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

by Douglas Van Dyke

  Cat’s voice called out, startling them. “You two realize how dead you are? How dangerous that was?”

  Both men looked around. They could not see her in the woods, and they weren’t even sure which direction her voice had come from. The woods around them suddenly grew darker and more unwelcome, as at least one person had eyes on them from hiding. They felt very vulnerable standing in a sunlit, open camp, while shadows filled the woods around them.

  From out of the bushes came her voice again, “Trestan, look left.”

  The young smith raised his quarterstaff in defense and faced to his left as commanded. He jumped back as he heard the click of a crossbow. A bolt zipped through the air to smack squarely into a branch at eye level, five feet from him. He stared at the bolt for a moment, not seeing any obvious danger. He then looked around for Katressa, but could not tell where she was.

  The half-elf called out again, “Where am I? Did you not see where the bolt came from that hit so close to you? That tree branch is a smaller target than you.”

  “Cat, you’re scaring me. My nerves are on edge as it is. Was it wrong to feel protective of you? I’d rather nothing happened to you while in my care.” Trestan finally spotted Katressa as she arose from the bushes at the edge of the clearing, holding an empty crossbow in one hand.

  Petrow, gripping his axe tightly, looked about for more danger. He looked unnerved, despite his charge into the hidden camp. It was unlike Petrow to give the appearance that he wasn’t in control of a situation. The young smith wondered what made Cat upset enough to scare them both like that. She looked to Trestan, and he saw genuine concern there. She motioned for Petrow to come closer and hear what she had to say. Her words were aimed for both of them, knowing they were simple folk and not veterans. A lesson needed to be taught.

  “Remember your limitations and your enemies’ strengths. I am nay maiden stuck at a farm and content to knit blankets. Was your axe or quarterstaff really going to be of much use against that band? If it comes to battle, I think we will lose. I followed them from Barkan’s Crossing to Troutbrook for two days without them seeing me…and I even passed them on the road. I am a scout, or some might say, an infiltrator. For many years I served my elvish homeland very well against trespassing monsters. I watch, and sneak, and strike when I can win. Even then, sometimes I lose, like I did last night. The healing potion took away most of the damage, but I still hurt. It is not any protection to me when you run where the enemy might be, making noise and charging openly. I’d be safer if I quietly moved in and observed them without raising an alarm. That is how we need to act. If we rush in head first, we lose. We’re lucky this camp appears to have been deserted.”

  As she finished, they all heard the sound of horses on the unseen road. They wanted to rush out and see what was there, yet Cat’s lesson burned in the young men’s thoughts. She turned and motioned for them to stay and then ran into the bushes closer to the road. She disappeared from view quickly. A short amount of time passed as the horses thundered by and left, and Cat returned to the clearing before all the noise had faded.

  She described the appearance of the riders. They traveled from the north, wearing the livery of the guards from Troutbrook. They had not seen Cat, instead focusing their minds on the road before them as they rode hard and fast southwards. Apparently, Lord Tessald’s men were riding to catch the kidnappers. When the news sunk in, the young men stood there wondering what course they should take next. For all they knew, they might walk into Barkan’s Crossing just as Lady Shauntay and her guards were riding back to her father.

  Trestan looked to Katressa, “I may never be a warrior, but I didn’t choose this course lightly. I didn’t come all this way to turn back now.”

  Petrow looked at his lifetime friend, “Nor would I turn back so soon. I’ll go if you are, Tres.”

  Katressa nodded, “Brave or foolish, I’m pleased to see you do not get discouraged easily. But follow my lead more, I beg you. Let us return Lady Shauntay to Troutbrook if it is in our power, not end up as unnamed corpses on some back road.”

  * * * * *

  Miles passed as the day started to wane. The countryside became hills and valleys. In the distance, far south on the horizon, they could see the mountain peaks marking the end of Kashmer’s Protectorate. Giant creatures roamed the wild mountains. Although it was imperceptible, the land was slowly rising up towards those far peaks. There were areas east of the road that one could descend to sea level and find scattered fishing villages. At times they stood on high enough plateaus that they could see the ocean against the eastern horizon. Occasional small trails carved into the land off to that side, used only by the fishermen and a few merchants. Much of this land remained wild, and could be claimed by less civilized creatures.

  They stopped for a brief drink and meal at a well next to some ruins. Although the well was workable and had good water, the castle it once supplied decayed in ruins and partial collapse around the hilltop. Moss covered stones and overgrown paths remained of someone’s long-forgotten legacy. It was likely that the cataclysms and wars pre-dating the Covenant may have brought down whoever once lived here. Trestan gazed upon the old fort and crumbling towers with a bit of wanderlust. He imagined climbing around inside it, perchance finding some age old treasure. Likely it had either been picked over, or even worse, guarded by the souls of those forever trapped inside. It was hard to imagine the surrounding hills as they must have appeared ages ago. He wondered if there had been houses and stores perched on this hilltop as well? Had there once been a jousting field where the road now treads? The knowledge of the past, like the occupants of the castle, was long out of reach and forgotten. The ruins only served as a landmark now. The well had become a stopping point for caravans and merchants, but no one seemed to lay claim to this once grand structure.

  They continued along the trail, hoping to cover a lot more ground before night forced them to camp again. Katressa professed confidence they might reach the next town by afternoon of the next day. During their conversation she complimented the young men on how well they had kept up with her. The men concealed the pains of their feet from her. Trestan hadn’t missed the fact that Petrow had washed his feet a bit at the well. The young handyman had not said anything, but on the sides of the sandals Trestan could see traces of blood. The young smith also suffered sore feet, and dreaded what he might find left of his soles once they camped. Though the pain was a constant discomfort, they were able to distract themselves with scenery and chatting. Along the way conversation flowed as smoothly as it had the previous night at the inn. They actually found things to smile and laugh about, keeping their minds calm in face of the hard road ahead of them.

  Katressa pointed to the sword on Trestan’s back at one point. “You have laid claim to that sword, but you haven’t taken it off your back yet. You favored your quarterstaff when you charged into that empty camp. Have you used a sword before?”

  Trestan was using his staff as a walking stick. “I think a part of my heart doesn’t yet want to lay claim to this sword milady, though Sir Wilhelm wanted me to have it. I am more accustomed to carrying this staff, but it has never been used for defense.”

  When Trestan said no more on the subject, Petrow added in, “Pardon my answering on behalf of Trestan’s sake, as he seems to keep quiet on the subject. He has practiced with a sword, though he keeps it a secret from his father.”

  Trestan bristled a bit at Petrow’s comment. The young smith turned to give him a warning stare. “Please don’t speak of that to anyone! I don’t want my father to know!”

  Petrow would not be intimidated. He knew Trestan was not as mad as he appeared. He spoke again, “From what I’ve heard and seen, I think Tres is getting pretty good with a sword.”

  The half-elf read into the words and learned a bit more of Trestan’s past. “So, the warrior with you on the street was your secret trainer? Did you take to his lessons well?”

  Trestan walked a bit in silence. He favored hu
mility, but the lady had asked him directly the measure of his skills. “I’ve tried to pretend at being a swordsman and Sir Wilhelm has given me praise. He said I was probably one of the better swordsmen in the village, but that is not a very big compliment. I have practiced milady, but I am untested, and perhaps unready.”

  Petrow smiled, “You’re too humble, my friend. You are a better man than Tessald’s armsmen even if they have better skill with the sword than you possess, and I’m not saying that they do have better training. I couldn’t honestly tell you whether they have any skill. I’ve seen them when they are staggering drunk, and I compare them to the adventurers that pass through town. Now, Sahbin could handle herself, but the rest sometimes acted like thugs themselves, or been put to shame by warriors who passed through our corner of the world.”

  Trestan stroked his young mustache, “I wasn’t saying I was better than any of them. So what if they’ve rarely used a sword themselves? When have I wielded one in battle?”

  Cat’s eyes passed back and forth as the young men talked, guessing more than either revealed. Petrow spoke next, “The threat of a sword is enough for the village folk. Also, the people who live there have had roots going back generations. That noble house on the hill has always been the law, but life goes merrily on regardless of whatever decrees come from there. Nothing real exciting ever comes to that town. I’m just saying they aren’t as good as you might think they are.”

  Cat interrupted before Trestan could reply, “You mean aside from Sahbin, there were nay veteran warriors among Lord Tessald’s ranks?”

  Trestan replied, “There are two that have been settled in now for more years than I can count easily. I think they were once guards or soldiers from Kashmer’s navy. They helped train the others, but they don’t even carry swords themselves.”

  A snicker came from Petrow, “They are old and trying to enjoy a quieter life. They don’t use swords because they can’t really handle them anymore. Instead, they arm themselves with crossbows and keep a distance from any prospective trouble. Crossbows are easy, people joke about them as being the old warrior’s weapon.”

  Petrow missed the sudden warning on Trestan’s face. The smith tried clearing his throat as well to stop the older man from completing the sentence, but it was too late. Cat only smiled, and Petrow realized his error as she lovingly patted the crossbow slung across her back. She then tilted her exotic face to one side and answered, “I love the sting of my deadly crossbow. I don’t mind if you see it that way. After all, at thirty-seven years I am definitely the old warrior here.”

  The age shocked Trestan and Petrow, who had never given thought to such aspects of a half-elf’s lifespan. Katressa Bilil seemed as youthful and energetic as the two of them, if not more so. Half-elves enjoyed a much longer life expectancy than pure humans. It didn’t seem to sit well that their beautiful traveling companion was old enough by human terms to be their mother. If someday Trestan and Petrow lived to be grandfathers, Katressa would barely age by comparison.

  Seeing the look on their faces, Cat obviously regretted bringing her age into the conversation. They were still moving at a fast pace along the road. Cat stepped ahead and began fidgeting with her rapier and scabbard. “Forget I brought that up. It’s time to see what my companions are made from.”

  She unhooked rapier and scabbard from her baldric. The scabbard still covered the rapier blade and thus blunted the weapon. Cat turned to face them, still walking backwards to cover ground. She withdrew in a guard position and motioned to Trestan. “Draw your blade, swordsman. Leave scabbard covering the steel, like mine. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Trestan actually found himself wanting to try a friendly practice swordfight against the half-elf. He handed his quarterstaff to Petrow, and then he took hold of the elvish bastard sword. Trestan bowed to the woman even as he moved forward. Scabbard clashed against scabbard, though neither participant tried to hit or swing very hard. It was more a test of parrying strikes and seeing how the other reacted to the attacks. They were still moving up the trail, but now the pace was accentuated by sword swings and thrusts.

  Trestan found it hard to guard against Cat’s skill. She never had to draw back for a large swing; the thin rapier’s blade only needed to sneak around an opponent’s defenses well enough to make a hit. Her method displayed efficiency, and she kept her balance even while backing along the road. Trestan’s attacks still focused on spinning the sword in tight circles to block what should have been swings by heavier swords. Over time the young smith thought he perceived weaknesses in Cat’s style, and his moves changed accordingly. The young smith attempted maneuvers which Sir Wilhelm had taught him in regards to trying to “trap” Cat’s blade. He even learned a few moves from her and used them as well, which impressed her. The road passed by as they advanced and guarded along every step of the way.

  Eventually Trestan tired out and Petrow got his chance to spar. Petrow used a heavy tree branch to substitute for his heavy axe. His style left more openings than Trestan’s, but Cat assured him that if he wasn’t afraid of getting a minor wound, his return blow would end the resistance of any foe. As she worked with him, she helped him change some of his style. Both men exchanged turns fencing and sparring with Cat for some time.

  When they finished sparring, Cat admitted Trestan might be a novice, but he had been well-trained by his former mentor. She didn’t expect a young smith to fight as well as he did, though she didn’t hand out too much praise. It wouldn’t do any good to swell the young man’s head when there were many dangerous people in the world.

  When Petrow asked Cat what she thought about his skill, she teasingly smiled. “Well, if I were you I still wouldn’t try standing your ground against any wizards on horseback anytime soon.”

  * * * * *

  The sun dropped behind the hills to the west. In the distance, red rays of sunlight glinted off the tops of the mountains ahead of them. The valleys they walked through became bathed in shadow. Night sounds started, while the daytime animals sought shelter for the evening. Aburis, the largest moon as well as the strongest pull of the tides at this time of year, was well on the rise. In another part of the sky, Nirahha was just clearing the ridge tops.

  Cat continued to try setting the pace, but Trestan and Petrow were falling behind. Both men proudly resisted calling for a rest, but they plodded along in a sleepy haze. The adventuress felt the weariness of the trail, and she imagined how the same effect would have multiplied on her two companions. Though strong-willed and physically capable, neither man had walked so far in his life. Cat knew they were at their limit. It was time to find a camp and get a much-needed rest.

  They finally cleared the top of another ridge. The road dropped down from the heights into another dark valley. Cat stopped abruptly, and held out her hands. The two dazed men promptly bumped her. Before they could get in a word, she shushed them and pointed down into the valley a short distance. Both men strained to focus on the object of her attention. It wasn’t far away, but there through the canopy of trees they saw the flickering light. A thin trail of smoke rose from the area.

  They were overlooking a campfire.

  CHAPTER 5

  The three from Troutbrook walked openly up the trail, Petrow holding a lit torch aloft. A short while ago, Petrow and Trestan had taken cover in the woods while the half-elf scouted the campfire. As tired as they had been on the trail, the sight of someone else on the road refreshed their senses. The two men had been alert and watchful during her absence. When Katressa came back, she informed them of seeing a lone gnome, tending a fire and reading a manuscript by its light. She believed the gnome camped alone. After some discussion, the three decided to approach the gnome openly and inquire whether he had seen anyone on the road.

  So onward Petrow led, holding up a lit torch so as to approach the campfire in a friendly way. The camp sat within some trees, yet quite visible to the road. As they rounded some trees the gnome could see them as well as they could see him
. He peered at them in the dark, and then put away the scroll he had been reading. They saw the gnome glance at his small crossbow. The gnome didn’t make any moves towards the weapon or show much alarm; he simply exercised caution due to the unknown intent of his surprise visitors. Cat waved and he returned the gesture with a smile.

  As they drew closer, they had a better look at the small humanoid. From his little boots to the crown of his head, his height didn’t top three feet. He was rather handsome as far as gnomes go, and displayed a cheerful smile. His dark brown hair included a thin mustache and goatee. His fashion included colorful clothes; straps and bags criss-crossed his tunic. Aside from the small crossbow, he wore a light mace upon his belt. He held a smoking pipe, which gave off a sweet aroma that pervaded the camp. They also noticed a short, carved piece of wood tucked away in the gnome’s belt…possibly a wand. The gnome didn’t have a pony, dog or other visible mount. The companions looked for signs that anyone else might be sharing the camp, but he appeared to be alone. Only one blanket stretched out near the fire.

  He greeted them as they entered his camp. He spoke warmly, and with an easy smile, “Greetings and fair eve travelers. I trust your intentions are honorable, and if so you are welcome to enter my camp in peace. If your intent is something more rash, I assure you I have magic at my disposal to protect myself.”

  Cat answered on behalf of the three, “We come with peaceful intentions. We have journeyed from Troutbrook and seek news on other groups who may have passed you on the road today. This is all we desire, and would be honored to share your campfire and be your guests for a bit.”

  “I am glad to hear of it,” the gnome responded, “Have a seat with me, and let us trade introductions and tales.”

  The companions arranged themselves around the fire, and their host sat on a stump. Cat made a formal introduction for the group. She gave the gnome their names and professions, labeling herself as a privateer in the service of Kashmer. Trestan and Petrow nodded to their host as she introduced them. The young men felt out of place considering how ragged they looked compared to Cat and the gnome. They suffered the tiring effects of the road, thus were grateful to be sitting around a campfire.