A War of Stones: Book One of the Traveler Knight

by Howard Norfolk

  As the trees gave way, Wayland discerned that the land had once been flattened out here by the ancient run and floods of the Gure River. The waters had smoothed the entire place, only leaving some odd hills and salient clumps of rock here and there on the horizon for them to pass by at a distance. They encountered destruction, done by the bugger horde that had triggered their quest, in the form of burned out farms and fields. It took six days for them to reach Krolo, it built up on the bank of the west arm of the Gure River. Beyond Krolo, the land began to rise up in sets of broken ridges and hills of sandstone, separated by increasingly elevated valleys. This was an area with an old name, older than simply calling it the West Lands. It had once been known as the Priwak, as was still called that by some.

  The land around Krolo was gently folded, with long stretches of low hills that extended north and south across the openness between the Khaast and the Priwak. The ripples were covered over by a patchwork of pasture and fields, or had been left forested for fire wood and game. Every five miles stood a village surrounded by a high palisade of stone or wood. The keeps and towers they saw usually stood off by themselves, with open ground all around for their defense. They called them holdfasts, underlying how dangerous the place could be.

  The town of Krolo had a great circular palisade twenty feet high of worked down river stone, the boulders all cut and fixed into place with heavily patched mortar. A thick, singular wall ran from a stone tower at the other end of the town to a large castle set on a raised hill. The castle had an unusual series of circular curtained walls all nested inside of each other, and towers that often abutted, like the flutes on a cup.

  There were signs that a huge encampment had recently stood on the field in front of the walls, and there were lines of posts on the road near the gate with the heads of goblins and thyrs displayed on them. Several burning pits stood off from the road, and it took little imagination to figure out what was being disposed of in the bottom of them.

  “Bless me thrice,” Sir Byrning said, as he looked from the pits to the round walled keep. “That is a remarkable survivor. When Pendwise tried to reunite the Mancan cities, they forged a short lived alliance across Gece. You might think of them as the precursors to the Traveler Knights. This castle is in their style, like the old bastions along the shore of the Kaperrian Sea. Aye, the knights of my order know them well.”

  “Fighting happens along these borders all the time,” Temmi said to them. “It’s why the road through the forest runs north-west to the port of Aukwen, and then up into northern Alonze. It’s to avoid the Priwak and the Varamond. The lords try to keep what happens here inside the West Lands, so that the rest of the world can go on its way. You can’t really hide the loss of a castle and a countess though.”

  “Bad things happen all the time here,” Sascha added. “People go out of their houses and never come back, or they come back changed, and that is worse. The thrings practice old, bad magic. They are the risen dead, and they raise the other dead up if they can. That’s why bodies here are usually burned. The people you meet always go about armed, and may act strangely to you, but that is just the way it is.”

  Wayland didn’t know what to say. He hailed the guard at the gate and showed him a duplicate of his orders. They were passed through the bartizan into a court, and they waited there to see if anyone would come from the castle to talk to them. Temmi fetched a bucket of beer from a tavern, and they sat on the troughs next to the public well and shared it. The townspeople glanced at them, but their presence in Krolo seemed to be largely unimportant.

  About half an hour later a rider came down to them from the keep, dressed in a tight black brigantine, wearing a polished steel gorget and pauldrons. Sascha almost dropped the bucket of beer in the street when he saw her long blonde hair.

  “What do you think you are doing here?” she called down at them, as she drew up on the reins of her gray courser, making it obediently stop. She had some archers along with her, and they moved out around, as if they were expecting trouble.

  “Your excellent lady, I am Wayland of the Isles, a deputy of Captain Tig Morten of Troli,” Wayland told her. “I am on my way to Fugoe Castle to parlay with the monsters there, for the release of the Countess Sunnil of Rydol, and the other hostages taken during the last set of battles.”

  “That fool traveler Sir Augustus caused us all a lot of trouble, didn’t he,” she said. “He was a dashing man though,” she added, as she had the thought. “I heard they buried what was left of him in a hat box.”

  “That only makes sense,” Wayland replied. She frowned, as if she had expected them to laugh at her small, grim joke. Looking around at her archers, he asked, “Have we caused you some sort of other trouble, my lady?” She cantered her horse forward and then looked down at him. Her hair was now shaken out over her gleaming pauldrons like a veil of beaten straw.

  “Go back where you came from,” she told him. “We need Rydol’s knights and levy back here, not some more traveler fools mucking up the waters.”

  “The Grand Prince thought it was necessary,” Wayland said, swinging his biggest stick at her now to see what she would do. “I must at least make an attempt, my lady.” She laughed, sounding a bit like an ill-blown horn, and it marred his perfect vision of her.

  “Come up to the keep then, and my father will tell you what you face, so that you can then reconsider.”

  Wayland bowed, and he gestured to his men to get their mounts and follow. There was a large stable near the tower and the wall running up to the keep, and it was here that they left their horses. Another gate stood in the town’s outer wall, under the tower, and as they followed the lady, they found it opened up into a passage a wagon’s breath across that ran through the center of the low wall they had seen going up to the castle. She lit a torch but it was hardly necessary. It was like walking though someone’s comfortable root cellar under a cottage floor, with little ports letting light in through the stones every twenty feet or so.

  “This reminds me of the bastion that guards the harbor at Cacus,” Sir Byrning said.

  “You are a long way from home, legionary,” the blonde replied to him.

  “We did not talk before my lady, but I was here with Wenslig’s army when he was here. I was keen to recover the sword of Aukwen, lost by Sir Theodor.”

  “Ah. We could use a thousand like you right now,” she replied, raising her golden eyebrows as she looked back over her shoulder at him. “I am Tazah, the daughter of Lord Sirlaw.”

  They came out of another gate on the far end of the passage and entered a large court between two curved walls topped by battlements. A stable and a smithy sat against the wall to the left, the hammer ringing out as sparks flew from the metal on the anvil. She led them across and up a stair into one of the round, out thrusting towers, and there she told them to rest in a chamber appointed with some trestle tables and benches. A raised platform sat at one end with the lord’s chair and table upon it. She ignored it, loosened her armor and threw her sword belt across the closest trestle. She sat down on a bench, rested her chin on one fist and stared back over at them with her dark blue eyes like they were all stupid.

  Wayland motioned for his men to take seats at the tables. A serving girl appeared and brought around some sliced bread and cheese, and a pitcher of water with cups. When they were eating and drinking, Lady Tazah tossed her yellow hair back with one hand and looked pointedly at Wayland.

  “You say that you are going to negotiate with the horde at Fugoe Castle like they are merchants, come to sign a contract for bales of wool, or sacks of rice?”

  “I know of these creatures, my lady,” Wayland said, trying to defend himself. “Though I am indeed a merchant, of the merchant knights, I don’t think that this will be easy. That’s why I was sent.”

  “You could not really know these creatures, Wayland of the Isles,” she told him, slowly shaking her head back and forth. “Your partner in trade this time is a like a mad dog running loose in the street.
My grandfather compared them once to ants. You don’t try to negotiate with an ant mound you find in your yard. You just step on it.” Wayland listened to her opinion, and then tried to find an opening in it.

  “Then from your experience, if I was to raise a white flag and slowly approach the castle, what would take place?” he asked her.

  “Like ants the goblins always have foragers out, they moving around and scouring the countryside for things to bring back and put into their pots. They will see you and attack you for food, not knowing or caring otherwise. If you were to get by these, then eventually you will run into the defensive groups placed out by their leader, and these will not talk to you either but try to fight and destroy you.”

  “What is the best way to get the attention of their ruler, to focus the mind of these creatures so that a dialogue can take place?” he asked her.

  “You must bring up an army bigger than theirs and engage them in battle,” she said. “When they are in a position of weakness, partially subdued and facing annihilation, then you can try and make terms with the survivors. But such agreements never last more than a few years at best, because no goblin is bound by rules when they start to get hungry, or they are compelled.”

  Wayland chewed the bread and cheese and thought about what she had told them. She watched him back with her flinty blue eyes, waiting for his response. Finally he answered her.

  “So in retreating, Lord Wenslig has prevented any discussion from such a point of strength. He could not be blamed for this, for from our sense of things he did not want to endanger the Countess Sunnil or any of the other captives by making an attack.”

  “His reasoning was questioned by my father,” Lady Tazah said, picking up an apple and cutting into it with a small knife. “If you are being attacked you are busy out fighting, and you may need your hostages for later on if you lose.”

  “And what happens if the monsters win in such a situation?” Wayland asked.

  “They always have slaves. And why would they kill a ransom that was not yet paid? But sooner than later, they start getting hungry again, and sometimes they just go for the closest source of meat.”

  “Does coin not move them?” he asked her.

  “Spoken there like a real merchant knight,” she observed. “What would they buy with it, where would they go to buy these things? Perhaps the greater thrings have a use for such, but as for the trolls, thyrs and goblins, they only want meat for their pots and slaves.”

  “There was the rumor of a ransom,” she added, a little more thoughtful, “but the goblins could not produce the countess when it was demanded. Wenslig gave up quickly though, and part of the goblin horde then went back onto Lake Aven, to fight in some strife among themselves and spend their loot. The amount set by the goblin leader was three hundred pounds of silver.” It was a large amount, but not unthinkable for a noble of her standing.

  “One of her footmen, a holy scribe had been back and forth to Fugoe Castle twice now to arrange for the trade,” she said. “The goblins torture and injure him each time he goes there. The last time he went, he did not come back. That man chose the path of the martyred saints.” She made the sign of the three across her chest, sealing herself, and her manners showed that she had a touch of admiration for the man. Wayland let her finish, then he stared over at the hearth for a moment, to consider and compose his thoughts.

  “I will have to try, or it will go badly for me,” he said to her. “And, it is also the right thing to do.” He paused again, and then continued. “There are other considerations to also think of, even if the orders I was given were ill-advised.” He drew out another parchment with a larger seal. “I will of course, need some men from your garrison.” She looked intrigued, but just wagged her half finished apple over at him.

  “You will have to ask my father for them, when he and my brothers return,” she said, and took a full bite from the remains of the apple with a crisp, juicy crunch.

  They waited as the sky outside the windows turned from blue to red. Servants went around them occasionally, doing their tasks, and it seemed like they had been instructed to ignore them. The castle was large, and the room was easily avoided. Lady Tazah had retired to the family solar shortly after their talk and had not reemerged. When no food arrived, Wayland had Horwit and Samur go get them bread, meat, and potatoes out from their gear to fix a hearty stew. They returned and started to cook it to one side, at a hearth in an available pot.

  Sascha had gone off somewhere in the castle and returned with a little lute which he was now playing by one of the windows, his boots kicked up onto a bench. Wayland imagined him trying to compose a song for the brazen daughter of Krolo. The melody was the only welcoming thing so far in the hall and it did not lure Lady Tazah back out.

  Then Wayland heard the movement of soldiers and horses outside, and the pace of the keep’s domestics all quickened as they got ready to receive them. Spears and armor glinted; horses moved about and were led off by the grooms. The distant fire pits outside the walls lit up, and an unappealing cooked meat smell soon entered the room.

  Lord Sirlaw came up through the tunnel in the wall, across the court, and then on into the hall with his sons and his men at arms. Shields with Krolo’s heraldry: a white tower on blue were hung up on racks or put into rows against the walls. They stripped off the heavier pieces of their armor and relaxed, the servants either helping or beginning to bring out food now to set on the table.

  The Lord of Krolo had a mane of blonde hair like his daughter, cut at the shoulders, and a long drooping mustache. He also had the same dark blue eyes and a small, pointed nose above his square jaw and mouth. It held a scowl now, as he looked them over. His sons were clean of face, with gray eyes and hair just a shade darker.

  “I thought I smelled something off when I rode into the castle!” he stated, looking over Wayland and the other Traveler Knights with meaning. “As it stands, I currently have a plentiful supply of goblin heads that I am willing to sell to you for a bargain.”

  “If they could buy their own heads back, I would make my fortune,” Wayland replied.

  “You’re a quick one,” Sirlaw said. “By any chance are you in charge of these others?” Wayland stood, made a bend at the waist to him, and offered his orders.

  “I’ve come here on account of the Countess of Rydol, to see if there is a way to ransom her out.” Sirlaw heard this and shook his head.

  “The damn troll that took Fugoe Castle has her, sure enough. But he only took her to keep her.” He took up a bucket of beer and drank off some before passing it over to the next man.

  “I’m sure Tazah has explained that to you,” he said. He got up and went over to the fireplace, and given the opportunity, now smelled at their stew. “Lord Wenslig, the pretender of Rydol figured it out for himself pretty quickly. Lucky for him I guess, and it was hard to say if he was wrong or displeased. Man’s a coward though: he could have at least gotten revenge for his niece. We should have gone up there weeks ago and cleaned Fugoe out.”

  “We have all been in our walls mostly now for the last two months. Rumor is that the same troll took the Tuvier Blade and slew Sarik with it, and I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. It did not look that impressive to me when Sir Theodor had it, but relics like that in the right circumstances can make strange things occur. You learn that early on when you fight thrings, or you probably won’t last.” He sat back down and looked across the table at them.

  “Then one of Sarik’s underlings, the one they called the Vagrim challenged the troll. That sword did the same trick again. Now the troll faction is fighting with Sterina for control of Lake Aven. I don’t think she’ll chance getting too close to the sword. We are fortunate that they are all in chaos now, fighting with each other. It is a blessing.”

  “Fugoe Castle has only a couple hundred goblins and thyrs in garrison now and in its dungeon are many West Land hostages and ransoms. If the Grand Prince won’t do anything, if Grotoy doesn’t act soon, the West
Land lords will have to go up there with all their warriors. We will fight until there aren’t enough of them left in the Priwak to cause more trouble during the winter.”

  Sirlaw’s wife entered then from a passage with another young woman, the wife of one of the sons. Then the Lady Tazah came back in, her hair now tied up in braid with a blue silk ribbon. She was wearing a dark bodice dress with a belted skirt, and a pale green over-jacket embroidered with golden thread. She sat down opposite the travelers, near her father with one of the maids, and let them all admire her. Sirlaw looked her over and shot them an annoyed look, and then had his baliff take charge and get them each a seat.

  A blessing was said after the arrangement, and then they began to eat. The stew they had made was served around with bread in bowls until it ran out. They ate spiced cuts of beef and a bean dish in cheese, and baked fruit in a honeyed crust. Sascha sat politely through the courses, then later went over to the fire and began to play the lute for the hall. Some of the men laughed at him, but were hissed to quiet by Sirlaw’s wife and the other ladies.

  “Is that Sascha of the Krag?” Lady Tazah asked Wayland from across the table.

  “He is indeed my lady. He is trying to make a good impression on Krolo, to show his ability. These points may balance out his perchance for sneaking over walls and through windows in the middle of the night.”

  Tazah and her maid laughed, and it seemed a pleasant time. Sirlaw’s wife hissed over at her husband, and Sirlaw himself gave Wayland a sharp look as he tapped his knife against a bowl of relish.

  “Yes, but he is the Lord of the Krag, is he not?” Tazah asked him again.

  “He is my lady. It was in defense of his body and claim that I became involved in this whole matter. There was a street fight at the Canteen of Troli and blood was shed. I was convinced to join the Traveler Knights to make amends, and go out upon this mission as a penance.” The Lord looked at his wife and one of his sons, and they exchanging glances that he could not read.