Misthaven: The Complete Trilogy

by J Battle

  Meldon turned to the nearest courtier, whose eyes were opened nearly as wide as his mouth at the appalling turn of events.

  ‘Kneel to your new master,’ he said softly, with his eyes locked on the young man.

  For a second, he seemed to consider refusing, but then common sense raised its rarely seen head, and he sank to his knees.

  ‘My Lord…’ he said, with his head bowed.

  ‘Your Regent,’ said Meldon, with a generous smile, and a gentle hand on his head.

  When he looked up, it was just in time to see a wave of kneeling pass across the room, as each courtier in turn saw the wisdom of the young courtier.

  With the whole room kneeling and bowing and muttering ‘My Regent,’ Meldon was pleased to see Fleur at the entrance to the ballroom, looking neat and tidy, if a little unglamorous and out of date, in her Sunday best.

  At least her breasts are not on show for all to admire, he thought.

  ‘Fleur, my dear, come along in, if you can find your way past all of these people bowing to your beauty.’

  She glanced around the room for a moment, nervous and unsure, and then she gathered her skirts up and skipped into the room.

  ‘I’ll have a drink, Regent of all the land, if there’s one going cheap,’ she said, with a smile and a curtsy.

  A wise servant was offering her a glass on a small silver tray before she had finished speaking.

  Meldon found that he was smiling with real pleasure at the sight of her.

  Chapter 41 Lord Richard

  Lord Richard held the bundle that the mage had given to him just before they left Hesselton. It was time, he thought.

  ‘Don’t leave it until the last moment, old friend, to test yourself, for if you are not able, or the words won’t stick in your head, then it is better to know before you stand before a monster,’ he’d said, as he’d grasped Richard’s shoulder with one frail hand.

  Richard had agreed, and he’d expected to make the attempt on the road, perhaps when they stopped for a night’s rest. But, each time he looked at the bundle strapped to his saddle, he’d decided that he was not yet quite ready.

  Now, with the Giant’s challenge sent off already, and the Trytor sure to be here tomorrow, it was time to see what manner of man he was.

  Carefully, he placed the bundle on the ground, amongst the leaves and the weeds, and then he walked over to the road.

  On his left, the road fell steeply until it passed the tavern that Ferrooll had made his home. To his right, it climbed up to the pass, some 100 yards away, where it would carry on into the central lands. He wondered if he’d ever have the opportunity to travel that road again, and return to Misthaven and his beloved daughter.

  Or would he be proved the fool he was here and now?

  He walked up the road and stopped all of a sudden when he saw the giant skull that had been carved into the side of the mountain, on the Trytors’ side; it seemed to watch him with its empty eye sockets as he approached.

  It was 20 feet from top to bottom, he judged, and had been cut piece by piece from the dense rock of the mountain.

  He found it hard to approach, as if he was being forbidden by the skull itself.

  Was it put in place to prevent people from escaping the dire influence of the Trytors?

  ‘I’m not attempting to leave,’ he said, ’I’m just taking a look.’

  With his head down and his eyes on the road, he started walking, and he didn’t raise his head until he’d passed through the pass and could see into the valley beyond.

  The road was empty as far as he could see, and the same when he looked back at the road leading into the depths of the Trytor’s land. There was no-one to hear him if he became unmanned by the task ahead.

  With a resigned sigh, he made his way back down to the copse, and he knelt beside the bundle. With careful, slow movements he unwrapped the binding cloths and the sword was revealed.

  It was an old sword, handed down from his father’s father, and perhaps even from that august gentlemen’s father’s father, but the blade was as sharp as a newly forged weapon. He held it up by the guard and studied the hilt. You’d hardly notice it, he thought, if you didn’t know it was there.

  Imbedded in the hilt was a narrow sliver of brown, dull in the dim light beneath the trees. The mage had been true to his word, and struck a chip from the Wellstone, and here it was, awaiting his touch.

  As he watched, he saw the tiny piece of stone change colour, from dull brown to a deep orange, as if it already knew what was about to happen.

  ‘Right, my little darling,’ he whispered, ’you shall get what you desire so fiercely.’

  Drawing a deep breath, he took the hilt in his hand and pressed his cool palm against the heat of the Stone.

  ‘That’s not too…,’ he choked back the words as their sense was proved faulty, and he gasped, for the hilt was too hot for mere human flesh to bear. ‘No!’ he yelled, at the overpowering urge to toss the sword aside. ‘I…will...not…fail,’ he said, between clenched teeth.

  ‘I will not fail, and I will not scream.’ The words came slowly, but they were the truth for all that. And he didn’t scream.

  ‘Per id nestum,’ he said, speaking one of only two commands that he’d been taught, ‘els nigh pud.’

  With a flourish, he was on his feet, with his cloak cast to one side. He swung the sword in a great circle, and it moved with a lightness and ease he’d never known before. He danced within the circle of the sword, his movement unbelievably fast and precise, and he saw himself capable of anything.

  He spun and leapt and jabbed and swung for nigh on two hours, without rest, and he laughed at the ease of it all.

  ‘Bring on the Trytor,’ he gasped at last, as he collapsed to the ground, with his chest heaving and all Magic and strength gone from his body. ‘For he will not stand against me and live. Not at all.’

  When his body calmed, he lifted his hand up to his eyes, and he saw that his palm, burnt by the hunger of the Wellstone, was whole and healed.

  ‘Ah, now,’ he said, and he fell fast asleep, and he had the first full night of sleep since he lost his wife and child to the butchery of the Trytor.

  Chapter 42 Lancer

  Lancer looked down, and it seemed an awful long way to the ground, and here he was, at the mercy of a barely tamed wild beast.

  ‘How long is it since you last rode, Prince Raffold, sir?’ asked the groom, puzzled at his discomfiture.

  Lancer considered his answer. How long was it? Did he even remember the last time he rode a horse? Could it have been the time when he hunted wild hogbeasts with his father and brother? It seemed a joyous time, with the three of them laughing and joking as they rode, giving barely a thought to the dangers of the hunt.

  His brother had been a young man then, hale and hearty in his body and his mind, with a quick flash of wit always ready to impress his younger brother.

  His father, the king, now, he remembered him well, with his big loud voice and rough hugs; always ready to throw his boys to the ground and prove that he still had the beating of them.

  ‘Good times,’ he said, as he took a firmer grip on his reigns and pressed the great beast beneath him with his thighs.

  ‘They await you on the other side of the river, Prince, but take your time crossing the bridge.’

  Lancer laughed. ‘You think he’ll toss me into the river? No, you won’t do that, will you?’ He patted the horse’s neck, and was met with a toss of the head, as if to say, ‘mayhap I will.’

  The groom watched with concern as the prince rode from the stables, looking awkward and unbalanced.

  ‘I hope there is someone to help him dismount,’ he said, with a chuckle.

  Lancer hesitated at the bridge. It wasn’t far to the water, though it was far enough, but he didn’t want to get the fine clothes his brother had ordered for him spoiled.

  He nudged the horse’s sides and he began to clip-clop across the bridge, with hardly a jerk of his head or
a pull on the bit.

  When he reached the other side, he was met by a colourfully dressed officer, with a bright orange cloak and his armoured plate painted in yellows and greens.

  ‘Prince Raffold, we await your will,’ he said, with a little bow.

  ‘Good, good, good. Your name, sir, if you’ll oblige?’

  ‘Captain Owens, sir, at your service. We are all pleased to have you back, sir, just as the king is, I’m sure.’

  Lancer nodded, and studied the men before him.

  ‘You may be more sure than I am, Owens, for the king would not see me this morning, to bid me good luck on this expedition.’

  ‘The king is…well, Prince; he is a busy man, I think.’ He looked a little awkward as he spoke, as if he was unsure of the wisdom of speaking about the king to his brother.

  ‘You have 50 men here, I think,’ said Lancer, by way of easing the officer’s discomfort.

  ‘Yes sir, and trained to do your bidding, sir. We have our orders directly from your brother, and you can be sure that they will be followed.’

  ‘Good, good, that is no more than I would expect, for what are orders if they are not followed? Suggestions, I’d say, and you can’t rule a kingdom with suggestions, can you, Owens?’

  ‘No, sir. You cannot.’

  ‘Indeed. Now, I believe we should make our way to Rizer’s Edge and…’

  ‘I have sent scouts there already, sir, at first light. They’ll be there by now, and I expect to have reports back from them shortly, sir.’

  ‘Good, Owens, that’s very…good, I think.’

  ‘When you are ready, sir.’ He backed his horse a little to make room.

  ‘Oh, am I to lead? Oh, of course, I know the way, of course I do. Yes.’

  He moved his horse between the soldiers.

  ‘Come on then, what are we waiting for?’ He nudged his horse with his heels and the beast set off at a reckless speed, as if he was just so pleased to be in the lead.

  **********

  Henry Hardtree was never a fool. He was a cautious, sensible man, who would be sure that there was advantage to be had before he put himself at any risk. Taking such care had kept his head on his shoulders for nigh on 40 years, and he wasn’t about to change his policy any time soon, especially when he was dealing with the Trytors.

  ‘A wise man keeps a mile between himself and a Trytor,’ he said, as he waited for his contact to emerge, ‘but, if you can’t have a mile, then at lease be sure to have a wall.’

  He was sitting beside the road that opened up into a little square. To one side there were houses and taverns and market stalls. To the other, was the face of the mountain and the great tall ironbound doors that led to the home of the Trytor.

  The doors were nigh on 30 feet tall, which seemed ridiculous to Henry. ‘Trytors are tall,’ he said, ’but they’re not that tall.’

  There was movement at the entrance, and a man stepped through a man-sized door in the base of one of the grand doors.

  He looked around for a moment, and then he spotted Henry and began to rush over to him.

  ‘Hello there, Henry,‘ he called when he was within hailing distance, ‘what is this about? I don’t have much time, you know?’

  ‘Ay, Dryan, I don’t expect you do. So. I’ll be quick about it, and not ask about your good wife, or that mischievous young girl of yours.’

  ‘They are both fine enough, Henry, and thank you for not asking.’ With a sigh, he sat on the rock beside Henry.

  ‘I’ve a message for the Trytors, and I want you to pass it on for me, if you’ll be so kind to an old friend.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to tell them yourself? I could get you an audience within a couple of days, I think.’

  ‘No. I ain’t going near one of them…creatures. I intend to have a long and ripe old age, with all the limbs I started out with.’

  Dryan smiled. ‘It’s been years since anyone failed to survive an audience.’

  ‘Never mind about that. Now, did you hear that one of them killed himself a Giant?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. There has been much talk of it. Ashlorn, it was, unless I’m mistaken.’

  ‘Well, he needs to know that another Giant has turned up, and he’s not best pleased about losing his friend, he ain’t, and he’s challenged the Trytor to, and these are his words, not mine, you should make that clear when you tell them, to answer for his crimes, that’s what he said.’

  ‘But that’s…he can’t expect to give out a challenge like that and not expect there to be consequences.’

  ‘I reckon he’s quite looking forward to the consequences, from the look on his face, like.’

  ‘Now, I don’t know what’s for the best.’ Dryan rubbed his chin with one hand for a moment. ‘I’ll have to tell them; they’ll want to know, but…oh dear, this is not a good day. Ashlorn was like a Trytor with a sore head when he got up this morning, well, he was a Trytor with a sore head, and his mood hasn’t improved much that I can see since. Mayhap, if I tell Lydorth first, then he can tell the others, and he’ll mock them a little and take something of a sting out of their reaction.’

  ‘Must be a trial for you Dryan, having to…anticipate their response to whatever displeases them.’

  ‘You speak nothing but the truth there, old friend; nothing but the truth, I’d say.’

  Dryan rose to his feet and dusted off his clothes.

  ‘Well, I’d best be about it now. Don’t do any good putting it off. And they’ll still be sober now, though the drink might mellow them somewhat, if I give them another hour or so. No, let’s get it done, and I’ll take a walk around the town while he tells them. Yes, that’d be fine, I think. What do you think, Henry?’

  ‘I think you know best, Dryan. Now, remember this, because I’m off to make myself scarce, so I won’t be here to remind you. It’s the Drunken Dragon, and that’s on the West Road, just this side of the Frowning Skull Pass, and it’s noon tomorrow, it is. Though, if he likes, he can come sooner, because the Giant will be there, because he likes his ale, and there ain’t none better nearby, and that’s the truth.’

  ‘I see, so he may catch him unawares, if he gets there sooner?’

  ‘Count your limbs before you go in, and count them again when you leave, to be sure you haven’t left any behind.’

  ‘Yes, Henry, I’ll do just that, because I might not notice having an arm ripped off.’

  Henry waved and then he stood up and began to walk away quickly, with a strong urge to get as far as possible from the Trytors before they heard the news.

  Something like an hour later, Lydorth strolled into the rulehall, with a swagger in his step and a sly smile on his face.

  ‘Good afternoon, Ashlorn,’ he said, his smile widening. ’How is the shoulder?’

  Ashlorn ignored the question. He wasn’t about to tell his fool youngest brother that the whole right side of his body was nothing but a bruise, from a single blow from the Giant.

  ‘Ah now, feeling a little grumpy, are we?’

  ‘Must be you then brother, for we were all in fine form before you came in,’ said Teldorn, with a wave of his tankard.

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ asked Lydorth, all innocent as he filled a tankard of ale for himself.

  There was no immediate response. In the end, it was Brudorth who weakened first.

  ‘What news, idiot-face?’ he said, with a grimace, as if talking to Lydorth was a painful experience.

  ‘Why the challenge, of course. That Giant Ashlorn killed, well he seems to have had a friend, who’s none too pleased with you, Ashlorn; not at all. And he’s challenged you to a, well, I suppose you’d call it a duel, though he seems to think you’ll be paying for your crimes, or some such nonsense. Now, big brother, how will you respond to that? Shall I fetch you your axe, so that you can cut down another Giant?’

  Ashlorn glared at him for a moment, before he drained his tankard. He tossed it to Lydorth. ‘Fill that!’ he snapped.

  In truth, the idea of
standing up to a two-handed Giant, the way his body was still suffering from his last encounter, didn’t really appeal to him. Of course, that was something he could not admit to.

  ‘Do I have to slay every Giant that comes along now, just to put them in their place?’

  ‘I’ll do it,‘ said Brudorth, leaping to his feet and scattering glasses and dishes across the table. ’I’ll teach him to come here and send out challenges, I will. And he’ll be sorry the day he walked onto our land, I’ll make sure of that.’

  ‘No, Brudorth, it’s my turn. I am next eldest, and next biggest, and I don’t think you’d fare well against a Giant.’ Teldorn stood up on his side of the table, and he took his sword down from the wall. ‘This will cut his heart out, it will.’ He drew the sword from its heavily jeweled scabbard, and he held it up for all to see.

  ‘But…I said first! Ashlorn, I said first, you heard me.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Lydorth, with a jovial tone to his voice, ‘you should both go. I hear he’s a big fellow, and this one has two arms, so he might not be quite as easy as the Giant Ashlorn killed.’

  ‘Brudorth will go,’ said Ashlorn. ’He should prove himself, and he started this business in the first place.’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ Brudorth jumped around the table. ‘I’ll bring you back his head, and we can mount it on the wall, over there. Yes, indeed. Can I take your axe, Ashlorn?’

  ‘Can you carry his axe?’ asked Lydorth, thoroughly enjoying the situation.

  Brudorth brought one massive fist down on the table and it collapsed beneath the force of his blow.

  ‘No problems there, little idiot brother,’ he laughed.

  ‘Brudorth, that’s the fourth table you’ve broken this month,’ admonished Ashlorn. ‘You are going to have to start paying for them.’

  Brudorth stood upright, with his head held high, and he smashed his seven-fingered fist against his chest.