A War of Stones: Book One of the Traveler Knight

by Howard Norfolk

  “But you are all knights now, are you not?” Tazah asked him.

  “Some of us are more so than others, but we’re mostly just a bunch of up-jumped merchants, factors and reeves. Sir Byrning there, he is a real knight. He is a Knight of Pendwise, our friends to the south.” Sir Byrning nodded around to them.

  “I was anointed in the Cathedral of the Old City by the Lord Protector of the Three Shrines himself.”

  “But what do you do,” she asked Wayland, “when you are not trying to save damsels?”

  “I am a merchant from Rezes: a man of the Isle of Tolwind. A Tolly, some call me.” Wayland looked along the tables, and then about the room. He pushed back the bench and stood up. “I will show you what I do.”

  They watched him go over to his bags and return with a leather pouch. He produced a coarse powder that he showed to them, and then he went around to several of the candles, adding it to the melted wax and flame. They waited, and then the rich, spicy smell of cinnamon and herbs spread itself out through the room. It masked over the odor of the meal, of the sweat, the leather and iron, and of the goblin bodies still burning out beyond the walls.

  “That is incense from Venecty, the great kingdom on the south side of Maghot Bay,” he told them. “I bring such things back and forth from city to town, to make life more agreeable for all.”

  “How smart! What is the fashion in Rezes right now?” Tazah asked him. Her mother threw a small piece of bread at her and a few people around the tables laughed. Then they were quiet, waiting for what Wayland would say.

  “There has not been a major war now in Tolwind for a dozen years, and with peace, fashion and court have become quite popular and elaborate. The style has changed. Men now wear jackets with braid on the cuffs and dark, tall, fur hats. The ladies dress in stitched silk with lace, and favor stones the color of fruit and flowers. The duchess and queen do not dare wear their sapphires and emeralds, for fear they will be seen as out of style.” That made the women laugh and some of the men smile.

  Wayland continued. “In Rezes there are little monkeys that dance in the park for black coins, and a new type of coach on the roads they call a saloon. They are building a great bridge over the Mandy River between Appon and Binsy, but they say it will just cause trouble. There is a baron in Creford who claims to have caught a unicorn in his forest, and is showing it off.”

  “A unicorn! That seems improbable,” Lord Sirlaw said. “We should send him a goblin in a cage. He can train it to ride the unicorn around for his guests.” People at the table laughed.

  “Or maybe he can train one of those monkeys to ride the goblin!” Sirlaw’s son added, which made even Wayland laugh. The table quieted then, but after some time Lord Sirlaw started conversation again.

  ”We have all heard things about the happenings in Kraxika. What is your news of it?” Wayland backed up on the bench a little, uncomfortable of that reminder, feeling again like his own life had gone completely out of control there and landed in the hands of foreigners.

  “Kraxika was my original trade destination,” he told them. “The road knights and I looked down off the Golden Slope and saw the banners of the tent lords against the walls, trying to breech them.”

  “They try no more,” Lord Wenslig said. “I have had it from another lord that the city fell a week ago. Bad news in Gece travels fast.”

  Wayland looked at his men and measured the concern on their faces. It was just another thing they would all have to get used to. It spelled trouble for trade, and raised the potential for a crusade.

  “Our efforts here now seem less worthwhile,” he considered. “But Captain Tig Morten of Troli sent us here so that others more able men were made free to go and fight on the Golden Slope.”

  Talk of the type had a way of putting off most, but Wayland saw that it had not darkened the already dark moods of the border folk. To them, the troubles on the Golden Slope were an entire kingdom and some high mountains away. Why worry about something bad so far in the distance when they had the heads of goblins sitting on stakes right outside their gate?

  “I have heard of Tig Morten,” Sirlaw said. “He sends us queries all the time about the situation here. He is a very thorough man.” He nodded and pointed with his knife at Wayland. “Tomorrow, we will get you properly outfitted and give you a few lessons on fighting goblins. The day after that, well I’m sure you will have plenty to write about later to tell Captain Tig Morten.”

  Wayland got up the next morning after a night spent rolling around on a straw pallet at one end of the garrison hall. He was sure there had been a shrill whistle, and it had roused them all. It came again, and they got up and slowly turned out into the yard, using just a tub to wash first. He let the other men go first and then cleaned himself off. He laced back afterwards into the same dirty road clothes he had been wearing for weeks. They ate porridge and bread with raisins, then went out to the yard and were taken over to the armory where Tazah was already waiting for them. She had slipped back into her dark brigantine and polished pauldrons, her long yellow hair caught now in a ribbon to hang down her back.

  “Let’s find you some decent armor,” she said. They went into an undercroft and looked about. It served as an armory and as the dungeon. Tazah went to a wall and took down some shields, and she passed them around to Wayland’s men. She handed him a shield painted over in blue, with a black metal boss at the center.

  A man got them some helms, and they took turns pushing them down onto their heads. Tazah nodded at Wayland’s fit: it had a boar hair brush on its top, had been worked with designs, and had been polished out at least once.

  “That is from our herald set for tourney,” she told him. “I don’t think that they have been used by anyone in ten years. It’s perfectly sound equipment, and you will make the most dashing esquire.”

  Wayland took the helm and the shield from her. She made a purse with her lips at him and then went down the chamber to help Sascha fit on some mail. Wayland went through the chests with his men, finding a jacket of mail and padding that fit. Then it was back into the racks and chests to find some riding greaves. They walked out of the armory into the court near noon and sat down there for pork mixed in with rice, bread, cheese, and apples. As they ate Tazah explained some of the goblin’s behavior to them.

  “You do not want to get encircled by them,” she said. “That’s how they take down men: by surrounding them in groups of three or four. Move back toward the other soldiers when you see this happening.” They took turns later on as men with blunted spears and swords circled around them to demonstrate the tactic.

  “What do we do if we are faced with a Troll?” Sascha eventually asked her

  “Get help,” she told him. “But in your case, just play a tune for him on your lute, and he may run away.” He took it good naturedly, giving her a little bow and a smile. Her lips made a tight, but not unpleasant smile back, and she walked away.

  They practiced once more, then took off the armor, inspected it, altered it a bit, and then rested. Wayland relaxed the laces in his brigantine and tried to make it fit over the mail shirt, which it could not do. A pottage later came out from the hall in bowls with black bread. The family had a separate meal later in their solar, which they were not invited to.

  There was a little drinking, but most of the men turned in early to their straw and blankets, and soon the only sounds heard were the popping of the hearths, the snores, and the distant kitchen work.

  Temmi, Sascha and Wayland sat on benches by one of the fireplaces, sharing a pot of tea. There were the odd things to be done, and Wayland had started a letter back to Captain Tig Morten which he did not know how to finish yet. A few servants came and went, and the guard walked through every half hour. Sascha got his lute and strummed a few chords, then stopped before getting more serious with it. He looked over at Wayland.

  “Just what was Lady Tazah getting at today?” he asked him.

  “There was no need for her to help us with the armor
, or in the yard,” Wayland agreed. “She proved herself capable though, like another woman might cook a meal. She does know what she is doing.

  “What is she doing then, besides mocking my small ability with the lute?” Sascha said, pursuing the intent.

  “She took the opportunity to look us over up close,” he told him, “instead of having us bring her flowers and walk her around a garden. She is abrupt and hard, like everything else in this place. She is beautiful and of course set on marrying far away from here. A merchant connection could bring them a good deal of money, and of course you are the dashing Lord of the Krag.”

  “She didn’t say a thing to me,” Temmi said in annoyance. “I’m just the second son of a Varrek flocker.”

  “Yes,” Wayland said, “but there are many other types of girls in this world, and most men would find them more appealing. I can imagine her next to me up on a wagon seat someday, riding through the gates of Sirund. What an adventure that would be.” Sascha grunted back in dissent.

  “She surely seeks another of noble birth. You and Temmi need to go chase the milk maids together across the fields. I will win this straw-haired beauty for my own, qualified through my position, but primarily through my great charms and ability. Just wait and you will see how it goes.”

  “Perhaps you will my lord,” Wayland replied, “but you’re not the only one who can climb up over a wall.” It was all said in good humor of course. Wayland had thought earlier that the purse of her lips had been some personal affection, something she used like disdain, and he now held out little hope for either of them. They turned in after another hour, the letter remaining unfinished. The expedition up to the castle would fill in its details, Wayland decided.

  When he was awakened by the whistle the next morning, it was still dark. He got up and looked around, and saw the men getting ready to ride, to bring in the soldiers needed for the expedition. The men about him were washing and getting dressed, then going out to the racks and chests and putting on their riding gear. He did the same, then sat down and ate some cornbread, curds and some fried eggs. They drank a hot tea made up from roots, butter and sugar.

  Lord Sirlaw sat at one of the tables and instructed each group about their destination that day, to go and raise the West Lands. When they had mostly left the lord turned and beckoned Wayland over to him. He held out a rolled scrap of parchment, sealed in black wax with no visible stamp.

  “Something came for you in the night,” the lord told him. “I warn you to be very careful with its contents.” It was some form of informal post by the look of it. It could have come from the buggers, as they called them, or for somewhere else. Wayland took it and broke the seal, and then read its contents over. Lord Sirlaw waited expectantly for him to share the news. Wayland read it over again, and then folded it away.

  “Someone wants to arrange with me for the return of the Countess of Rydol,” he told him. “They say they have a letter of introduction, written in her own hand, from her captor.”

  “If you think I’m going to abandon my attack on Fugoe Castle because of what that letters says, you are s fool,” Lord Sirlaw said. “Now that the Grand Prince has commanded it, I will go and clear out that place and reestablish our western border.” Wayland saw that the man knew how to take up the lord’s stick and swing it well.

  “We should do both,” he said, “if she is no longer at Fugoe anyway.” Sirlaw gestured at the pocket he had put the scrap in.

  “Who do you think sent you that thing? No one you can trust at all, I would wager. Will you put that message before the whole authority of the land?” It seemed to Wayland that Sirlaw was swinging the lord’s stick a little too hard now, but he was also right. So he held his tongue, and took the lesson.

  “I look at this as you do, Lord Sirlaw,” he answered. “But you must realize that I do not know the West Lands like you. If this is not to be trusted, then it is what we call an affront, in Tolwind. It is within my power to answer it as such.”

  Lord Sirlaw thought about that. Wayland had just offered him two birds instead of one. They didn’t know if the second one was worth chasing yet, but Sirlaw appeared to be a man who could perhaps turn such a thing as he wished, into something he did want.

  “I will have to consider it more, perhaps send out some riders to look at what might be up,” he answered. “I have a hunch where this message has come from, and if it has, then there will be another one coming along soon.” He stood up, and Wayland stood up also, in deference.

  “You have my permission to go and talk to my daughter,” Sirlaw said. “Ask her to tell you about Pawel, and you will learn a great deal more about the West Lands.” He signaled to two of his men, and they all went out, down into the yard.

  Wayland looked up at the banners that hung down from the long beams that ran across the ceiling, depicting the stylized white castle of Krolo on blue, until he had figured out the message to send to Lady Tazah. He took a piece of scrap that was available and wrote it out, then tied it with a ribbon of black silk: a very provocative color, but one that now seemed exactly appropriate for their meeting. He fished out a flonnet and paid one of the servants to deliver it to her, and then he waited.

  Near noon the servant found him with his men, and gave him her reply. Wayland paid a coin again, and then unrolled the piece of parchment. He read it over and immediately stood up.

  “I’m going to be gone for an hour,” he told them, as their heads raised up a little from their idle pursuits, and the repair of their road gear.

  “Getting on the road a little early?” Sascha asked him, sour because he realized what was taking place.

  “Unfortunately, it has all turned to business here,” Wayland replied, before he left.

  He had been directed to a small garden that existed on the west side of the castle, in the partial shadow of one of the concentric curtain walls. It evidently still got enough sunlight to produce, and had rows of plot where several types of vegetables were growing. The slightly sweet smell of ripe tomatoes and melons filled the air.

  The Lady Tazah had sat on a stone bench in front of a trellis on which hung yellow and white snapdragons, and some variety of small flowering red rose. She had on a peasant dress with white sleeves and a kirtle of soft yellow. On her neck was a thin gold chain ornamented by several round, purple jewels. She had put Wayland’s black ribbon up in her hair, making a bow that causd it to fall back behind, and onto her shoulders. She did not smell of iron, oil, or horses today. She blushed and looked away, as he bowed to her.

  “It was right to start with you, Islander,” she said.

  “How so with me?” he asked her.

  “You bathe the most regularly of all your men, and so you smell the best. You must pass this along to the others. Lord Sascha smells like a goat.” Wayland had to laugh, and it was apparent that his levity also relieved her, and put her more at ease. He sat down next to her.

  “Do you want to know about Pawel?” she asked him.

  “Of course I do, because your father thinks he is somehow between the message I was sent today and the Countess of Rydol. Her ransom is my primary task here.”

  “He was an early admirer of the Lady Tazah,” she said, referring to herself now in a distant way, perhaps to lessen her own feelings. “He was a squire here at Krolo, but he kept making the wrong decisions about things. He’s from just south of here, and has grown up now to be a nuisance. Such a thing makes a West Lands maiden despair, so that she has to even entertain the notion that a merchant might prove suitable.”

  “It’s apt for any creature to avoid a snare,” Wayland said. “I think of how many times I avoided folly by trusting my instincts, or reacting well to something I had seen. People would say I think, that such a maiden was well thought out, and had done something hard because it was the right thing to do.”

  “Your smoothness is your undoing,” she replied, just after a moment’s hesitation. “When will anyone ever get the truth out of you?”

  “Not
at all,” Wayland replied. “You could have very well run off with him to Askerol, or some other likely place that people always seem to elope to, and live there now openly in shame. I think you to be of the minority who plotted the smart course instead: the one who thought things through. You are a lady of the West Lands, and that means you know that monsters are real, but that fairy tales are not. You are thinking still, in the minutes not used for other things. That would scare a lot of men, but I believe it only enhances your already formidable beauty.”

  “You are making me happy and angry at the same time!” Tazah exclaimed, and pushed him back away a little. “You need to figure out which of those things is more important to you.”

  Wayland could tell she was more pleased than angry, and it was a fine encounter with such a complicated lady. “And you also perhaps. What can I expect from Pawel? How does he fit between me and my goal?” She became more somber.

  “There are a number of fortresses and holdfasts along the high border and in the central West Lands, ranging all the way east to the Khaast Forest. These are held mainly by force of arms, though it is preferred that the headman be noble and hold fealty to one of the established, larger lords. Pawel is one of these holders, and when not engaged fighting against the goblins and trolls, he works up whatever scheme is available to increase his estate. That includes selling goods to and for the bandits in the Khaast, and stealing a few head of livestock here and there. If anyone looses any animals in the night, it is blamed on the buggers first, and then on Pawel second.”

  “Sounds like any noble in the Lake Lands of Tolwind,” Wayland remarked. “If he is fighting the goblins most of the time, why would they give him the ransom message?”

  “They know of him, and he has contacts with all the outlaws and merchants along the border, so that such a thing would naturally come to him.” Wayland was not accustomed to dealing with robber knights and besting them. He was acquainted with either getting out of their way, or in directing them toward someone else bigger to fight with. Schemes like that had eventually driven him out of Tolwind, to go live in Marmad.