by J Battle
With sudden determination, Anders moved his hand forward and rested his finger gently against the cold hard flesh of the Wellstone.
‘That’s…’ he began, and then the Stone reacted to his touch and flared to bright orange, and it began to feed. ‘No!!’ Yelled Anders before he fell to the floor in a faint, his finger still touching the stone.
With a sigh, Evens knocked his hand away.
He stared at the Stone for a second, gathering his strength and his courage, then he spoke the words in a clear calm voice.
‘Per id, est dem plutre, Fell tsi li bel. Per id, est dem lutre, pell tsi lied bel, per ne lest.’
With the last word, he lay both hands on the Wellstone.
Just for a second, he managed not to scream.
When the Stone was satiated, when its colour began to fade, it returned what had been taken, and more.
With a sigh, Evens lifted his hands away and watched as the burnt skin healed in a second, and the ache faded from his old bones. He could feel the Magic coursing through him, and he knew that for days to come, the nigh on five score years that he bore would not weigh him down. And that he would be capable of remarkable feats, whilst the Magic was still strong within him.
He looked down at the prostrate young man, and he shook his head.
‘If you can’t touch the Stone and be aware of what’s happening, you can’t be a mage, lad. It is as simple and as complex as that. Doesn’t matter what you know, if you can’t do that.’
He strode from the room, quick and strong once more. There were things to be done, and he couldn’t be hanging around waiting for the boy to come to his senses.
But what was to be done, about the boy, and about the future? If the boy wouldn’t do, would he have to start again and find another boy?
He shook his head at the idea. Though he felt filled with vitality, he was fully aware that the time was coming when he would no longer have the strength or the will to force himself to touch the Stone. And how would Misthaven fare without Magic?
Chapter 8 Woewearer
‘Oh my,’ she said, when she saw them from the side of the road.
She hesitated for a moment, as her eyes scanned the crushed carriages and the dead bodies. She rested her eyes for a moment on the man, broken despite his fine clothes, as he tried to find some fleeting words of comfort for his distraught daughter. Standing just a few yards away was a stout man, looking from them to the bodies and back again, as if he knew that there was something to be done, but he had no idea how it should be accomplished.
She sighed and shook her head as she stepped forward, for she was Ellaine the Woewearer and where else should she be?
She placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, and another on the girl’s head.
‘Tell me their names, Sir, so that I might mourn them also.’
For a moment, there was no response, but she waited patiently.
When the man looked up, she smiled encouragingly.
‘Tell me, Sir,’ she whispered.
He shook his head, and turned away. ‘No,’ he croaked.
‘No rush, my dear. You can tell me when you’re good and ready.’
She glanced over as the Giants approached. When she saw the damage done to the nearest of them, she tutted and frowned.
‘Hail there, Giant,’ she said, as she left Lord Richard for a moment to his grief. ‘I would be happy to see you once more, but I never thought to see a Giant hurt so.’
Belloom nodded and looked at what remained of his arm, still stunned at the loss.
‘Can I help? If a Giant can be helped.’
‘There’s no help to be had here, little old woman,’ Ferrooll grunted. ‘Unless you have ale and food about you; that would do well enough.’
‘Let me take a look there, if I may. I have healing potions that might ease his pain.’
Belloom held up his arm. ‘I can still feel my hand, and it hurts something terrible, it does. I ain’t never felt nothing like it, I haven’t.’
Ellaine sighed. ‘There’s not much I can do about the hand, Giant, with it not being there, but perhaps I can ease the pain, and there’s a place nearby where you can get some food, and mayhap some ale.’
Belloom settled his great broad buttocks in the middle of the road. ‘I ain’t going nowhere.’
‘And why not, you big oaf? Did you not hear her talk about food and ale?’
‘I reckon I’ll just wait here until he comes back. Do you think he’ll come back? He’ll have to come back, won’t he?’
‘Well, he came from this way, and he went to that way, so there is a chance that he’ll be back this way soon enough.’
‘That’s what I thought. So I’ll sit me here for a while and, when he comes along to be going home, I’ll be having a quiet word with him, and they’ll be the last words he’ll hear, I reckon.’
Ferrooll stood over him as he spoke, and he caught himself looking along the road to see if the Trytor was indeed on his way back, but there was no sign of him.
‘Mayhap I’ll go along with this here little old woman, and I’ll get me some food and ale, and then I’ll bring some back to you. How does that sound?’
‘Ay, it sounds fine to me, but be quiet about it. I don’t want you scaring him off, with your big loud voice.’
‘My voice ain’t no louder than yours.’
Ellaine turned from them and walked back to Lord Richard.
‘Come, Sir. Bring the young lady and take her away from this terrible place. The sight will do her no good.’
Richard ground his teeth together and looked down at his daughter, surprised to see that she was staring at him.
‘I couldn’t save them, father. I know they are dead, and I couldn’t save them.’
‘Shush now, child. No need for that. Let your father take you from here. I know a place where you might find some comfort.’ Ellaine took her by the elbow and helped her to her feet.
‘You also, Sir.’ She placed a hand on his arm.
‘What…I can’t leave them.’
‘Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Sir, but you can, and you must. You must look to your daughter now.’
‘But… they’re lying in the dirt. They need…’
She turned him away from them. ‘You are quite right, Sir. And when I have you and your daughter settled, I‘ll return, and I’ll see to them.’
‘But…’
Without realising quite how it happened, Richard found himself walking along behind the old woman, with one hand supporting his daughter.
A respectful few paces behind was Jumba, seemingly unable to lift his eyes from the ground at his feet.
With one or two grunts, and more than one or two glances back at his old friend, Ferrooll followed them.
‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Richard, when they’d left the road behind them and had started down a narrow path between dense forest on one side and a rocky wall on the other; a tight squeeze for the Giant.
‘I have an acquaintance who lives nearby, just a little way along this road. And don’t pay any mind to the welcome you get, as it won’t feel much like a welcome.’
‘But he will have food and ale?’ Ferrooll asked.
‘Oh, he’ll have them, sure enough. Might take a little persuasion to share them, I think, but it’s not a wise man who refuses a Giant.’
Ferrooll nodded because it was obvious to him that she spoke only the truth.
‘Also, I should tell you, don’t pay too much attention to his words. He doesn’t get the chance to talk to people very much these days, so he might seem a little sharp.’
‘Thank you for helping us in this way,’ said Richard, ‘I am Lord Richard of Hesselton, and this is my daughter, Alice, and this here Giant is Ferrooll.’
Ellaine nodded. ’It is fine to meet you, Lord, if only it were on another day. I am Ellaine Woewearer, and it is my calling to mourn the loss of men, and I am always kept busy about it.’
Richard stopped then, as if
he had a mind to turn back.
‘No, Sir, this is for the best, and there is nothing else to be said.’ There was a stern tone in her voice, though her eyes held nothing but sorrow.
They continued on in silence, although it was a remarkable feat for a Giant to walk for so long and not find something to say.
They came to a long wooden building, with a stone wall at the near end, supporting a chimney that was releasing banners of grey smoke into the sky.
‘Ho there, Lancer, it is I, back to annoy you with my constant chatter. And I bring guests, so put on your welcome face and come say good day,’ Ellaine called, as they stepped onto a stone path that would take them to the closed door.
Her bright call was met by silence.
‘Don’t you worry none, Sir, and Miss. It’s just his way. He hears us well enough.’
‘Shall I knock down the door, do you reckon?’ said Ferrooll, prodding one thick finger at the old wood. ‘That would have him coming to see who was here, I reckon.’
‘We could just knock,’ replied Ellaine, after giving him a firm look that he didn’t really notice.
‘Come along now, Lancer, we’ve got an impatient Giant here and I don’t have the strength to hold him back much longer.’
This caused a frown to appear on Ferrooll’s broad face. ’I don’t think she’s holding me back? She’s not holding me back, is she?’
The door opened a crack, and half of a thin face was visible, along with one light blue eye.
‘What ye want?’
‘Now, Lancer. Don’t you be taking that tone with me; not when I’ve known you since you were a boy.’
‘You never knew me as a boy,’ snapped Lancer, with his single eye on the Giant.
‘Well, if you were a man then, you certainly behaved like a boy.’
‘Don’t let yon Giant get any closer. I don’t want him knocking my wall down.’
Ellaine turned to Ferrooll. ‘If you would be kind enough to sit by that tree over there, we’ll see what we can find for you.’
The Giant did as she suggested, as if it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do, although, if asked by an inquisitive stranger, he’d be hard put to say why he was suddenly so obedient to a human.
‘Now Lancer, step back a little and let the rest of us enter.’
’Why?’
‘Because it is the polite thing to do when strangers and old friends knock on your door. And if you don’t, I’m sure the Giant will have something to say on the matter.’
‘Ye can come in if you like, but don’t expect any politeness or kindness from me. I’ll just be sitting by the fire in my chair and minding my own business. Oh, and I’m not feeding anyone, so don’t be asking.’
The door swung open to reveal a face with a full set of blue eyes, and Ellaine ushered Richard and Alice in before her.
To the right was a roaring fire with a single armchair beside it. To the left was a long wooden table groaning under the weight of the food and drink it carried.
Ellaine took in her surroundings, then she walked towards the thin bent man by the fire.
‘It’s Tuesday, Lancer, isn’t it?’ she said, softly.
Lancer didn’t look up. He continued staring into the flames.
‘Lancer?’
‘Yes,‘ he sighed. ‘Leastways it was when I got up this morning.’
‘So? He won’t be coming, will he?’
‘He might come. You never know.’
‘You always said he’d come on a Monday, on his way to the hunt. He hunts on a Monday, doesn’t he?’
‘He did, but he might have changed his mind.’
‘Did you ever know him to change his mind?’
Lancer didn’t answer, but he did shake his head grudgingly, after a moment.
‘So, it would be a shame to waste all that food, when you have guests, and a hungry Giant sitting outside.’
‘They are only guests if they are invited, and I haven’t invited anyone.’
‘I invited them on your behalf, Lancer. Don’t say I did wrong.’
He shook his head slightly; an almost imperceptible movement.
‘So, I can feed them a little of your food?’
‘I suppose…but they can’t have the pie. The pie will keep, and he always liked pies, if my memory serves.’
‘There you are, Lancer. Was that so hard?’
Richard had no appetite, and nor did Alice, but the Giant ate well enough for all of them, as Ellaine ferried the trays of food out to him.
‘There’s no ale, I’m afraid. Just this cool spring water,’ she said, as she lowered a tray with three roast birds and a leg of lamb.
‘What sort of a meal is it without ale?’ grunted Ferrooll. ‘And what is the water for? I don’t need a wash.’
‘You might find it a cooling drink, and an aid to eating,‘ suggested Ellaine, with a smile.
‘I think I can manage the eating all on my own,’ he replied, and went on to prove the truth of his words.
Jumba watched him at work, with an untouched drumstick in his own hand.
He jumped when he felt a hand drop on his shoulder.
‘My Lord,‘ he said, as he spun to face Lord Richard.
‘Jumba…she was covered by a blanket. Why was she covered?’
‘She…I didn’t want to…’
Richard gripped his arms. ‘Tell me man!’
‘She…she looked cold, my Lord. I didn’t want her to be cold,’ Jumba muttered, without making eye contact.
‘Good man. Good man.’ Richard nodded and released him.
‘Ferrooll, my friend,’ he said, as he walked closer to the Giant. ’You want to leave some for your friend, I think.’
‘Ay, you’re right there. I‘ll just be finishing this, and then I’ll take this bag of food along to him, though he’ll have something to say about no ale, he will, for he likes his ale.’
‘Tell him that, if he ever comes to Hesselton, he’ll have his fill of ale, and you as well, of course.’
‘It’s a rash offer to make to a pair of Giants, it is.’
Back inside the house, Lancer was leaning over the table, fretting at the reduction in his food supplies.
‘Don’t take that pie, man. It’s mine, and not for anyone else.’
‘No sir, I wasn’t looking at your pie. I was just about to get a drink,’ replied Jumba.
‘Well, that’ll be fine then. Drink your fill, if you please, and I won’t complain, as long as you let the pie be.’
Jumba took a long drink of the water, with his eyes closed and his mind shut off for a moment from the terrible sights he’d witnessed.
Lancer watched him.
‘So, she was cold, was she?’ he said, softly so as not to be heard by anyone else.
Jumba looked up at him and shivered.
‘Cold enough…and I didn’t want him to…’
Lancer nodded, as if he knew full well what he was trying to say.
‘Say no more, man. I know what a Trytor will do, when his blood is up and there is soft female touch to be had.’
Jumba shook his head. ‘It were a terrible thing to see, and a terrible thing to be done to her. And she didn’t deserve to die like that, she didn’t. He fair ripped her poor body apart, he did, and it weren’t a sight for a father to see. No, and not for any decent man neither.’
Lancer put his hand on his shoulder. ‘You did right by her, man, that’s all you can say.’
‘Weren’t enough. Weren’t nearly enough.’
Chapter 9 Trytors
The rulehall was long and narrow, and dimly lit. Down its centre ran a table large enough to sit four, if they were big enough to be mistaken for Giants.
The dim light hid the dust and mounds of old food, for a Trytor is not often called to seek cleanliness and tidiness.
At the head of the table sat Ashlorn, the oldest and mightiest of all the Trytor. He sat upright, with his great triangular head tilted somewhat as he watched his brothers with his blazing red e
yes.
Although his whitefox fur cloak was draped across the back of his chair, he was bare-chested, and his massive muscles rippled at the slightest movement. The skin of his chest and belly was somewhat red, as if he’d spent rather too much time in the sun.
Before him was placed a platter of stinking, rancid meat by his human servant. The man was quick to move back and give his master room.
On Ashlorn’s right sat his brother, Teldorn, closest to him in age, size and temperament. To his left would have sat the next brother, Brudorth, but he was still on his travels.
Facing him sat Lydorth, the youngest and least of all of the Trytor. He was dressed in silks and satins, with a raffish peaked cap perched on the side of his head.
‘So, brother,’ said Lydorth, with more than a touch of glee in his voice, ‘did you hear what befell Brudorth on the road? Bested by a Giant, I hear, and made to bow and scrape and step aside, or so I heard.’
‘Where did you hear such nonsense?’ snapped Ashlorn.
‘Oh, you know I have ears everywhere, brother, and it’s wise to be aware of what happens in the land. I heard he cried like a baby human girl, and he ran away shrieking when the big bad Giant said, ’Boo!’’
‘Well, Lydorth, you heard wrong!’ snapped Brudorth, as he marched into the Rulehall, slamming the door behind him.
Lydorth shrank a little in his seat at the sudden arrival, but he soon rallied himself.
Brudorth was a head taller than his youngest brother, though he fell somewhere short of the stature of the other two Trytors. He favoured a beard, which he had braided with grease and jewels, but he seemed unable to grow more than a vestige of a moustache. And his bald head gleamed white and pale in contrast to his chin.
‘So, tell us dear brother, did you really face up to a Giant then?’ said Lydorth, with a look of wide-eyed wonder on his thin, lined and hairless face.
Brudorth grunted as he claimed his seat.
‘To tell the truth, there were two of them, and one was near as tall as Ashlorn, and thicker and broader. And the other wasn’t much smaller.’
‘Did you strike them down then, with your trusty sword?’
Brudorth glowered at him for a moment, hearing the mockery in his tone.