As the handyman smiled amidst the pure joy of flying over his home, Lady Shauntay spoke as well. “Three main streets, a bridge on one end of town…and I see my father’s manor on the ridge! Oh, take me home first! I’ll be glad when this is over so that I can kiss my own pillows again!”
The elf shook his head, “Nay, I can see the village temple even from here. We have to land there first and take care of your wounded friend. Relax young lady, you will be home shortly.”
The noble pouted, “I don’t want the townsfolk to see me like this. I want to be home.”
Cat glared a hole in the noble’s back, briefly toying with an image in her mind. The half-elf would never actually do it, but she imagined how the young noble would feel to get this close and be pushed over the edge of the guardrail. The half-elf preferred to tend her wounded friend, turning away from temptation. Cat had one arm around Trestan as they hovered over the village.
“I feel like I have died and gone to paradise.”
Cat turned at Trestan’s words. He was on his back, looking up at Cat and the clouds above. “I feel like I’m floating with you, Cat. Where are we?”
She smiled at him. As she spoke, he turned about to see the strange vessel and his other companions. “Hang on Trestan, you aren’t dead yet. We are almost to your home.”
“Home,” the young man smiled as his eyes closed again, “I like the sound of that word.”
CHAPTER 16
He stood for a long time before realizing he had been day dreaming again. He saw his blackened fingernails and metal hammer before his eyes, yet he hadn’t actually been looking at them. His mind wandered a lot recently, digging up memories of the past. Despite his best efforts to work, random thoughts kept distracting his heart. His world hadn’t been the same since his boy disappeared.
Mikhael’s young voice piped up beside him, “Isn’t the fire getting a little cold?”
The young boy had been helping more than usual during the past few days. Mikhael had responsibilities to his father’s shop as well, but the smithy needed a helping hand. Hebden Karok absently glanced at the coals of the forge. Although his mind registered the truth of the boy’s words, his body only moved to simply nod agreement at the boy’s observation. The master smith should stoke the fires, but he did nothing until Mikhael interpreted the nod as a cue and went to work on it. Hebden sighed. After being such a hard-working man, he started suffering moments of inactivity; as if a sickness had come over his mind and body lately. He did not care to eat, and he could not put his mind to work. The village depended on him, but they would have to allow him his grief.
The smith did not even know what happened to his son after the night of the fighting in the street. The memories from that night, and the following morning, were still fresh in his mind. He assumed it was his son that entered the house and made noises as he waited behind a blocked door. Hebden didn’t really know one way or the other who it had been. He had assumed Trestan would answer his father. After the unknown intruder had left the house, the evening stretched on unbearably. He had sat by a small candlelight, listening hard for the night sounds beyond his room for a long time. The morning had risen upon a street of blood. Folk found the bodies of humans and animals around the main street. People whispered rumors of dark magic, and described the roars of some horrible creature. The noble’s daughter was rumored to have been kidnapped by strangers, and indeed most of the Tessald house guards rode south in pursuit. Left behind was the body of the captain of the guard. Sir Wilhelm Jareth, a longtime prominent citizen and friend of many, also lay dead.
And what of Hebden Karok’s son?
It only added to the mystery when Hebden realized Petrow was missing as well. Different rumors argued about whether people had seen those young men lying dead in the street, or running south that night in the company of a dark lady. No one really knew anything that could be taken as the honest facts, and certainly Hebden didn’t know how to interpret all the rumors. It was now the sixth day since the fight. Six mornings of unnatural quiet in the Karok home.
Hebden forced his mind back to the task at hand. Mikhael had gotten used to the older man working quietly, so the young kid did his best to contribute without getting in the way. Hebden went to work pounding away at another piece of iron. The smith worked hard to hit the metal just right, restraining the urge to pound his frustrations out. He had already ruined enough pieces of bar stock. The smith wasn’t mad at his son if he had run off, but questions and uncertainty over his son’s fate plagued the smith’s thoughts. Hebden pounded away the morning, trying not to pause and stare too long at the unused leather apron on a nearby hook.
The older smith knew his son liked the life of the hammer and anvil. Trestan showed every intention of following in his father’s footsteps. Occasionally when minstrels passed through, he watched silently as his son’s eyes sparkled at the adventure-filled the songs. Often Hebden wondered if his son might seek a different path. Trestan had trained to use a staff to defend himself, and the notion that he might be studying the sword as well was always present. Hebden was never prepared for the day that his son might be enticed away by the promise of treasures or heroic stories. To this day, Trestan served the smithy and his father faithfully. Hebden knew that his son’s future was not his to dictate, but young men had ways of following unachievable dreams before realizing the traps involved. Where was Trestan now? The father would have given anything to learn some news of his son’s whereabouts. Did he run off? Did someone take him? Did he attempt a foolish pursuit of the kidnapped noble? How long would Hebden have to wait before knowing his son was dead or alive?
The smith of Troutbrook tried to bury his continuing barrage of questions as he worked hard to finish the projects before him. Too many requests and broken items were piling up in his yard, and he had to focus on each job to get the work done.
Some commotion started on the street behind him, distracting him from his work yet again. Several people on the street started yelling. Some of it sounded like panic, yet other voices held comments questioning a strange sight. Hebden and Mikhael stopped and looked about. Merchants, farmers, travelers and other various townsfolk, all spoke and ran about in a confused manner. Some seemed generally panicked, while others tried to calm their friends with assurances. Horses hitched by the inn pranced nervously. Village folk looked to the sky and pointed. The smith motioned to Mikhael to stay where he was, then walked a few steps into the street. Hebden still carried a hammer in his hand, nervous that he might need to hang onto it for some unknown reason. He followed the line of several pointing fingers. When he saw the strange object in the air, he barely kept a grip on his hammer, though his jaw dropped in wonder.
Uncertainty and wonder mixed as Dovewing hovered over the buildings on the main street. Villagers could see people on board the strange vessel and they weren’t sure how to respond. One small humanoid, a gnome by his looks, simply waved down at the people below. The flying vessel slowly circled around the temple area, before gliding closer to the inn and stables. A humming sound emanated from it. Some children were ushered into buildings for their safety; other people started to wave back to the gnome and walk closer out of curiosity. Hebden walked out in front of the smithy to get a closer look, but did not go too far into the street. Upon hearing Mikhael move closer, Hebden waved him to stay back.
The pilot of the flying vessel spotted an area large enough to land, without placing any portion of the craft into the street. He brought it down on an open area adjacent to the inn, often used as a small courtyard or wagon alley. Villagers stayed a respectful distance as Dovewing settled softly on the ground. The humming noise abruptly ceased, while the deck of the small craft bustled with activity. A small crowd formed nearby, mumbling and pointing, though none dared get too close. Hebden thought he heard a voice calling from the craft, greeting people and reassuring them that the newcomers meant no harm. The smith’s view was partly obstructed by other people, but he was content to keep his distance
from the odd sight.
The tone of the crowd changed suddenly. Amidst excited words and pointing, a few cheers went up for “Lady Shauntay”, raising an eyebrow on the smith. Hebden moved to get a different vantage point. When he first saw Lady Shauntay Tessald, it was hard to recognize her. He could see she was dirty, worn and tired, with pain evident in every step. Another woman moved beside the noble, guiding her a few steps away from the strange vessel. The woman was a half-elf, dressed in dark leathers. Hebden did not recognize her, never having seen her when she was in town the first time. The half-elf motioned for people to step back, and they gave way for the noble and her “guard”. She spoke a few words to something in her hand. People stepped back as a mist coalesced before her.
Caution gave way to surprise as a horse appeared out of nowhere! The half-elf leapt into the saddle gracefully, extending a hand to the noble. The crowd, especially several younger men, cheered the return of Shauntay as she put on a smile for those around. With both women on the horse, everyone nearby could see the noble above the heads of their neighbors. Noting that most of the crowd’s focus shifted to them instead of the flying craft, the half-elf decided to command a little attention of her own while she could.
The half-elf yelled to the crowd, and all fell silent to listen to her proclamation. “Your Ladyship Shauntay Tessald returns safely after being rescued from her captors! Give thanks of her safe return to your hometown heroes, Trestan and Petrow! They fought valiantly to keep her safe.”
A rowdy cheer went up, though Hebden went over the words in his head. The smith wondered if he had heard correctly. Cat, satisfied she had put recognition where it was due, spared a look towards those on the vessel before riding away. Lady Shauntay was eager to go, though she kept a smile in the face of the crowd. With a shake of the reins the horse sped off, parting the crowd of onlookers. The two women rode out of town towards the distant Tessald mansion.
With all the excitement caused by the noble and the adventuress, few paid attention as a gnome ran past several people on his way to the temple. Hebden moved closer then, and a friend in the crowd spotted him. The fellow villager pointed past the rest of the crowd and shouted, but the smith couldn’t make out all the words. He saw more figures disembark from the flying platform. A dwarf and a human carried another person away from the vessel. An elf followed, but after leaving the craft he turned and sprinkled some dust over Dovewing.
Korrelothar proclaimed loudly to all those near, “Let none touch this vessel, under pain of the spell I have cast over it! Any who dare try to board her will suffer harmful consequences! I apologize for the precautions, but this vessel is very important to me.”
The elf wizard rejoined the others. Hebden had paid him little mind, recognizing Petrow carrying a companion. Petrow was dressed strangely, in colorful clothes beyond his financial means. The dwarf was unremarkable, save for his fine mail coat and heavy axe. Hebden Karok looked into the closed eyes of the human being carried, and in that startling moment he saw his son. His heart skipped a beat. The strong smith almost went to his knees as he stumbled forward. They carried Trestan Karok to the temple, where a small number of clerics were already exiting the doorway. The gnome, pointed at Trestan and chattered excitedly. The smith’s son seemed limp. The entourage stopped at the doorway of the Church of the Sacred Harvest, only a few meters from the well supporting the village’s holy relic. Several clerics reached out to help carry Trestan. High Priest Gerlach barked orders to the others as they took charge of Trestan’s care.
Hebden was still shouldering his way past people as he went towards the church. The clerics and his son disappeared inside, along with the dwarf, the elf and the gnome. Only Petrow, relieved of his burden, stopped to catch his breath before the doorway. The young man displayed expensive tastes. Even as Hebden noted Petrow’s attire, the smith saw the bruises and scratches visible on Trestan’s friend. Hebden reached out and grabbed the young man firmly. Petrow was forced to turn around, and staring into a pair of eyes he wasn’t ready to face.
“What happened? Where have you two been?”
Petrow started to open his mouth, stuttering out a reply, “Umm, you know I was thinking about how I was going to explain all this to you when we arrived.”
The young man stumbled over his words. Hebden stood over him, carrying an intimidating smith’s hammer. The older man raised his brows, awaiting an answer. Beyond his muscular frame, several townspeople also stood close by, hoping to learn more as well.
Petrow’s mouth worked open and closed a few times before he could reply, “I still have nay clue as far as what to say!”
* * * * *
Trestan watched the few clerics of the church scurry around him. They poked his wound, made him swallow bitter stew, and prayed over him a lot. The young smith wondered why they had felt the need to practically strip him naked just for some healing miracles. They expressed the need to further check the wound, though indeed their healing miracles reduced it to a smaller scar. Trestan felt better than he had in days.
Despite his expressed wishes to leave, they talked him into lying there longer to ensure all of the infection had been drawn out. The young man wondered where his friends were. He recalled a strange flying craft, and the visage of an elf…but few other details of that journey were remembered. The young man itched to get home, despite nervousness about his reunion with his father.
The head priest of the temple unexpectedly entered, catching Trestan by surprise. Priest Gerlach stood framed in the doorway, watching the young man with interest even as Trestan had been examining the room for the umpteenth time. Yestreal’s chosen speaker almost filled the doorway with his heavy frame. While the cleric was known as a hard-working man, he was also overly fond of food. Muscles and fat contributed to a bulky appearance. A reddish-gray beard hung from his broad face, giving some length to an otherwise squared head. Normally, Trestan saw the older man in his priestly vestments, but today the cleric wore a casual, less decorative robe. Clearly he hadn’t expected visitors to suddenly, and quite literally, drop out of the sky. The chosen of Yestreal spoke with a deep baritone that seemed to resonate from deep inside.
“I see the hero has awakened from his mortal injury.” The cleric addressed Trestan, though used a third person perspective. “His worried father will be joyous upon hearing the news.”
The high priest walked into the room, as Trestan responded respectfully, “Many thanks to you and your clergy. I can’t begin to repay the simple pleasure of being able to see my father again. I have missed him so. I am hoping I might be free now to go and see him.”
Priest Gerlach began to speak again, “Oh, you are quite well and able to go, though I had hoped to speak with you a moment…”
He was interrupted by a commotion just outside the door. Petrow had snuck up behind the high cleric to get a peek into the room. Another priest noticed him and was trying to guide the handyman back towards the church sanctuary. Petrow was refusing to go, demanding to see Trestan. After a few comments back and forth, Priest Gerlach intervened. The elder cleric waved away his inferior and allowed Petrow to enter the room. Petrow looked healed and well.
“Just as well you are here,” the older man spoke, “that way I can chat with both of you regarding your little adventure.”
The conversation was rather brief. Petrow and Trestan offered a rushed explanation. The two of them weren’t certain whether or not they might be in any kind of trouble over it, so the priest often tried evasive questions that might pry further information out of them. The two younger men found they could turn the subject around by talking about the stone. The clergy had a great interest in any information in regards to any tampering with their relic. The forefront of Trestan’s mind during the conversation was the need to see his father again. The young smith often answered rather briefly, hoping he could actually end the meeting as soon as possible. High Priest Gerlach knew there must be more of their adventures that they weren’t telling him, but he was satisfied
with what he got.
“They are starting to make up their own stories and rumors on the street,” the older man explained. “The dark-haired woman that was with you really stirred up the crowd. From what I hear, there will be some drinking and music on the main street tonight in your honor.”
Trestan and Petrow traded glances; eyes widened at the news that their fellow villagers would be celebrating their achievement. The young smith spoke, “I’ll just be glad to see my father again, though I wonder how upset he will be.”
Petrow said, “He went outside for some fresher air, since they wouldn’t allow us back here.”
The cleric nodded, “Quite right, I have detained you long enough. Your belongings are here, and you are free to go. I have my own appointment to keep with matters of importance.”
Priest Gerlach stood and made his way out the door. He gave a final bow to the two young men, “Welcome back young sirs. I know the townspeople are looking forward to tonight.”
Petrow assisted Trestan in sorting his belongings. The young smith proceeded to get dressed, and for his reunion he picked out the best clothes that he owned. Trestan threw on a good set of pants, as Petrow chatted.
“They are throwing a party for us? I can’t believe that this morning we were out in the wilds, with you suffering from a mortal injury. Tonight we will see our friends and neighbors have a celebration over an adventure that nearly got us killed.”
Trestan didn’t slow down as he responded. “I can’t believe we actually did it. Though the noble was a handful of trouble, we went out and rescued her from the clutches of some pretty unsavory people. As you pointed out, we came rather too close to death and yet here we stand.”
Trestan finished putting on his shirt, and started to carry the rest of his gear out. Petrow stopped him with a few words, “Hold up now! You are going to meet your father like that?”
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 33