the elf’s face, some uncertainty on my part as far as what to do next, and then smack! It was such a shock, I don’t know if we collided by accident or not. After that I vaguely recall something hard landing on my stomach.”

  “The minotaur stomped pretty hard on you,” provided Trestan. “Nay more brave or foolish than what I did. I ran right up to them with Sir Wilhelm thinking to somehow help. Their cleric cast a miracle, which put me out of the fight. I’m lucky she didn’t kill me. Sahbin and Sir Wilhelm died while I watched. That woman from Kashmer that was with Lady Shauntay is also dead back there. I don’t even know what they were fighting over. I saw the holy stone from the church on the ground, but they put that back in its place and kidnapped Lady Shauntay.”

  Trestan and Petrow both cast a glance at Katressa. She looked with a puzzled expression at them, until she realized their unspoken questions. “I followed them because I figured they were up to something. I didn’t know what. I was on the next street over when I first heard shouting, and then I climbed the carpenter’s shop to get a safe look. I didn’t see anything until the moment the mage cast a spell that tripped the horses.”

  Petrow glanced back at Trestan. “Tres, you must feel terrible right now over Jareth’s death. I swear before the gods, such a murder will someday be avenged. Why, I’ve half a mind right now to go down that road and go a second round with them. I’d love to plant my axe into one of those trespassers.”

  Petrow noticed something; his eyes widened a bit. He smirked at Trestan, “Ok, my friend. That must have scared you more than I thought. I mean, I was scared…but I didn’t wet my pants!”

  Trestan flushed red; even Katressa couldn’t hide another grin at that moment. The young smith shouted, “It was the miracle that the cleric cast I told you! It relaxed my muscles and made me helpless. I swear I didn’t lose control like that! Milady, is that so rare an occurrence?”

  Katressa nodded in amused agreement, “Such things like that have been known to happen under some restraining spells and miracles.”

  The handyman wouldn’t let it rest. “Oh nay, I know Trestan! He may practice swordplay, but he’s a soft guy inside that shell. Couldn’t handle the terror, eh?”

  Trestan shook his head. “Ok, believe what you want. I hope you get hit with the same power some day and see for yourself what it’s like. I tell you, it’s the scariest thing you can imagine to be so helpless in the face of such opponents.”

 
Petrow hefted his axe. “Well, I guess it won’t happen. I wouldn’t mind trying an axe out on them after the way this night went. Too bad they’re running; I’d have liked one whack at that elf or his creature pet.”

  “They are running, but to what?” The smith was looking down the south road into the darkness beyond.

  Cat stood and straightened her leather outfit. Although her wounds were healed, her hair was tangled, and she looked like she had been through a rough tumble. She turned her attention on Trestan. The woman silently considered Trestan’s words before she spoke. “What are you thinking, young man?”

  Trestan considered his feelings for a moment. “They have two horses carrying three riders, one of those riders wearing heavy armor. The minotaur is forced to run, carrying a burden. They aren’t getting away too fast. It might not be the brightest move on my part, but I’m thinking I want to follow them.”

  Petrow looked at him incredulously, “Tres, you know I was mostly kidding about wanting to try my axe on them?”

  The young smith ran his hands over his quarterstaff, aware that it had been useless during the battle. “They took someone dear to the village. They kidnapped a young lady, whose scared eyes touched mine before she was carried off. I knew that look; it was the look I had when I was helpless and at their mercy. They put blood on our streets. They killed someone very dear to me. Now, I’m not one to go for vengeance, it’s against what Jareth taught me. But, I’m scared for what they might have done that we don’t know about. I’m also scared for what will happen to Lady Shauntay.”

  Noticing Katressa standing there, seeming to weigh the young man against his words, the smith asked her, “What were you planning on doing?”

  Cat smiled a weary smile. “I want to get my horse back. I respect that they are a tough, well-seasoned band of warriors. Despite that I can’t give up. I followed them before and I can again, I can get real sneaky if I need to. I have to try following them, but I do not wish for you to misinterpret my words. I have nay intention of fighting them! I watched all my bolts get caught by that man and then lost every weapon I had on me before he nearly killed me. Maybe, if I find a way, I can do something to stop them. There are more subtle ways of dealing with an enemy.”

  Trestan nodded, “They are ‘enemies of love and healing,’ as Sir Wilhelm would say. They have a prisoner, but they can’t go much faster than we can. I may get myself killed down that road, but I feel my conscience tugging me that direction.”

  Petrow got to his feet. He looked between Cat and Trestan, aware that both seemed set on their course. “I think this is foolish and dumb. The sad part is that I want in on it too. Tres, you’ve been my best friend since I can remember. I’m not letting you go at this alone. You need someone to watch over you, at least until you lose heart in this and turn around home.”

  Trestan set his jaw firm, “I’m not coming back until I’ve done all I could or I’m unable to follow. After that, I hope to come back and see where I can pick up my life again.”

  Katressa glanced back up the street. “Well, after I get my weapons and some food…we might catch them. There are plenty of the lord’s horses still in the stable, we can borrow…”

  “NAY!” Trestan got in Cat’s view and put his hands up to wave off the idea. “We are not stealing off into the night as they did. I’m walking, and if you touch a horse that doesn’t belong to you…well…don’t. I’m not into stealing.”

  The half-elf was stunned. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly. I don’t know if we can make a difference, but I was hoping we could journey faster. I hope you can keep up with my pace.”

  The smith finally found a grin, though a small one, make its way to his face, “That should be easy. Loung Chao said you were unfit for traveling.”

  Katressa tilted her head, glanced down at herself, and looked back at him. “I’m glad he would be surprised at my resourcefulness. It’s about time I got one up on him.”

  Petrow interrupted, “Speaking of horses as you were a moment ago, we have one here that we need to deal with soon. The leg is bad. We have to, well, we have to end its suffering.”

  Trestan glanced at Katressa. She opened her arms wide. “Nay, my healing draughts are all used up.”

  The horse no longer thrashed about. It was lying still, watching them. One leg was badly broken, and silent consensus among the three was to end its life in the most humane way possible. Katressa considered it for a bit before speaking, “Even if I grabbed my weapons, I don’t know that I could make a quick, painless strike. I know where to hit, but my rapier or my crossbow wouldn’t be fast for such a large animal.”

  She looked to Petrow. He looked at his axe and then cringed. “I’m sorry Lady Cat, I don’t think I could either. Killing a chicken is easy, but I don’t see how I could do a fast job with a horse.”

  Trestan looked down sadly at his quarterstaff. It was obviously not the weapon for the job. He looked back to the horse and the answer came to him. The elvish sword of Sir Wilhelm remained tied to the back of the saddle. Revwar must have forgotten it after the collision. The young smith remembered the sword’s magical qualities. The image of Jareth cutting through a hitching post, minotaur, and the wooden boardwalk planks was clear in his mind. A part of him didn’t want to touch the sword. It was Sir Wilhelm’s, though it had been willed to Trestan after his death. Trestan had every right to claim it, yet he felt reluctant to do so. By accepting the sword, he was admitting the loss of his mentor. He heard his own voice betray him. “I can do it, with that sword.”

  Petrow glanced at the sword, noticing it for the first time. “Isn’t that Sir Wilhelm’s? How did it get… never mind. I guess I know how.”

  Trestan felt he had to put some thoughts into words, “He wanted me to have the sword after his death. I was honored, but surprised. I wanted him to be alive to see my children grow. I’m not ready to accept this. I do it now, only for what must be done.”

  The young smith hesitated. His limbs wouldn’t respond and move him closer to the sword. He whispered, very quietly. “Abriana, guide me.”

  Whether Katressa’s half-elf ears picked up his prayer or not, she slowly and calmly walked around towards the horse’s head. The horse turned to keep its eyes on her. Cat spoke gently to it, using soothing words. She whispered to Trestan as she moved. “I’ll distract it; you untie the sword.”

  She lulled the horse with her words. She even hummed, some melancholy melody from another land. Trestan moved very slowly, pausing several times when he thought the horse might be trying to watch him. It was well-muscled. It listened to Cat, but its eyes were wide with fright. Petrow stood as still as a statue off to the side. Trestan reached out to touch the drawstrings holding the sword in place. Katressa’s humming and gentle words had a soothing effect, despite the chilling reality of their situation. She kept the horse enthralled. Trestan finally released the last knot, freeing the sheathed sword. He backed away from the horse a bit, aware that it still glanced in his direction. He moved slowly closer to its head and neck. He drew the sword out of its scabbard, trying to be as quiet as possible as the sound of the sliding metal came to his ears. With the blade free of the scabbard, he just stood there holding it. The edge still shined magnificent as ever, the runes of the elven craftsmen decorating the shiny surface. Trestan allowed himself to be mesmerized by the etched knots that twisted along the blade, delaying the deed. As he stood there studying it, he listened to Cat speaking softly in elvish.

  Grabbing the handle firmly with both hands, the young smith willed himself to do what he must. He talked to himself to give courage and conviction to his arms, “Come on Trestan. Compared to what you have already seen tonight, this should be nowhere near as horrible. Do it.”

  He lifted the sword high above his head. Concentrating on where he needed to strike the blow, he cleaved down.

  * * * * *

  He jogged through the smithy in the dark, almost tripping over some of the materials and tools. Trestan spotted the rapi
er he needed to retrieve for Cat. He didn’t immediately grab it; he focused on the back door to his home. Before entering, he set his staff and the elvish sword by the door. Across and up the street, he knew Cat would be heading to her inn room to grab her equipment. The last he had seen of her was when she picked up her crossbow in the street and checked it for damage. Petrow was also running his own errand. They needed supplies before departing.

  No one had gone out to the streets yet, though voices had been heard in the night air. He wondered if his father might be up and about. If so, Trestan didn’t know what to say about his decision to leave. He slowly opened the door. Moonlight partly illuminated the dark hallway. He saw a crack of flickering candle light underneath the closed bedroom door of his father. The young smith tried to creep to his room. Every noise resonated like a shout. He went into his dark room without any sounds coming from his father’s room. His blind fingers found a burlap bag, so he grabbed it. Spare shirt, trousers, all the coins he had…stuffed into the bag.

  “Trestan! Is that you?”

  Startled by the familiar voice, the young man froze. Looking back, his father’s door was still shut tightly. Everything remained very quiet and still for what seemed like the longest moment. Trestan found it hard to swallow. He wanted to reply; yet to do so would inevitably bring about a discussion Trestan wanted to avoid. Working quietly, he stuffed some metal eating utensils that were bundled in a cloth wrap into the bag next. One good thing about working in a smithy: never a lack of metal objects around the house. A few candles. A thin blanket. When Trestan finished there, the only thing left was to get some food for the trip.