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

by Douglas Van Dyke

  “Bah!” Salgor spit. “Wake me up when there is some action going on!”

  With that, the dwarf laid back and prepared to sleep. The other companions followed his example, rolling themselves into comfortable positions around the fire. Petrow stayed up to guard until the next watch, as they agreed that a sentry should be kept overnight. The inside of the tower became quiet, interrupted by the sounds of rain splashing against the outside walls. Sleep started to claim them, one by one. Trestan Karok had one last thought before he fell asleep. He missed his father. Things were slightly different now compared to the first time he had gone, as his father had helped him and blessed him. For some reason, the young smith couldn’t get his home out of his mind.

  “Goodnight father.”

  * * * * *

  Hebden Karok stirred restlessly, pacing his house as if he could chase down his elusive sleep. He stopped in a doorway, holding a lit candle in one hand and sipping from a mug with the other.

  It had been awhile since he had started drinking the tea. The warm drink had cooled to room temperature, but Hebden paid it no mind. Nor did he pay much heed to the low-burning candle in his other hand. His aged eyes scanned the room with curious intensity. The lone bed’s linens had been made up about a week ago and hadn’t been slept in since. Even though Trestan had spent that one night back in his hometown, the young man hadn’t even been able to enjoy the comfort of his bed. Off to one corner, a simple cabinet that usually contained Trestan’s clothes and personal belongings now stored only his work shirt and pants. The emptiness in the cabinet stretched to envelop the rest of the house. On top of the cabinet was a candle. Trestan had blown out the candle that morning after donning his armor and removing all he had cared to take. Left behind were old toys from boyhood. Several bronze game pieces sat abandoned next to a cloth game board. Leaning in the corner was one end of the broken staff which had been brought back from the bluff battle. Trestan kept it for sentimental reasons, but the young man didn’t need it on his new adventure.

  As much as Hebden’s eyes searched, he couldn’t find the answers he wanted. He worried about what paths his son would walk, or which ones he would never walk again. The older smith could picture a time when Trestan was a baby in his mother’s arms. Hebden remembered when Trestan was a boy, crying in pain after a smith’s hammer fell on his foot while he was ‘playing’ with it. Hebden’s look into the past found no clues to see the future. All it confirmed was that his only son had grown into a man and was leaving to make his own choices in the world. Hebden had agonized and grew gray hairs as his son got into all sorts of mischief. In a flash of years, the days of youth had flown away, never to return. As he stood there staring into the vacant room, he wished he could have a few of those years back. Trestan went with his blessings, but like many of the days previous, Hebden Karok stood and stared into that empty room and wondered where his son was. The days of youth would never come back. The years since the death of Hebden’s wife had been alleviated by the presence of that young boy. Now the one person he loved most was leaving to find his own place in the world. The young man might not come back…or if he did, he might not stay. Either way, Hebden could not help but feel lonely for his missing son, yet also proud for the man his son had become.

  He had no good singing voice, but he whispered the words of a play from older years.

  Oh, where has the child strayed?

  Years passing until full bloom

  Flower of my life, gone away

  And I stare into an empty bedroom.

  The linen on the bed

  Lays flat and evenly spread

  Old toys of youth lay discarded nearby

  Time here is suspended

  From the moment youth had ended

  How fast have the years gone by?

  Oh, where has the child strayed?

  Years passing until full bloom

  Flower of my life, gone away

  And I stare into an empty bedroom.

  Some voices I do hear

  Though none now are spoken here

  All are memories passed down through the years

  Quiet darkness rules about

  No more cries, screams nor shouts

  Just silence, except the sounds of my tears.

  Oh, where has the child strayed?

  Years passing until full bloom

  Flower of my life, gone away

  And I stare into an empty bedroom.

  I pray blessed you’ll be

  Though you wander far from me

  But know that my heart journeys with you

  Over roads that you may roam

  And hardships yet unknown

  Let a moral compass guide you true

  Oh, where has the child strayed?

  Years passing until full bloom

  Flower of my life, gone away

  And I cry inside an empty bedroom.

  Hebden choked over the last words. He took a deep breath, and then started out of the room. He paused and spoke as if his son might hear him from afar. “Goodnight my boy. I hope you some day realize the love between a father and son. Sadly, I don’t think anyone truly realizes it until their own son has grown and gone away. Gods watch over you whenever I can’t.”

  CHAPTER 22

  The companions nimbly picked their way around rocks and trees to approach the castle from behind. Cat led the way, taking them along the far side of the ridge from the sailor encampment. They hoped to pass into the castle unnoticed. Cat’s attempts to keep the party moving stealthily were made harder by a certain battle-hungry dwarf, most notably in his tendency to stomp and speak loudly as they walked. Salgor was begging for a fight, and would not care if the fight sprung on them as long as he could wet his axe with a wizard’s blood. The dwarf had only himself to blame that Cat picked a route even more roundabout than was probably needed. The companions finally came close to the castle under the cover of its own shadow, cast by the morning sun.

  The castle bore the appearance of an ancient birthright. Vines and greenery climbed every stone buttress and crack. The walls and towers forming the sides seemed to be almost one large building, inside and out. This was not a castle within walls, as much as it was an oversized keep. It seemed to tower four stories high, topped by a ring of battlements and guard emplacements. There were poles at the top to display banners, but any such decoration had long been ripped away by the elements. Old shutters, creaking and banging in the wind, generated ghostly noise. The foundations of other, smaller buildings patterned the approach. These scattered homes and businesses had been razed long ago by fire or other means of destruction. The companions moved among the ruined walls and stone piles furtively, eyeing the battlements for signs of sentries. The husks of the smaller buildings added to the overall gloom and loneliness emanating from the keep. In the realm of Dhea Loral, such ruins were all too common after the Godswars and the dark years that followed.

  The companions, avoiding the front gate, sought a smaller entry around the side or back. Many keeps had smaller doors by which servants could go about as they pleased. This castle was no exception. A rotted servant’s door stood ajar on the side closest to them. With no one in sight, it seemed to be their best course to gain entry. Salgor, by his very nature, would have welcomed an enemy guarding the door. The dwarf fighter became even more impatient as the party stopped and quietly observed the door for a bit before venturing near.

  “I see nay need for sneakin’ in a group to yonder door,” he said. “We already made more noise than a group of miners running from a cave-in. If there was anyone there, they’ve seen us.”

  Though the others disagreed at the dwarf’s exaggeration, they knew they hadn’t been very stealthy thanks to Salgor’s movements. The shadow of the castle would only hide them so much among the scattered trees and low foundations of razed buildings. Many windows on the wall could hide the eyes of observers. As Salgor spoke, Trestan and Petrow both felt the unnerving sensation that eyes might already be looking do
wn on them. Mel, as always, seemed unbothered by any hint of danger. The gnome looked at the castle in awe of what it must have been like in its glory days.

  Salgor spoke again, when his first comment seemed to go unheeded. “We aren’t quiet. Either they see us o’ they don’t, and the longer we stay in the open the more likely someone will see us. It gives them more time to arrange a surprise.”

  An exasperated Cat nodded her head in agreement. “I think you are right. We might as well get across this area and into the keep as fast as we can. Try to make as little noise as possible. Go straight for the door.”

  The group darted into the exposed terrain, making a line for the open entry. Trestan and Petrow looked at the windows more than the ground in front of them. Their imagination turned every sound and movement into a possible observer. A bird flew out of one window, startling Petrow enough to nearly trip him up. Salgor caught him by the arm and propelled onward.

  “Keep your eyes on your feet and make a straight line for the door, young axe-warrior. Get yourself inside quick and safe.”

  The group made it to the door without any obvious signs of being discovered. Cat slipped past the door without having to move it. Trestan had to push at it a bit, causing noise from the old hinges as the door protested. He paused, but Salgor didn’t. The dwarf shoved Petrow and Trestan through the opening. A breathless Mel came last, taking some last looks at the scenery before following the others inside. Their eyes had to adjust to the darker interior. The room they were in was more of a hallway, running in a bit before another door. They observed torch brackets and coat pegs on the walls. Cat saw several open slits in the stone walls of the room. She looked up and saw holes in the ceiling leading to the room above. The half-elf looked at them curiously. Suddenly Cat’s eyes widened, then she grabbed at Trestan’s arm.

  “In the next room, now!”

  Cat pulled Trestan along, quickly followed by the others. They all went through the far door into a room that branched in more directions. As they paused again to consider their next move, Trestan had to ask, “What were those openings for? Was that what had you worried?”

  “Aye,” Cat responded. “Those were murder holes, in case an enemy breached the side door.”

  Petrow and Trestan stood dumbfounded wondering what murder holes were, as Cat and Salgor both went about exploring this new room further. Mel understood the expressions on their faces, and as always he was ready to share his knowledge. The gnome went back to the doorway and pointed up at the openings.

  “Those are made for castle defense. If someone is besieging the keep, and they break into that side door, those openings allow the castle defenders to turn this room into a death trap. Archers occupy the rooms on either side, firing through those side ports, while men in the room upstairs drop boiling oil or simply stab downwards with spears as the attackers bottle up in this room.”

  Mel actually wandered back into the room as he explained, Petrow hissed at him, “Mel, don’t stand in there then! Get back in here.”

  Mel chuckled, but walked back to join them. “Nay defenders here or we might be dead by now. Usually attackers have to try bashing down the inner door while arrows and worse things rain down on them. Now imagine adding a wizard to that defense,” Mel grinned wickedly. “And then you truly have unholy hell unleashed. That is why those openings are called murder holes.”

  Petrow and Trestan looked back into the entry room out of morbid curiosity. Both men could only imagine what storming a castle was like from stories, but of course neither had any firsthand experience. The two stared in awe as they imagined what it would look like if a group of attackers poured into the room, only to be held up by a locked door as arrows hit them at close range. Having seen the battle on the bluff, they could imagine men falling in piles as they were assaulted from the walls and above. How this room would seem like hell if the defenders were desperate enough to pour burning oil on the heads of those men as well! Trestan could well imagine how Revwar could cause a mass of killings with his spells if he had been there waiting for them. Imagination painted a vivid picture of the death that could have awaited them if someone had been prepared.

  Their attention returned to the inner room and the exits branching off from it. Cat and Salgor had glanced through open doorways while the two young men listened to Mel. The half-elf and dwarf confirmed that it connected to a kitchen and storage. In this way, servants could go out, get supplies, and then walk back into the kitchen area without going through the main gates. The room smelled of old mold and rot. Rat droppings on the floor gave evidence of the current rulers of the castle. The companions appreciated that the door allowed a breeze to carry some of the smell outside.

  Salgor could not help but keep his nose to one door that led to a stairway down. A bad smell wafted from below, but behind it was something vaguely familiar. He gave a wide, yellowish smile through his beard as he revealed what caught his interest. “I think this is a wine cellar. That is worth checking out before we leave.”

  * * * * *

  One figure walked up the beach with the thunder of muscles in his every step. Another walked beside the first favoring quiet and moving with grace. The woman of the group had blonde hair glowing in the sunlight even as her black armor radiated cold. Finally there was the wizard, with elvish build and yellow eyes, walking with confidence and superiority.

  The four adventurers approached the front door of the castle, leaving the camp of sailors and mercenaries behind. The men from the ship were glad to be able to keep their distance from the imposing castle, whispering of the haunted structure. The sailors had given up enough blood already, and they weren’t about to taunt the unknown ghosts that dwelled in such an ancient ruin. The ship’s crew were content to relax on a beach and watch over the ship until whatever mysterious business they had here was finished. After the disastrous battle on the mainland, they had continued to set sail under the threat of what Revwar and his party would do to them if they didn’t. Each hoped they would still have a fat purse and be rid of the bullying minotaur soon. If such was not forthcoming, they would be just as happy to deliver the party wherever it wanted to go and then find their own safe port for drinking in honor of dead friends.

  Unconcerned with the worries of the men on the beach, the four relic thieves walked into the open doors of the castle. The giant gates of the main entrance had long ago been ripped aside by unknown intruders. Littering the doorway were pieces of rusted metal, as well as the rotted beams that had once barred passage. The adventurers swept past the portal with no concern for any ghosts from within. Revwar and Savannah walked in front, while Bortun and Loung silently followed.

  “There isn’t one left among them who can claim to have a spine,” Revwar commented. The elf strode along gracefully and with purpose. He wore a black robe trimmed with red, embroidered with various sigils and magical runes. The elf’s long, silvery hair was braided in high fashion. He dressed in his best, for today was to be a special occasion. As usual he still wore many magical pouches, as well as a slender dagger, and in addition he carried his magic staff. His topic of conversation centered on the crew of the Silver Trident. “All their smart ones seem to have been left dead back on the bluff. One disastrous morning, and all their strongest backs and leaders were laid low, breaking their resolve.”

  Savannah ventured alongside the elf into the foyer of the keep. The high-ceiling room must have been a grand entryway in its living years. Broken busts and statues of forgotten men stared through age-worn, sightless eyes at the intruders who crossed their ancient threshold. Sunlight filtered through tall windows baring remnants of stained glass clutching to the aging frames. The marble floor and stone walls teemed with vines and invading plant life. The faithful servant of DeLaris, Goddess of Death, took in every detail. She had been in this room before, but the beauty and silent secrets of the long-dead castle intrigued her. The cleric’s favorite garments were the ones she normally wore: black armor etched with the symbols of her goddess
and at her side hung the heavy flail. The only thing missing was her skull-helmet, abandoned somewhere in a stand of trees back on the mainland. The blonde woman found a visual substitute for her missing helm, inspired by the spirit of her dark religion. Savannah had liberally applied black makeup around her eyes, giving the appearance of sunken orbits, akin to a skeleton. Her blue eyes stood a stark contrast to the dark coloring, accentuating the look. This was a common appearance DeLaris’ clerics adopted to pronounce their faith in public.

  As the cleric listened to Revwar’s words, she voiced a question of her own without so much as a look in his direction. “And if I may ask, how comfortable is the captain’s cabin?”

  The wizard grinned, “Do I sense a hint of jealousy? Did I not also share the cabin with all of you over a supply of old rum? Forgive me, but with the top officers of the ship dead it was there for the taking. The crew didn’t seem to put up much resistance when I moved in there.”

  A low voice growled behind them both. “You could have offered the room to someone who needed the space more than you do.”

  Revwar did not look over his shoulder at the hulking minotaur, but answered him directly. “I heard you have nay problems stretching out in your current quarters.”

  With the ship being a rather small place to pack a bunch of men during potentially long voyages, the minotaur slept in the common deck with the majority of the crew. That deck level was cramped for someone of Bortun’s bulk. More than once, the minotaur had bumped his thick skull and horn against the rafters. When it came time to stretch out and sleep, the minotaur easily found all the room he needed. Even without the loss of crew after the last battle, no one was about to sleep too close to the smelly, arrogant creature. The rest of the sailors observed how roughly the minotaur treated anything that impeded his movement. Hammocks had been ripped apart and wooden stools bashed aside whenever they interfered with the ability to stretch his eight-foot frame.