Misthaven: The Complete Trilogy

by J Battle

  ‘I did not think you were a reader, Lord Lydorth. Is it a fairy tale, or perhaps a romance with inflamed glances and heaving breasts?’

  The Trytor shook his long head and frowned.

  ‘It is nothing of the sort. My brothers, they walk around with their big muscles and arrogant stances, speaking of this heroic deed, of that feat of valour, and barely a thought rattles around in their big empty heads. But you know that I am different. I am the last of the Trytor to be born, and one day I may be the last of all the Trytor. But, as yet, I do not have my full growth, and nor do I have any martial inclinations. I prefer to make use of that advantage I possess over my brothers.’

  ‘What advantage is that, my Lord? Is it your good looks?’

  Lydorth laughed; in fact, he roared at the joke.

  ‘I have the advantage of a mind, Cavour. The ability to study and retain facts, and understand complex concepts. My brothers, for all their arrogance, could barely spell the word.’

  ‘And this book?’

  ‘The book is Per-Idum Est, a complete study of Magical precepts, and it has a full list of Magic incantations, and is fully indexed and bursting with diagrams.’

  ‘Surely such a book, whilst I’m sure it is a riveting read, is useless without…’

  Lydorth smiled.

  ‘I knew you would see it, Cavour. Of course, when you return with the book, you will be off again on your next task.’

  ‘Obtaining a Wellstone for you?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘But, the Trytors have never had any interest in Magic.’

  ‘Well, it’s time we did, don’t you think?’

  ‘But, forgive my words, but there is little Magic left in the world, and it may be a little late to take up an interest in it.’

  ‘I’ll put your words beside your earlier rudeness and consider them another time. For now, I’ll have you do as you are told.’

  ‘Where will I find this book?’ Cavour stood up abruptly and knocked the remnants of his pipe into his hand.

  ‘Here, I’ve written all of the details down for you.’ He handed Cavour a folded paper and a small pouch that jingled with the movement. ’That should cover the cost.’

  Chapter 38 Ferrooll

  Ferrooll ducked his head and twisted his body so that he could squeeze through the doorway meant for beings of smaller stature, and he found himself in the main room of the tavern.

  With unerring accuracy, his eyes found the bar, and he walked slowly towards it.

  ‘Ah, there bar-man,’ he said, with just a touch of joviality in his voice.

  ‘It is bar-lady, if you don’t mind, Mr Giant,’ she replied with something of a sulk in her tone.

  ‘Pardon me miss, but I didn’t notice your breasts, with them being so small.’ Ferrooll rested one hand on the bar; there wasn’t much room left for the other.

  ‘You’ll be wanting a drink, I expect. And I don’t expect you’ll be paying for it.’ She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, perhaps to accentuate them.

  ‘I’ll be wanting more than one, if you don’t mind, my dear. But…’ He remembered the purse that Lord Richard had given to him. ‘But I will be paying for them, I will.’

  ‘In that case, we are pleased to see, sir. We don’t get many Giants around these parts,’ she said, as she pulled a tankard full of ale for him.

  Ferrooll watched in consternation. ‘Don’t you have a barrel for me? I’ll be all day sipping from them little tankards.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, sir. This is just to wet your whistle, as it were. You find yourself somewhere to sit, but not on any of my chairs, if you please, and I’ll have a barrel brought over for you. How does that sound?’

  ‘Sounds like you served a Giant before, my dear,’ said Ferrooll as he looked around the bar. ‘’Will it be busier later?’ he asked.

  ‘Ay, it will be, soon as the sun grows weary of the day, as my old pa used to say, there’ll be no room to stand, never mind sit.’

  ‘I’ll want to speak to them when they come in, if you don’t mind, my dear.’

  ‘Why, what do you have to say to a bunch of poor drinkers, with hardly a brain between them?’ She placed the tankard beside his hand.

  With a movement so quick that it defeated the eye, he picked up the tankard and threw its content down his throat.

  ‘That’s mighty fine ale, my dear.’

  ‘I’m not sure you had the chance to taste it.’

  ‘I’ll just sit over here and wait for the barrel.’

  ‘You were going to pay.’

  ‘Ay, I said I was, and I will, but…now, you’ll laugh when I ask, but I ain’t never bought anything before. How does it work?’

  ‘You give me coin, and I give you ale. Simple as anything.’

  ‘But, how much coin do I give you?’

  ‘You just keep giving until I tell you to stop, how would that be?’

  ‘Well, I suppose you know best.’

  ‘That’ll be right, Mr Giant.’

  Ferrooll spent the afternoon sitting on the floor by the fire and drinking his ale in a moderate manner, for a Giant; and perhaps it says something about Giants in general, and this one in particular, that he never gave a thought to Lord Richard, hidden from view in a copse of trees just a short way back up the track.

  As the day waned, the tavern filled, just as promised and, when the time seemed right, Ferrooll wiped his chin and put aside the empty barrel, just his third of the day.

  With a grunt and groan, he stood upright, being careful to duck his head a little to avoid the ceiling.

  ‘Greetings, little folk of Trytorland. I’m a stranger in your land, and I likes your tavern, and I likes your ale, but I don’t much like your Trytor.’

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Giant, if you will pardon my interruption,’ said a small man with a red face and a big belly, ‘but we don’t call our land Trytorland, though they be our lords and masters. This is a land of trees and lakes and plenty, and it is called Verdant, if you please.’ He coughed and glanced around nervously, and then he took a sip of his ale.

  ‘Thank you for putting me right, for Verdant sounds a better place to me. Now, what was I about to say? Oh yes, I come here to see your Trytor, for I have business with him, and I am here to avenge the death of a Giant.’

  A hum went through his audience, and one or two drank up their ale and slipped away.

  ‘So, I have coin here, and I will pay whoever is willing to go and present my challenge to your lord and master, and tell him that he must face me here, in this tavern, and answer for his crimes.’

  ‘There’ll be no fighting between a Giant and a Trytor in my tavern!’ called the bar-lady, from behind the bar. ‘You’d fairly wreck the place, you would.’

  ‘No need to worry, my dear. There’s room enough outside. Now, who will do this for me?’

  There was silence for a moment, as the drinkers looked at each other to see who would answer.

  In the end, it was the little man with the big belly who spoke first.

  ‘It’s a dangerous thing, you ask, Mr Giant. Anyone who takes your challenge to the Trytors will put himself in danger, for they can be unpredictable in their actions, if you understand my meaning, and easily angered.’

  Ferrooll sighed and frowned. Lord Richard had suggested that this part of the plan would be easy. But, if he couldn’t send someone to bring the Trytor here, they’d have to walk right up to the castle or palace or wherever they lived, and knock on their door and present their challenge themselves. That would mean that they would leave themselves open to unexpected attack on the way, and when they arrived, they’d most likely have to face three Trytors at once.

  ‘I will pay enough to make that risk worth your while.’

  The little man smiled. ’In that case, I’ll take everything you have in that purse, and thank you kindly for your generosity.’

  Ferrooll looked down at him and ran his words through his mind for a moment or two.

  ‘How will I know
you can be trusted?’

  ‘My name is Henry Hardtree, and I am well known in these parts. Ask anyone if I can be trusted.’ He lifted one hand and gestured around the room.

  ‘You can believe what he says,’ said the bar-lady, with a nod. ‘He always pays his bar bill, without the need to be asked, he does.’

  The other drinkers also nodded in agreement at this outstanding and quite unusual quality in a man.

  ‘Then here you go Henry Hardtree. Tell the Trytor who killed my friend to be here at midday on the day after tomorrow to answer for his crime, and if he don’t turn up, I expect I’ll be having a quiet word with you, Henry Hardtree.’

  ‘Now, Mr Giant, there’s no need to get all threatening there. I’ll walk right up to the Trytor, and I’ll give him your challenge, and that’s all I’m saying I’ll do. If he don’t come, it ain’t my fault, is it? So, I’ll take your money on that understanding, if that suits. If it don’t, then I’ll just sit quietly in the corner with a nice drink, and you can worry about what else you’ll do.’

  Ferrooll handed him the purse. ‘Buy me a drink before you go,’ he said, with a laugh in his voice.

  Chapter 39 Rootheart

  'I don't like the cold.'

  'Of course you don't. You're half-giant after all.'

  'The human part of me don't much like it either.'

  Anders ignored him and carried on climbing, jamming his boot into the thick snow to gain purchase.

  Far below them to their right was the convoluted edge of God's Saddle, brilliant white in the late afternoon sun. Above them towered the white glistening peaks of God's Castle, but they wouldn't be going anywhere near that high.

  'How long?'

  Anders stopped and shook his head at Rootheart, who was standing a little below him, allowing their eyes to be on the same level.

  'Not far now.' He looked up the slope ahead. 'Can you see that dark patch in the ice?'

  Rootheart studied the mountain for a moment, then he nodded.

  'Well, when we reach that, we'll have another hour to go.'

  Anders smiled as they set of again. Rootheart groaned.

  In fact, it took them nearly three more hours of hard climbing to reach their destination, and the sun was just about to bid them farewell.

  'Is this it?' asked a disappointed half-giant, as he stepped on to a wide area of grey stone that was raised somewhat from the surrounding ice.

  'It's a cave; what else did you expect?' Anders walked into the dark entrance. 'Watch your head on the ceiling; it gets lower further in.'

  'You've been here before, then?'

  'Of course. You don't think we'd just happen on it by chance. I've spent months inside these tunnels and I know where it is, more or less.'

  'Is that more, or less?'

  Anders ignored the question, as he had never actually been there before, though he had studied the maps and he was sure that no man knew these caves better than he. He rooted in his shoulder bag and he pulled out a small glass topped lamp, and an even smaller flask of oil. Carefully he lifted the glass and poured a miserly measure of the oil into the chamber, being sure not to dampen the wick too much. Then he pulled out a phosphor stick and drew its edge sharply along the rough stone floor. When the flame sprang to life, he lit the lamp.

  ‘Don’t impress me none, I seen it all before,’ said Rootheart as he held his hands up to the lamp to seek whatever heat it offered.

  ‘Believe me, man, you’ll see things to impress you soon enough. Don’t you worry about that.’

  With Anders and the frail light of the lamp leading the way, they made their way deep into the heart of the mountain.

  The narrow tunnel turned to the left, and then to the right. It split into different levels and sometimes they took the high path; other times, they took the low. Rootheart tried to count the turns in his head, but he was soon hopelessly lost. Without Anders to guide him, he was sure that he would soon have been lost to the world inside this dark mountain.

  **********

  Alice paid a visit to Dan the Man to see how the boys were faring, a day or so after she’d demonstrated to Old Maid Higard which way was up, and which way wasn’t.

  ‘The master is down in Hesselton this morning,’ said Molly, his maid these 10 years, since his wife passed. ‘But he won’t mind me letting you through to the back where they’re playing at some game Gorge has invented all on his own, I’m sure he won’t.’

  She led Alice through the side passage into the little courtyard, shielded on three sides by Dan the Man’s outbuildings.

  ‘No, that’s a short stick,’ said Gorge, with a shake of his head. ’You need a long stick to win the game.’

  ‘Oh, you never said,‘ answered Sam, with a perplexed expression on his face. ’He never said, did he Tom?’

  Tom would have answered, but he saw Alice entering the courtyard.

  ‘Hello, Miss Alice,‘ he said, with a smile and a little bow.

  ‘How has Dan the Man been treating you then, boys?’ she said, as she closed the door behind her.

  ‘He’s funny,’ said Sam.

  ‘But he’s stern,’ said Gorge.

  ‘And he knows some funny jokes,’ said Tom.

  ‘But you are all happy here?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ said Gorge, ‘better than with…you know.’

  ‘He feeds us every day, three times,’ said Sam.

  ‘And we have our own beds, we do,’ said Tom

  ‘And he don’t make us work, not at all. We just do what we want.’ Sam looked down at the sticks in his hand. ‘Is this one long or short?’ he asked of Gorge.

  ‘It’s medium, so it don’t count,‘ was the less than satisfying reply.

  Alice sat with them awhile, watching them play the overly complicated game, and they all were treated to glasses of fizzy lemonale, served by Molly.

  ‘They are doing well,’ she said, as she took the beaker.

  ‘Ay, miss, they are. Dan the Man, he’ll treat them right, he will. He won’t take any nonsense from them, but they’ll be fine with him.’

  Alice sipped her drink as she watched the boys, but her mind was somewhere distant, wondering if her father was faring as well, and would he ever return home to safety?

  Chapter 40 Lady Emmerson

  When Lady Emmerson walked into the ballroom, announced by the Chief Page, there were gasps from all over the room.

  She was wearing the latest fashion and the skirts of her brilliant white dress were so full and wide that no-one could stand within three feet of her, and her drink had to be handed to her using a paddle, especially designed for the purpose.

  Her hair was piled up high on her head, and there were surely additions in there somewhere, for the little round hat perched on top was at least seven feet from the ground.

  She took her drink in her left hand, with her white lace glove leaving the middle finger bare, to reveal the large and brilliantly blue-jewelled ring; blue to match her eyes.

  With her glass empty, she tossed the glass in the general direction of her personal manservant, who plucked it from the air with admirable dexterity.

  ‘Well,’ she said, glancing around the room to be sure she was receiving adequate attention,’’where is the prince? Or has he better things to do with his time?’ She spoke in a loud voice that would carry to every ear in the room.

  ‘Beg, your pardon, my Lady Emmerson,’ said Meldon, dressed in his finest red silk suit, with a whitefox fur collar dyed as black as night. ‘But Prince Torn, he actually is too busy to, and pardon my words, but they are not my own, they are the prince’s, he is too busy to ’waste his precious time with the likes of,’ and I beg your pardon once more, my lady, ‘the likes of that haggard, overdressed lady with the big mouth and the tiny brain, without the wit of a newborn child, and with,‘ he did say this, I assure you, and who am I to disagree, ‘and with the big, ugly, smelly feet, and,’ I believe this was the last he said on the matter, ‘of whom it is hard to say which is the worst
to come out of her mouth, her offensive words or her offensive breath,’ my Lady.’

  Lady Emmerson’s quite generous mouth dropped open, but no-one was quite near enough to pass judgement on her breath, and she seemed unable to find any appropriate words.

  With a quick movement, Meldon deliberately trod on the edge of her dress, and there was a delicious tearing sound as she spun away, intent on making her exit before she was insulted any further.

  As she left the room with her skirts in tatters, Meldon called after her. ‘I’m sorry, my Lady, but did you think he was speaking of you?’

  As he watched her rush off, he ran his fingers through his long thinning hair and took a sip from his drink.

  ‘Meldon, old man,’ said a tall, elegant gentleman of advanced years in an old-fashioned suit that didn’t even sport a fur collar. ‘I have to see the prince, on urgent business, you know, and I’ve been waiting all day long, and that is not what I am due from the prince. Not at all. So, if you will run along and tell him that, if he can’t face all these noisy and noisome people, then I will be pleased to come to him. Off you go now; I’m a busy man.’

  Meldon bowed to him; little more than a dip of his head, and then he continued to sip his glass of the most expensive of wines, produced on this very island when it still possessed vineyards.

  ‘Off you go now. Don’t tarry.’

  Meldon drained his glass. ‘Before I go, dear Lord Misgony, will you kneel to me first? There’s a good man.’

  ‘What! Who do you think…?’

  People nearby turned to enjoy the show. Those further away craned their necks to see what could be seen.

  ‘My dear Lord Misgony, you will kneel and show due respect to your new master, for the prince dies as we speak, and it is I who you should look to for the power of the land.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! I will…’

  Whatever the old lord intended to say or do will never be known, as Meldon crushed his brains within his aristocratic head with a muttered phrase and a quick gesture with one hand, and he fell down to the ground like a sack of moldy old tatoes.