Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest

by Bill T Pottle

  Yvonne knew her sister already knew the answer, but she spoke it anyway. “I just wish we didn’t have to do this. I mean, I felt bad taking that boy’s money so easily. We took it without any problems, but I can’t help feeling that that boy is more than some stupid gentleman’s son. I don’t know…”

  Since Yvette had already known the answer, she had had time to prepare her response. It had always been this way. In contrast to ordinary ladies at court and elsewhere, neither girl would be described as “soft” or “ladylike.” They were stronger and better at running and jumping and climbing than most men. Yet between the twins, Yvonne had always been the emotional one. She sometimes felt with her heart and not her head, and Yvette had to work hard to correct this. One did not maintain her position as head of the Guild of Thieves by feeling sorry for others.

  Yvette pointed into the next room. “Tell me, Yvonne, what do you see there?”

  “I see young children, abandoned by their parents, getting a hot meal and some clothes to wear. I see old men and women, warming themselves by the fire so they will not freeze to death. I see the outcasts of society who have found a home here.” Yvonne turned angrily toward Yvette. “You don’t have to remind me of the good we do here. I know we help many people who have no other way and that Tarthur boy is probably sitting with his dad and his dad is telling him to be more careful next time and just giving him more money. I know that I enjoyed working and I will do it again, and again. I know that this is the only way and it is the way we must go. Just because I wish that there was another way doesn’t mean I won’t do it again in a second if I get the chance.” Yvonne turned and went to the fire, picked up a piece of turkey, and then went to sit with the children.

  * * *

  Bong, Bong, Bong, Bong, Bong, Bong, Bong. The deep clear tones of the castle bell woke Derlin the next morning. He counted the bongs over again in his mind. There were seven, and that meant it was time for breakfast. He woke Tarthur and the two dressed themselves and went down to eat. They were served oat cakes and the juice of what one of the serving boys said was an orange. The boy seemed surprised that Tarthur and Derlin had never had one before; at the castle they ate them nearly every day for breakfast. After that, the boys parted and Derlin went off to see Sir Terin and Tarthur went to Akin’s study.

  Sir Terin was busy with preparations for the war, so Derlin was met instead by Sir Undbar, a gruff old knight who believed in basics and fundamentals. All Derlin ever heard him preach was “basics and fundamentals” and the good sense and reliability of a sword. After Derlin got to know him better, he would say that Sir Undbar distrusted magic, and while he knew that it was a powerful force that would sway many battles, Derlin couldn’t shake the feeling that the gruff old knight would like a world without it better. Of course, Sir Undbar would never admit it to anyone, but as Derlin got to know him better and better he began to see that it was true. He wanted a world where a man’s strength and courage were the deciding factors. Opponents should meet and let the one who was the real man win the contest of strength and wills. Sir Undbar was not a very intelligent man. He disliked battlefield trickeries like general Cilio’s; he preferred the armies to simply charge each other and see who emerged bloody, sweaty and victorious. Still, he was congenial and serious about his work, and while he wished the world to be otherwise, he saw the necessity of such techniques.

  That first day, Sir Undbar told Derlin to practice hacking at a wooded replica of a human being. Taking his chance, Derlin had jumped in the air, spun around, and sent the head of the figure flying, in a near perfect imitation of a move he had seen the lightning-quick Yan perform. Derlin had always been agile and swift, and the move proved both effective and powerful. Sir Undbar, however, had yelled at Derlin for his fanciness. He seemed to ignore the fact that the move was well performed and gave Derlin a long speech extolling the benefits of basics and fundamentals, after which Derlin was sentenced to perform one thousand each of various blocks and strikes, while the gruff old knight looked on, frowning.

  * * *

  If Tarthur would have looked out of his window, which he didn’t, he might have seen Derlin at his misery. But as it was, Tarthur had neither time nor space for thought left in his brain. He had no time because of the vigorous schedule Akin was holding Tarthur and another pupil named Pol to. He had no space for thought because Yvonne was crowding into his brain, occupying nearly every free thought. And on top of all this, Akin was even succeeding in interjecting a few comments about the origin and fabric of the universe, although because of the relative unimportance of the matter, this number was very few indeed.

  Ever since he had met the blond girl, Tarthur had not been able to shake her from his mind. The funny thing was that he had actually tried. He had tried to push her away, tried to listen to the dull and monotonous voice of Akin, yet every time some thought of her would come back to him. He would see her face exactly as he had seen it for the first time, the stunning shimmering reflection in the fountain. When he saw her like this he was captivated by her majesty, but then he would see her taunting—yet still beautiful—face, and want nothing more than to slap it.

  The day passed thus in drudgery for the companions, and while Tarthur’s curiosity about most magical subjects was not raised by Akin as it should have been, Tarthur did find one phenomenon that he was interested in. For some strange magical reason, time slowed down in Akin’s classroom. Tarthur would listen to his lectures for at least three hours, then turn and look through the window at the tower clock, only to find that it had not advanced five minutes! Tarthur wondered if Zelin used this so he could live for hundreds of years while appearing to be only eighty or so. Maybe they were casting this spell on him so that he could pack years of study into just a few weeks, and Tarthur resented that. He would have made a mental note to himself to look into it later, except at that very moment he was caught up in a thought of Yvonne again.

  So it was that a sore pair of boys, Derlin’s upper body sore from performing thousands of sword techniques, and Tarthur’s sore from sitting in a desk nearly all day, returned tiredly from the evening meal to their beds. They slipped off their clothes and slid gratefully to bed, both dreading the next day, although both also glad that they were at least alive and well and not being chased by monsters anymore. Derlin was already asleep when Tarthur rose, dressed himself, and silently exited the room.

  ESCAPE

  Girn was tired. After a long day of helping the strong mermen harvest their kelp that they used as their staple food supply, he had eaten a meal of ghtysa and was now ready to retire to bed. He was not alone in being tired, however. All of the members of the merfolk community were busy harvesting extra food so they could be ready to fight as soon as they were needed. Their remote location had isolated them and kept them uninformed of the events in the rest of the world. They could send no overland messenger except Girn and for Tustor to send out his mind to communicate with others like him would be much too risky, especially for the beginning of a war that they all felt ominously approaching. Girn would always feel inadequate and small, but the calm and gracious demeanor of the mermen was beginning to win over his heart. As he became more comfortable with them and their way of life, he talked more and stuttered less. He had just slipped off his clothes and slid into bed when he heard a shout from up above. Girn’s residence was in a submerged cell that was nevertheless airtight, so he was always dry and comfortable. The shout sounded urgent so Girn hurriedly redressed and climbed above. What he saw was ten ominous black ships, heading straight for them.

  * * *

  The already fatigued mermen had only enough time to jump up from bed and hastily arm themselves before the gigantic and well-armed battleships of Queen Marhyn were upon them. The twilight attack had taken the community completely by surprise. The men from the ships hurled boulders and hot oil and shot flaming arrows that were quickly extinguished by the damp sea. Small boats piloted by a dozen or so men were lowered from the sides, and charged furiou
sly at the mermen. They leaped from their boats and into the shoals, stabbing and cutting their way through the surprised and unarmed mermen. A group of them ran for Chairman Eor, who looked up in surprise. He reached for a pike in the corner of his shoal, but the man sliced off his arm even as Chairman Eor grasped it. The arm that held the pike spurted blood all over the floor. Clutching his stump in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding, the chairman called out to his wife and children to swim away. Only the scream of his daughter answered him, and then nothing. Eor turned to face his attacker, and got a sword through his chest. The man pulled it out and went to find his next victim.

  At first, the scattered defenders could do little but defend their own homes with their wives and children, but soon Tustor had organized a retreat of those unable to fight, which included Girn. While this task was being completed, Truin organized those left into a fighting force, who regrouped behind a large rock.

  Truin surveyed the remains of his army. Nearly seven of every ten had been killed in the first onslaught. He cursed and hit his fist against a rock, drawing blood that quickly mingled with sweat and water. The attack had been so sudden! As he looked into the brave yet fearful eyes of his companions, he knew that they were thinking the same thing as he was. Their race was going to be eradicated as a force that night, but they would exact heavy losses before they were done! Organized and relatively rested now, the mermen were ready to launch their counterattack. Truin divided the party of about forty into two prongs, one lead by himself and the other lead by Forn, who thankfully was still alive.

  Truin’s hastily constructed battle plan called for the two parties to separate and attack the ships that had come in from both sides. They would smash as many ships as they could and hope that the men aboard were weak swimmers, so the current could finish them off when there were no more mermen alive to do it. Truin was about to launch his counterattack when Tustor appeared looking tired and old all over again, but with a fierce determination burning in his eyes. Truin was about to ask him to go back to safety, Tustor was too valuable to their cause and they could not afford the possibility of him dying. But when Truin saw the fire that flared at the end of Tustor’s fingertips and the water around it sizzle from the heat, he knew that Tustor was ready to fight; to tell him to go back would be both futile and stupid.

  Truin turned to Forn and nodded. Forn nodded sternly, lifted his head back, paused, and then thrust his fist in the air and screamed the battle cry of the mermen. The rest followed, letting their yells take out all of their frustration and anger and fear. The attack was begun. Fortunately for the mermen, at the point where most of their people lived the waters were shallow, and the first attacking ship had been foolish enough to strike there, splintering the bottom of its hull as it had done so. The smaller lifeboats that had been launched in the main attack were being drawn back into the safety of the larger vessels. The men killed and then ran. It was toward the men that had been on the splintered ship of death that that the mermen turned their fury. The men were helpless in the three foot deep water. As they sluggishly tried to fight or flee, they were quickly set upon by the mermen, lightning quick bodies that shot through the water and into their prey. Bolting through the surf with pikes and swords held before them, the mermen easily decimated the unorganized force. Within minutes the bodies of hundreds of men who had made up the original strike force lay floating in the multicolored water, made yellow and orange by the setting sun, and red by their blood mixed with that of the sleeping victims they had slaughtered.

  The relentless mermen now turned on the second ship, which had already shifted its enormous stern and was beginning to make straight for them. Before it did, however, two bolts of lightning lit up the sky and converged on Tustor.

  * * *

  The merwizard was floating a little behind the rest, and had not yet used his magic; he had been building his strength. While Tustor had been surveying the battle, he knew that baring a miracle, his race would lose. The army that opposed them had chosen their attack too well, and they were just too many. Tustor knew that his people had just one chance, he must destroy whoever was the leader of this force, and he must do it quickly. Tustor had noticed two ships hanging back a little from the rest, as if they were merely watching the confrontation and not really taking part. The leader of this force must be on one of the two ships, but which one? Tustor had guessed left, the one farthest from the battle and had begun his spell. Now, as the bolts of lightning struck him and filled him with power, he felt the wild exhilaration surge through him just like it did every time he used powerful magic. He turned to the ship on the left and sent the magic with every ounce of force in his body.

  The mermen looked up at Tustor as their leader was struck with twin bolts of lightning, gasped in amazement when he lowered his hands, and then cheered when he sent the fire lancing into the side of the ship, tearing a hole in it and forcing it to sink.

  * * *

  Two down, Truin thought, eight to go.

  Now they were at the next ship, and Truin led his group around the starboard flank to draw the enemy’s fire, while Forn and his command dove under and started to destroy the hull of the ship by attacking it with their pitchforks and other mean looking harvesting implements that also served as weapons in wartime. The kelp-like plant that they harvested was tough; if you could cut its stalk, you could cut a man’s bone in half easily. The men on this ship didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late, but even if they had they would have been able to devise no counterattack, for they had no weapons that could attack under the water below them. The men screamed in panic as the ship started to go down, watching the dark shapes of the mermen darting about through the water, knowing what their fate would be as soon as they were forced to fight in the now fairly deep ocean.

  Truin shoved his great three-pronged triton through the trunk of a black clad man who was flailing about wildly with his sword in an absurd attempt to strike him, and then turned to survey the scene. Mermen were finishing off the last of the attackers on the third ship, and he was relieved to see that nearly thirty mermen were still alive and in fighting condition. If they could keep up their plan, they might have a chance. The sea was also becoming more turbulent—waves were hungrily splashing against the sides of the attacking boats. It was almost as if the sea itself was coming to their aid. Truin paused for a moment, regrouped his force, and started toward the next ship.

  * * *

  The bolt of lightning rocked Dalin’s cell and sent him flying to the floor. Only a few minutes earlier he had been awakened by sounds of combat, and a tear came to his eye as he saw the destruction of the peaceful shoals of the merfolk. He had seen Tustor raise his hands, double bolts of lightning strike him simultaneously, and then watched as he had lowered his hands and sent the bolts flying into his ship. Dalin struggled to get up, dizzy and groggy from the power of the blast. As he looked around, the elf realized that he would have to act quickly or he would be lost, for the ship was already beginning to sink. He had to get clear of the wreckage or he would risk getting tangled and caught in it and dragged to his death at the bottom of the sea. Dalin grabbed a piece of still smoldering wood that had been blown loose by the attack that had destroyed the ship and jumped into the turbulent waters below.

  There was a sharp hiss from the hot wood and Dalin was under. The cold of the winter water sent a shock into his heart, and almost stopped his breath. Yet the buoyant piece of wood bobbed him back to the top, and once above water again Dalin gasped for air. The air brought much needed relief and he began to think clearly for the first time. He must rejoin the mermen, but how could he do so without being mistaken for the enemy? Just as a plan was beginning to take shape in his mind, a piece from his makeshift life raft broke off. Dalin reached down, trying to hold his unseaworthy craft together just long enough to reach land, but in doing so he slipped on the wet wood and went down into the sea. Catching a last breath before he went under, Dalin thought of how to get back up. When
this failed him, the fatigued elf thought about his friends, his sister and her fiancé, and his home back in Breshen. After this, he thought no more as he slipped into the inviting blackness.

  * * *

  “That’s enough.” Queen Marhyn spoke softly, yet everyone listened. She turned to Tyven Scarface. “Send them.” The attack on the shoals of the merfolk was proving to be more costly than she had anticipated, yet far less costly then it could have been. The surprise attack on the merfolk that evening had been part of her brilliant plan from the very beginning, and she smiled inwardly at the success that it was achieving. Yes, it was an excellent idea, yet the truly dazzling part of her plan was still to come. When that was enacted, she would stand alone as a power in Daranor and the lands beyond. She had watched her ill-trained soldiers struggle and die, yet it was not out of any foolish pity or goodwill that she had ordered the withdrawal of her men. It was not out of any misplaced concern for their lives, but rather the fact that if the men died now they would not be around to serve her and worship her as a goddess later. That attack by the merwizard had almost hit her ship, just missing and hitting the prisoner ship to her right. Besides, she had always assumed that it would be necessary to send in the second wave. Her plan required that no one escape to tell who had devastated these people and wiped out their race.