by J Battle
Elstar would be quick and eager when he came, unlike the rest of his people, for he still believed. And, mayhap, he’d be generous too.
The Elvenfolk scoured the land for Magic, in the hope that they could be renewed and returned to their former glory. But it was a forlorn hope, thought Jimmywood, for Magic had been lost to them these hundreds of years. Most of them did not believe that their search would bear fruit, but they moved from place to place at the will of their Elflord.
Elstar, however, was absolutely certain that he would find a Wellstone and return the Elvenfolk to themselves. The others mocked him for his folly, but he would not be swayed from his conviction.
And Jimmywood was his tool, dispatched here and there; sent over and beyond, searching high and low. Each time he returned with tales of his failure, phrased in the most positive terms possible, he saw his master’s long angular head drop, and his beautiful blue eyes cloud at the loss.
But the crawlord never gave up; there was always another possibility, another place to search.
He sighed and dropped the hand holding his pipe into his lap. He took a deep breath and drew in the acrid scent of the yellow weed. He smiled, for he didn’t care where he would be sent as long as there was a pipeful of Harroweed in his bag.
‘You sitting there all day, old man?’
He closed his eyes as he ignored Bartt.
‘I said…’
‘I heard ye well enough. And the answer is ay, mayhap I will, if it suits me well enough.’
Bartt smiled and stretched out his arms. He was a big man, broad where Jimmywood was narrow, and still in his early middle years.
‘I reckon you deserve a rest, at your age. Leastways, ‘til that old fool gets here and has you rushing about on his fool errands.’
Jimmywood stood up and frowned at the younger man. ‘Now, beware of your words, and your tone, Bartt. You speak of Crawlord Elstar, and respect is due.’
‘Ah now, Jimmywood, don’t ye be getting all huffy on me. I’ll respect them all when they’re here, ‘cause my ma didn’t raise a fool, but…’
‘Well, I believe you should get yourself ready for a little respect, as they are here.’ Jimmywood nodded towards the forest that covered the northern slopes of the valley.
Bartt grunted and turned.
The first of them was already below the tree line, his long ungainly body racing across the grass, his crimson cloak trailing behind him.
Behind him were others, equally quick and eager to reach the dim sanctity of the newly raised Fellhall.
‘That’ll be your master there, I expect,‘ said Bartt, ‘racing ahead to get started on his foolishness all the sooner.’
‘Respect, Bartt. Remember respect.’
Jimmywood turned away from him and watched the Elvenfolk swarm down the hill, each with a distinct, brightly coloured cloak.
Lagging a little behind, and moving with a little less enthusiasm, came their human pets; plump and hairless, perfumed and elegantly dressed. There were men and women, though it was not easy to tell the difference, they were all so alike. Jimmywood felt his lip lift in a sneer as they got closer, for he had nothing but contempt for them.
All of a sudden, Elstar was before him; tall and gaunt and eager.
‘So, Jimmywood. What can you tell me?’
Jimmywood allowed his eyes to be drawn into the beautiful blue depths of his master’s eyes, just for a moment.
Then he shook his head to bring himself back.
‘Ah now, my Lord, there is little enough to report to you, I’m sorry to say. If we go south to the coast, there is nothing to the east but forest and swamps, except for the rocky heel of the mountain reaching right out into the sea.’
‘And west? You’ve surely looked there also?’
‘Yes, my Lord. There are towns dotted along the coast that way, I believe.’
‘You believe! Have you not seen for yourself?’ Elstar stood upright and scowled down at him, his long thin hair blowing in the gentle breeze.
Jimmywood bowed his head.
‘I’ve had good reports of what is to be found along the coast to the west, and there would be little to interest you, my Lord.’
‘Reports! Reports!’ His heavy hand dropped like a boulder onto Jimmywood’s head and drove him to his knees. ‘What need do I have of you, if you are just passing on a report made by others?’
‘My Lord.’ He shrank as much as he could, to draw his head away from his master’s hand. ‘I spent many weeks exploring the east, and I became sick from the fetid swamps I searched through on your behalf.’
He risked a quick glance upwards, and immediately regretted it as the crawlord glared down at him.
‘’Whilst I recovered, and to save time, I sent good men to the west to see what could be found. I did not intend to do anything but my duty to you, my Lord.’
The crawlord lifted his hand away and snorted.
‘Very well, for now. I’ll make my way to the Fellhall and secure my lodgings. When my people finally arrive, send them on immediately.’
Jimmywood looked away in disgust. ‘Yes, my Lord,’ he said, as the crawlord turned away.
He might be at the beck and call of the crawlord, and he might have done one or two things on his behalf that he would hesitate to admit to in the full light of day. But he’d never shared his bed, or submitted to his excessive passions.
Chapter 17 Meldon
Meldon watched as the prince walked out into the courtyard.
He was naked and glistened with oil. His body was lean and strong and Meldon felt an attraction as he watched him move. He’d never been tempted to lay with a man, but if he ever decided to do such a thing, then the prince would be his first choice, if he was not the prince and subject to terrible fits of anger.
Meldon walked up the steps to the roof of the building that occupied the south of the courtyard. The roof was flat and would offer a good view of the proceedings.
He settled down on a chair he had ordered to be brought up earlier, and he hid his smile.
The prince approached the centre of the little square, just as his challenger emerged into the bright sunshine.
He was a beast of a man. Naked as the prince, but broad and hairy, and a head taller. His arms were so thickly muscled that he had to hold them away from his body, and his feet were planted on the hard stone floor a good two feet apart. His newly bald head was as white as a virgin’s breast.
When they came together, they bowed to each other, and then the challenger knelt before the prince.
‘Who are you and why do you come?’ The prince’s voice echoed around the square. The lords and ladies of the court who were gathered around the edges of the courtyard nodded their approval.
‘I am Rastrick Macky, and I come to challenge you, my prince.’ The response was thick and muffled. One young lady sniggered at his words and raised a silk handkerchief to her face, as if to protect her pretty nose from some unexpected smell.
‘For what do you challenge?’
Macky looked up then and his voice rang out, ‘For the Wellstone, as is the right of every common born man, my prince.’
‘And what will you risk for the Wellstone?’
‘I offer my life, my prince.’
‘Then stand and prepare to die.’
With the formalities over, the prince stepped back and the challenger rose to his feet. The courtly crowd watched in silence; their eagerness for the show plain to see.
Meldon glanced to his right, along the roof, and he nodded at the man standing by the chimney, hidden from view to those below.
His instructions to the stranger had been clear and precise, and hard to misunderstand.
‘Kill the victor.’
Three simple words that could change the world.
**********
Ferrooll’s deep voice thundered a walking song as he stomped along Rizer’s Edge, with a big sack thrown across one shoulder.
’Left foot, right foot, that’s the
way it goes.
And why that should be, no Giant knows.’
The bag was full of food for his old friend, but ale was hard to carry, so he’d been forced to drink all he’d been given. In truth, it is not hard to force a Giant to sup his ale.
‘Up, down; up, down, going round the bend.
But the road is better travelled with a good old friend.’
He stopped at the high point of the hill the road was climbing, and he scratched his head with his free hand.
‘Where’s that old fool now?’ he muttered, as his eyes searched the road as it dipped below him. ‘He’s not wandered off and got himself lost, has he?’
He trundled down the road, picking up his pace a little. He found that he no longer had the urge to sing.
He came to the remains of the funeral pyre and he bowed his respect for the dead, though they be only humans.
Then he turned around slowly to see if there was any trace of Belloom.
With a groan, he dropped the bag, and thought nothing of the damage to its contents.
He’d spotted a flash of red in the rocks by the side of the road. With a heart as heavy as his feet, he walked closer. There was blood splattered everywhere he could see. On rocks, on bushes; splashed across the ground.
And there he was, splayed across the cold ground, his poor head crushed and his half-arm ripped to red glistening shreds.
Ferrooll stopped at the edge of the road, for there was nothing to be done for his dear old friend. He knelt and bowed his head, and he muttered ancient Giantish words of mourning and loss, and his body shook as the grief and the rage threatened to overwhelm him.
He felt his great fists clench, and he ground his jaws, and he would have cussed if his ma had ever allowed him to use such words.
‘I can’t leave him like that, nor for all the world to see his poor battered body, I can’t. But I ain’t got no tinderbox to light a fire for him.’ He stood for a long moment, as if his mind had run off with the urge to be all on its own for a while.
He shuddered when he came back to himself.
‘Ain’t nothing else to do but dig him a hole in the ground. I’ll make it nice and cosy for him. He’d like that, he would.’
He bent to the task without another word, clawing at the hard ground with his massive hands.
Although the ground was hard, his hands were harder, and his strength would not be withstood.
At last he had a hole that he was satisfied with, and he sat back on his haunches and looked at his old friend.
‘You’re going to take some moving and that’s the truth.’
With as much gentleness as would still do the job, he took hold of Belloom and dragged him closer to the long hole he’d torn from the ground.
‘There ye go, old friend,’ he said, as he heaved him into his grave.
When the task was complete, and the grave was covered with heavy rocks, he fell to his knees, with his head in his hands, and he mourned his friend.
It may have been an hour that he was knelt there, but it passed in a flash, and he groaned as he climbed back to his feet. There was no expression on his face, but his eyes were cold and silly songs seemed a world away.
His mind was no longer on the dead. Now he was set on the killer.
He scanned the ground nearby for traces of the creature who had slain a Giant.
He found it within a few seconds. Boot-prints. Long as a Giant’s, but too narrow to have been Belloom’s, for a Giant’s foot is as broad as it is long.
He thought back to the Trytor who had set those rock-beasts on Belloom. He’d been wearing boots, he was sure.
The certainty of the culprit, and the grief for the loss, were almost too much for him. But Belloom had been right to choose him for his Squire, for he was a most unusual Giant, given to thinking before he acted, which could not be said about most of the Giants you would meet on any bright summer’s day.
He sat himself down in the middle of the road, and he said, ’No; not yet. I have to be thinking this through, I do. I’m going to kill that Trytor, I am. That’s the truth, and it won’t be changed or helped by a Giant rushing off without a hard think first.’
He closed his eyes to see if that would help clear his mind of the urge to run and grab and kill. He sighed and he shook his head, and the image of Lord Richard appeared in his mind.
‘What did he say?’ he wondered. ’What did he say about… yes, he said something like ‘rid that land of this creature.’ That’s what he said, or something near enough. He said something about horses too. What was that? Oh, yes. And them soldiers. That’s humans with pointy sticks, and sometimes they do have hard hats. So, with his horses and his soldiers, he wants to kill the Trytor.’
He nodded then, and he leant forward and grabbed the bag he’d dropped earlier.
‘If he wants to kill the Trytor, and I want to kill the Trytor, and his soldiers and horses want to kill the Trytor, then it makes good sense if we all do it together.’
He munched his way through the food he’d brought for Belloom, and he pondered what he should do next.
When the food was gone, he tossed the bag away and grunted back to his feet.
He gave Belloom’s grave a last look. If he’d had a man with him, he’d have had him build a funeral fire for his old friend, for that was the way to go.
But the grave would have to do.
Mayhap, if he passed men on the way, he’d send them back this way to do right by Belloom’s dead body; to retrieve him from the cold ground and build him a fire.
‘I ain’t never been to Hesselton,’ he muttered as he turned and set off back down the road, ‘but, Lord Richard, he said there’d be a welcome there, with food and ale, and that’ll be worth the walk, I reckons.’
With his mind made up, he strode on.
It was only as he crested the hill that it occurred to him to wonder why the horses wanted to kill the Trytor.
Chapter 18 Lord Richard
When the harbour appeared on the horizon, they were pleased to see that the end of their journey was close.
‘Only an hour or so now, my dear,‘ said Lord Richard, as he peered ahead.
‘Will we be alright, Father, do you think?’
‘Ay, my dear.’ He put a long arm around her slender shoulders. ’Not today, and not tomorrow, but mayhap soon, who can tell?’
Alice nodded and adjusted the sling supporting her arm.
‘I’ll be glad to be off this ship,’ she said.
‘And you won’t be alone there, I’ll tell you that and not charge you for the pleasure of hearing my words.’
Alice smiled.
‘Ma always told you off for that sort of talk. ‘It’s common talk,’ she’d say, ‘and you were brought up to speak better than common folk.’’
He nodded, surprised to find that there was a smile on his face. ‘But if it is good enough for common man, then it’s good enough for me. And I’ll say that ‘til the sun up and takes itself to its bed.’
Within the hour their ship was nosing its way into the little harbour that bordered the town of Hesselton. There were already four ships nestled up to the dock, and barely room for them. But their captain knew how to handle his craft and they were soon tied up at the end of the stone dock.
Minutes later, they passed through the gap in the curved harbour wall and were nearly home.
The buildings that crowded down onto the lane that ran along the wall were stone and wood, and as neat and as clean as you’d like.
Four streets ran from the harbour up the slope, and on each street corner could be found a busy and welcoming tavern. For the people of Hesselton liked to gather together for a bit of chat and a bit of fun, and where better to do such things than in a warm and friendly bar? With a landlord who is red of face and round of belly, a testament to his ale and food, and a smiling serving girl with a twinkle in her eye and a quick tongue to mock the many follies of her eager customers.
‘Will we go on to Misthaven now,
Father?’
‘Ah now, it’s getting late, and sitting around in a ship is more tiring than you would expect it to be, so, mayhap we’ll stay the night in town and get on up there in the morning. How does that sound? Or does your arm hurt so much that we should go straight away now?’
‘I’ll be fine, I think. The pain is less than it was.’
‘In that case, it’s a flagon of ale for your father, and a cup of ladyale for you my dear.’
‘Ladyale? Really?’
‘You’re of an age now, my dear. And it’s only ale and water, so it will do you no harm.’
He stopped at the door to the Drunken Fox. ‘We’ll say nothing about…what happened to us. I’d have a night where I could try to think on something lighter, if I can.’
Alice took his arm in her hand and smiled up at him.
‘Let’s pretend to be happy, for tonight. I can remember what it was like.’
He hugged her then, for he couldn’t speak.
**********
She stood with her hands on her hips and she shook her head.
‘This won’t do. This won’t do. Not at all.’
Old Maid Higard glared into the cupboard; the empty cupboard.
Then she turned away and she called for the boys.
‘Come here now, or you’ll rue the day your father clapped eyes on your mother.’
‘What does that mean, miss?’ said Tom, with his head peeping into the kitchen.
‘It means you’d better be here when I look again, and you should be sure to leave your cheekiness by the door.’
Tom skipped into the room and made a pretense of leaving something by the door.
‘I’ll be picking it up on my way out,‘ he said, softly.
‘Where’s them other two, then?’
‘Oh, I think…I don’t know. They were there. And then they weren’t.’
Tom looked up at her all wide-eyed and innocent.