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

by Douglas Van Dyke

  The one-eyed man shook his head, “We carried nay such supplies to shore. Any healing we had would have been stored on the boat, except for the lady cleric.”

  Petrow stepped closer to him, raising his saber threateningly. “You better talk! Where were they headed with the village stone? Why did they have one that looked similar? You’ll answer or I will find a way to extend your misery.”

  Trestan frowned but looked down at the wounded mercenary. The man looked to Trestan and replied, “I don’t know of the stone he speaks. I knew we were to carry them to Barkan’s Crossing, wait for them, and carry them again to another location. I don’t mind telling you, young sir. At least you have compassion for a dying man who made his living the way he pleased. From here, we were to sail them to an island among some reefs, almost two days sailing straight east. The sea is shallow in that area, and some castle from long ago stands there. I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tell you that. There seems to be nay opportunity for you to follow them, even if they left a rowboat behind.”

  At the mention of a rowboat, Mel used his little legs to run towards the edge of the bluff and see what was left. Lady Shauntay, standing away from the party, looked upon the wounded man with as much scorn as Salgor did. The noble confirmed part of the story. “I did hear something about a castle to the east, over the water.”

  The wounded man coughed a bit, and Trestan focused his attention on trying to keep pressure on the wounds. The rest of the party noticed Mel looking back from the bluff edge. The gnome sorcerer was shaking his head. Apparently there were no more boats left.

  Cat no longer held her rapier poised to skewer the man. She wasn’t sure she understood why Trestan was so willing to save the man’s life. She respected the young man for his opinions, but she knew that the mercenary was dying anyway. Salgor had also ceased to pay attention to the spectacle. The dwarf openly searched for loot and took the bags of money off the men he had killed.

  The wounded man wasn’t stirring much. His labored breathing slowed. His eye was half closed when he began to sing a few lines, “Remember my courage, remember my stand…in this way, learn the measure of man. Now some may grieve, and some never know…but this…was the path…I chose to go.”

  Tears fell from Trestan’s face. The young smith’s shoulders shook as he mourned for the man that had almost taken his own eye. A few last words escaped the sailor’s lips. “Boys, I see the lights of the port…if you don’t mind, I’m going to visit my lady before we share drinks tonight.”

  * * * * *

  The events immediately following the battle would echo in the minds of three of them as dull images, distant impressions of a place where they barely took notice of the passage of time. Lady Shauntay dwelled by herself off to the side. Mostly all she could remember was some fresh water she found to satisfy her dry throat. Besides that, the rest of the time spent after the battle was merely a dark image of death and horror that her brain would not relive later on. Petrow wasn’t sure what all he had done during the aftermath of the fight. The young handyman could always recall that he did find his old wood axe, and he remembered taking the coins and pipe weed off the dead, red-haired man. Trestan had one visual image of that period of time after the battle that would come back to haunt his dreams. He remembered tracing his steps back to where he had dropped the Sword of the Spirit. The blade had a mysterious shine, yet there was also blood and soot across part of it. When Trestan first reached for the discarded sword, he was also aware of the red blood coating his own hands. He went down to the shore and scrubbed at his hands for a long time. With an oily rag, he also cleaned the sword until it shined like new again.

  The ship was sailing off into the distance. Sails harnessed the wind to bear the craft eastward. It faded into the vast horizon of the sea during the time the companions remained at the battlefield.

  Katressa, Mel and Salgor saw the aftermath from a different perspective. Salgor never cared to see the dead bodies of his enemies as much more than objects to search for treasure. The dwarf would not mourn for those who would kidnap a person and do business with murderers. Salgor looted coins, though he also liberated several full liquor bottles and other equipment. Mel also went searching for valuables. The gnome was distracted often from his search, noting with awe the damage done by his wand. The magical item had created more destruction than even he thought it would.

  At one point Salgor looked to Mel and asked, “You know I don’t like magic. That being said, your wand is one good weapon. Why didn’t you pull that thing out earlier and use it?”

  Mel pointed at Cat, replying, “She wanted me to use the crossbow!”

  Cat gaped and replied, “Sorry! Next time I’ll know better.”

  Cat looked over the battlefield, finding no other survivors among the mercenaries. She salvaged a few items of value and supplies for the trip back to Troutbrook. The adventuress found a new crossbow to replace her broken one. The half-elf took the bags of money off of Trestan’s two victims and carried the pouches to him on the shoreline. She found him in a somber mood.

  “I didn’t expect you to be jumping for joy,” Cat told him, “But you seem very quiet and reserved. We won the battle, and the person we set out to rescue is freed.”

  Trestan’s voice shook when he replied. He would not meet Cat’s eyes. “Oh, I’m glad…not exactly happy, but I guess proud of myself.”

  Cat detected something in his voice, and noticed twitches in his hands. “Are you crying?”

  Trestan nodded. Cat didn’t immediately respond, waiting for the young man to speak his mind. The young human found his voice again a moment later. “I’m proud, and a part of me feels like I triumphed over some big obstacle. And yet, my hands keep shaking and I am crying. My head seems a jumble of emotions, and I keep seeing the battle in my mind. A part of me feels weary, and yet another part of me hasn’t calmed down yet.”

  Katressa Bilil put an arm over his shoulder. “You did your best and came out of it alive. You can’t go back and change the past, but all in all we came out of that battle better than we should have expected. I think I was a nervous jumble of emotions after my first big battle too. It was like a rush of energy, and when the fight is over it takes your nerves a long time to calm down.”

  No response came at first from the young man, so Cat continued, “Don’t cry or feel too much sorrow for those you killed today.”

  Trestan replied, “I try to tell myself that. I haven’t convinced my heart yet. That man with the eye patch was so scary when he charged me. I killed him, yet he had a life and a loved one somewhere.”

  Cat nodded, though he could not see the gesture, “You have a life too, and yours is more honorable than his. He befriended killers and thieves, who would have killed us without mourning afterward. You are better than them because you care. You’ll spend a long time thinking on this morning, Trestan. For now though, you need to gather yourself together and be ready to travel. It serves nay purpose to linger here much longer. We have to get the noble back to her family.”

  Cat tried to give the money pouches to Trestan, but the young man balked at taking them. The half-elf spent more time soothing Trestan’s uneasy thoughts before pushing the money into his hand. He accepted the bounty, though reluctantly.

  As Trestan tucked the coins away, he softly stated, “I didn’t do this for money.”

  Cat answered, “I know, but they did. Everything we suffered on this trip, they put on us for a few coins. Well, I don’t know what the other band was up to, but these people sold their souls for money. I bet you’ll put it to better use. Your father wouldn’t mind seeing some income, seeing as his son has not been there to help him at the smithy.” Cat put an arm around Trestan and guided him back up the bluff. “You did this because you followed your heart. Trestan. That is a noble thing.”

  * * * * *

  West and northwest, right foot then left foot, the companions journeyed across the countryside once again. They traversed wild terrain, claimed by the Kashme
r Protectorate but unpopulated by humans. Since they had traveled so far north from Barkan’s Crossing to arrive at the bluff, they decided to get the noble back home by the quickest route, and not return to that city of crafters. Their path took them through untamed land and small woods. Mel knew some of the surrounding land, stating that gnomes and goblins both had communities here. The party was on a constant watch for the latter. Through rolling terrain and areas of high grass they marched along. Salgor took the lead, his blocky frame crushing tall grass and his axe clearing some growth that hampered their walk. Cat led her horse, using it only to carry supplies.

  Troutbrook still seemed a long way off, and no one could guess when they might finally break through the wilder part and come upon the road. Stirring up the grass sometimes brought forth a small swarm of insects, and occasionally they had to avoid patches of briars. At one point Salgor even guided them around a carnivorous plant. He pointed it out and told them it mostly hunted small game, but wouldn’t mind if a larger creature would step into its tendrils. Petrow and Trestan noted the plant with alarm, thinking that such things had been a myth. Though they walked well away from it, Trestan and Petrow kept their hands on their weapons.

  As the day passed Trestan trudged on with some weariness. It became apparent to the others that he still suffered some hurt from his wound. The young man kept a positive facade, avoiding any comments on his health. Trestan talked and laughed with others, but seemed to be tiring more than he had on the trip south.

  One person really slowed the party more so than the terrain. Lady Shauntay’s feet had been in horrible condition from her tiring walk south, and she hadn’t been treated as well. Walking pained her to the point where she went slow and stopped often. Mel wished he had brought more healing poultice to apply to her feet. She was truly in bad shape. Trestan trudged on without complaint, yet the noble slowed the pace considerably. Several times the lady stopped to rest, regardless of what the party said. She kept complaining that she wanted to soak or rub her feet. Lady Shauntay tried demanding the use of the horse, which was now loaded with burdensome supplies. Eventually when they began moving again, Cat tried to walk the horse behind the noble. The bulk of the horse, coupled with Cat’s urging was supposed to keep Lady Shauntay pressing forward. The young daughter of the Tessald house would not be rushed this way. So as the day wore on, progress was very slow.

  Most of the party disliked the noble and wouldn’t care for her pains. Mel was an exception, as the gnome easily got along with everyone. He talked easily most of the journey, but occasionally his subject matter included the blisters and sores on Trestan’s and Petrow’s feet during their walk south. Such tales of the trials of her rescuers didn’t distract the haughty girl from her own discomfort.

  A couple of the party members were troubled by Trestan’s newest wound. Petrow’s wounds only consisted of bruises and minor cuts, yet Petrow had seen the light of the spell almost cut completely through Trestan. He had held a hand to the wound. It was a deadly injury, and the young handyman fretted that one healing miracle might not be enough. The handyman had been beaten to the point of broken bones by the minotaur, and the cleric had used several miracles to heal him. Trestan pushed on without complaint, so Petrow started to worry about other things.

  Throughout the day Petrow observed Trestan give the noble a lot of attention. The smith fawned over her, as if Trestan tried to live a dream come true. Trestan could not comfort the noble despite his attempts at doing so, but before long she seemed to take advantage of the situation. Petrow watched and silently fumed as his friend fell into the same trap he had back in Troutbrook. Lady Shauntay would use him, even though Trestan deserved at least as much care and comfort as she did. The young smith waved off any of his own hurts in favor of pleasing the noble. When the lady would stubbornly sit on a rock to rest her feet, she would call out to Trestan that she was tired and needed a rest. Despite the party trying to move on, the young man would also stop and offer her water or see to her needs. The young handyman was hoping to talk some sense into his friend soon.

  Cat had her attention on Trestan as well, and could not miss the exchange. She always marveled at how men could lose their heads over a pretty figure. Lady Shauntay was a lovely image painted over a manipulative mind. It saddened Cat to watch Trestan giving so much undeserved attention to the other woman. The half-elf missed talking with the young man. She had grown attached to both Petrow and Trestan, though more so the young smith. She had laughed and enjoyed so many moments of their short journey, and now she was ignored except when Trestan asked her not to bump the noble with her horse.

  Cat also worried about Trestan’s wound. Salgor had gotten hit and seemed to be no more the worse for it. Petrow’s injuries must be bothering him, though he seemed to be moving ok. Mel and Cat had gotten through the whole battle without injury. Trestan, however, almost had a wide hole blasted through him. One simple healing miracle shouldn’t be enough to treat the whole injury, even though it closed the wound. She could tell by the way he moved, though he tried to hide it, that he was still in pain. Cat wanted to get Trestan to a cleric for more healing as quickly as possible.

  Thus they walked on through the daylight. The natural beauty of the land was lost on most of them as they journeyed. The noble looked forward or downward, her mind on places ahead and behind her. Trestan had eyes on the young Tessald noble, eyes clouded by his own dreams. Cat and Petrow had their concerned eyes on Trestan. Mel looked about the countryside but his feature attribute was again telling stories about anything and everything. Salgor had eyes mostly forward, with a single-minded determination to set the course and try to keep up a good pace despite all.

  * * * * *

  Lady Shauntay sat down with a determined huff. “I said I’m tired! I won’t walk any more today when we can rest here. If you truly are concerned for my welfare you will help me tend to my feet before they fall off.”

  Salgor let loose a bellow from up front as he heard the whining behind him. The dwarf let loose a blow with his axe that toppled a small tree. The sapling hadn’t even been blocking their path. The companions stopped in their tracks much as they had been doing several times that day. Cat glared at the young woman, and even considered trying to force the horse to brush into her again and dislodge her from her seat. Trestan stared back at the half-elf. It was an imploring look, and it disturbed the half-elf to see the young smith so quick to give in to the noble’s wishes.

  Cat spoke with disdain, “We have plenty of time left until it gets too dark. We also have a long way to go.”

  “I know,” Trestan agreed, “but she has had a hard time. She isn’t used to these conditions. There is nay real hurry, as long as we get her back safely.”

  Salgor had walked back to join them. The dwarf had not taken his oversized pack off at all that day, refusing to give in to a full rest. Petrow and Mel just stepped off to the side and shared some water. The dwarf spoke up in his normal, boisterous tone, “We dwarves don’t leave wounded behind. We pick them up and run with them…unless they had an arm chopped off, in which case they can run fine on their own! I can carry her to Troutbrook and that will save her feet further punishment.”

  From her perch on a fallen, moss-covered tree, the noble shrieked out a response, “I will not be carried by another smelly creature against my will!”

  Salgor gripped his axe tighter and scowled at the young woman. She pointedly turned away from him to massage her feet. Trestan felt the need to smooth things over and explain something to Salgor. “You see, that first night the minotaur carried her off…”

  “So now I am being compared to the smell of a minotaur, aye?”

  The companionship of the party dissolved into bickering and snide comments. Despite the early hour, the group finally broke out the blankets and cooking utensils to make camp. Mel smoked a pipe and was the only one carrying a smooth flow of conversation. Many of his comments were the only uplifting statements for the group that evening. Salgor finally s
et his pack down, and broke out some drinks for the others. Trestan hoped to smooth things over with Cat, but he found himself being asked to do little favors for the young noble. Lady Shauntay knew whom she could count on, and she played the helpless role enough to have Trestan serve her. Cat stayed away from the other woman, spending a substantial amount of time simply caring for her horse. Petrow went over and had a silent conversation with Cat. They talked for some time, and Trestan didn’t miss the looks that Petrow directed towards him and the noble.

  Trestan had to do some soul-searching. He silently admitted that he couldn’t say nay to Lady Shauntay. She was beautiful, curvaceous, rich and she possessed one of the brightest smiles as well as imploring eyes. The young woman had a particular charm, and even when she whined men moved to jump and fix things for her. Trestan fulfilled the dream that drove him from home. He rescued the noble from her captors. He faced his most feared enemies and even knocked the cleric of DeLaris senseless during the battle. Lady Shauntay hadn’t actually thanked him, though she had given small compliments in his direction. He had caught her eye and did something for her that demanded notice and respect. The young smith finally felt he was getting the recognition he desired from her.

  At least, he thought he was. The noble used flowery words to appease him, and those were usually followed by simple requests and sacrifices on his part. The young smith had surrendered to her his homemade utensils, and even loaned her his blanket…despite Petrow pointing out they had extra from the mercenary camp. Indeed, after the smith loaned them he borrowed from their looted supplies so that he covered his own needs. That was what finally started to get to him. He didn’t seem to be any romantic interest to the woman. She praised him then asked him for more. Trestan had been nice and courteous to her beyond expectations. At the camp that evening the young smith heated a bowl of water, then cooled it, then heated it…working to get it the proper temperature so that Lady Shauntay could soak her feet. He cared for her ailments despite the discomfort he felt inside from his own wound.