Misthaven: The Complete Trilogy

by J Battle

  Soon enough for one, and too soon for the other, they arrived at the edge of the glacier, before the boulder that guarded the entrance to the mist shrouded valley beyond.

  ‘Stop here for a moment, good Rootheart,’ said Anders, and he slipped to the ground.

  With the half-giant panting beside him, he studied the glacier, and the boulder, and his mount.

  An idea sprang to his mind, full-born and potent. Could he do it? Was his power over the Wellstone already sufficiently strong?

  He smiled then, for he knew that he would make the attempt.

  ‘Give me the Stone,’ he said, softly.

  Already well fed and bound to him by his words of power, there was no danger to him from the Stone, and he wanted to feel its weight in his hands.

  Suddenly and unaccountably reluctant, Rootheart pressed the Stone against his chest.

  ‘Give me the Stone, now.’ No longer soft, his voice demanded acquiescence.

  Rootheart handed the Stone over to him, and found that he was glad to be free of its weight.

  Anders pulled his long sword from its scabbard and held it up to the light of the new day.

  In truth, he was not a swordsman, but these days it would be unwise to leave the safety of the valley without some way to defend himself.

  With a grunt, he drove the sword’s blade deep into the frozen ground. With the power of the Stone in his other hand, it was easy to keep on pushing until the hilt-guard touched the ground.

  ‘There you are, Rootheart. That will never be withdrawn from the earth’s grasp, and the evil that is God’s Saddle shall not pass this point.’

  ‘It is only a sword.’

  ‘Yes, but so much more. Even your great strength could not draw that sword. Here, make the attempt, and if you should succeed, then you will have your freedom. You will be able to go back to whence you came and never to look back. What do you say to that then, Rootheart? Will you test yourself?’

  Rootheart shook his great head and stepped forward. Bending he took hold of the hilt in one mighty hand.

  **********

  As they approached the reservoir, Jefro tapped Jimmywood on the shoulder.

  ‘I have something for you; you might have need of it, to calm your nerves shall we say?’

  ‘What is it?’ His heart leapt for he could already smell its strong cloying scent.

  ‘Something I took from the mage when his attention was elsewhere. He uses it to aid his renewal of the stone.’

  ‘But how did you…?’

  ‘Your hands shake like the ague; your eyes are bloody as shepherd’s sunset, and your breath stinks of the need.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you so very much.’ His hands were still shaking as he took the small parcel; already he was weighing it in his mind; not a full pipe-load; just enough to dull the hunger. Then he was thinking; the mage has harroweed? Perhaps he could return and steal it?’

  ‘You can have a draw when we’ve passed through town.’

  ‘Your kindness to an old man will not go unrewarded.’

  ‘Ay, doing and saying are different things.’

  They came to the low wall guarding the reservoir. Jimmywood sat his narrow buttocks on it and started to undo the lacings of his boots.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ asked Jefro, puzzled.

  ‘Well I don’t want my boots soaked again; they are barely dry yet from last night.’

  ‘I see. You can walk across if you care to start the day cold and wet, but I will be taking a boat.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jimmywood looked up at him, a little abashed. ’In that case I will join you.’

  They settled into a small round boat tied up to a post beside the steps, with Jimmywood at the front, his staff balanced across his knees, and Jefro getting ready to paddle at the back.

  ‘How did the good lady know my name?’

  Jefro grunted, ‘Oh, she has her means, she does. You had pleasant company on your first night in town, I believe?’ He grunted again as they set off.

  ‘Yes. Oh, I see. The delightful May. What was that?’ He turned to look behind him. ‘I thought I heard a noise.’

  ‘It is the water lapping against the wall; no more. If you had taken May to your bed, you might have found yourself dead when you awoke. You can never tell with that lady. And you met a young man at the docks on the morn, I believe. He can usually divert any stranger’s curiosity; he could convince a duck that it was a swan, he could. And yet, you kept right on, following your nose.’

  ‘Ay, I did. It will get me into to trouble one of these fine days.’

  A few moments later, they pulled up to the small dock at the town side of the water.

  They had barely begun their walk through the quiet streets of the town when Jimmywood stopped and looked back the way they’d come.

  ‘Can I ask you a question, honourable Jefro?’

  ‘Ask away if you care, if the answer costs me nothing.’

  ‘What is this all for?’ He waved his hand at the town, the reservoir, the mist. ’You have little enough Magic, and no benefit that I can see from it. So why do you do this, hide behind your wall of mist?’

  ‘You see what we are now; not what we have been. Nor what we will be.’

  ‘Will be?’

  ‘When a new mage comes, and we are restored.’

  ‘You really believe that?’

  Jefro began to walk again. Jimmywood hurried to catch him.

  ‘You do not understand the cycle here stranger. This how it has always been, and little changes, so the time of plenty will return, when the new mage arrives.’

  At the town wall, they stopped for a short break and Jimmywood lit his pipe. He took a long draw, and then another. Jefro watched him carefully.

  After just the two draws, he pulled out his pipe-stop and tamped down the smoking weed until the fire died.

  ‘Enough?’ asked Jefro.

  ‘For now, my friend,’ replied Jimmywood, as they set off again.

  They left the town behind them and walked along the coast road, the one large and heavy, walking with his legs apart as if he should be riding a horse, the other tall and gaunt, slightly bent and supported by his trusty staff.

  After a long silence, Jimmywood spoke.

  ‘How will we execute this difficult task?’

  ‘When we approach close to the meeting place, I will hide myself in an appropriate position within clear sight of the crawlord and smite him from afar.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Jimmywood; keeping his doubts and thoughts to himself.

  At last they came to a bend in the road and the forest was visible to them, perhaps half a mile or so away. To their right was the quiet watchful sea; to their left thick untended brush, rich with leaves despite the early season.

  ‘The brush will provide adequate cover to our purpose,’ said Jefro, as he began to push his way through the resistant growth.

  ‘I will come with you,’ said Jimmywood, taking a step towards him.

  Jefro stopped in his tracks.

  ‘Why would you need to do that? You should be along the road to meet with your master.’

  ‘If I don’t know where you hide, how will I be able to place the crawlord in the apt position for your strike? And avoid being hit myself.’

  Jefro stared at him coldly for a moment, considering his words.

  ‘You have smoked little of your weed, I see, and your shaking has hardly lessened. Would there be a reason for this unexpected self-control?’

  ‘Putting myself in danger clarifies the mind, I think. And the crawlord will expect me to show the hunger, will he not?’

  For a long moment, it seemed that doubt would hold the day, and spoil his careful plan. But in the end, Jefro’s straightforward heart caused him to accept Jimmywood’s words.

  ‘Be silent then, for words can be carried by the wind.’

  ‘Silent as a woman who knows her place, if such a one exists,’ he muttered as they set off again.

  It was hard wor
k, and difficult not to make noise as they moved. At last they came to a place that Jefro felt would be suitable, in clear sight of the meeting of the road and the forest.

  He unslung his bow and set the enchanted arrow in place. With a sigh, he drew the bow, pulling his right hand back until it reached his shoulder.

  He held the position for a moment, then he relaxed and loosened the arrow from its notch and went to place it on the ground beside him.

  Jimmywood took that moment to strike his blow; a concussive strike with his heavy staff across the back of Jefro’s head. Jefro made no sound at all. He merely fell to the ground, senseless.

  Jimmywood bent over him and pulled away one of his blades. ‘I am sorry, good man, but there was never any other possible outcome. I hope your God is kind, for he will see you soon, and mayhap it will be many years before I am put to his mercy.’

  Without hesitating, he pulled back Jefro’s head and drew his blade across his throat.

  When the task was complete, he picked up the heavy arrow, leaving the bow where it lay. The crawlord would see the dust from the Wellstone and know that he had done well. There would be coin aplenty, and weed. Most of all there would be weed.

  He stood and half turned, thinking he had heard a noise behind him. It was the last action he would take; the last action he would ever take, unless we consider the action of dying.

  The heavy cat landed on his back at the end of a leap started some thirty feet behind her victim. And her great jaws gripped the back of his neck, and her teeth closed together, with a vicious twist that severed his spinal cord.

  Chapter 58 Lancer

  ‘Good morning there, prince.’

  Lancer shook his head

  ‘Just Lancer, if you please.’

  ‘And Lord Richard? I don’t see him about. Is he nearby?’

  Captain Owens slipped from his horse and tossed the reigns to his staff officer.

  ‘Now, that’s a question and a half, my old friend, isn’t?’

  ‘You could answer plainly, sir, if that’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘He was here, Owens, as you well know. But he is no longer. I can say no more.’

  ‘If I sent my men into yonder tavern, would I find him there?’

  ‘No, sir. I believe that, no matter how you looked, you would not find him there.’

  ‘Could you not just say that he’s not there?’

  ‘Where would be the fun in that?’

  ‘You know that we’ll have to take you with us, don’t you?’

  ‘Only now you’ve said so, lad.’ He held up his hands, wrists close together. ‘Will it be in chains?’ he said, with a clownish, mournful expression on his face.

  ‘No, sir. That will not be necessary.’ He smiled a little to soften his words. ‘But you must come now and explain yourself to your king.’

  ‘Ay, the king. Now, there’s a thought. Will he be angry, do you think?’

  ‘I would hesitate to anticipate the king’s opinion or mood on anything, sir.’

  ‘Ay, and that would only be wise on your part. I hope that I have not put you in a difficult situation, Owens, with persuading you to leave Lord Richard with me?’

  Owens shook his head. ‘No, sir. I made my own decision, and whatever consequences befall me are nothing but my due.’

  Lancer rode with Owens and his men, out of Verdant and into Midland.

  ‘The air smells somewhat fresher,’ he said, as they left the pass behind them.

  When they reached the palace later that same day, Lancer was immediately brought before the king.

  ‘Ho there, brother,’ called Lancer, as he strolled along the hall, smiling at the somewhat uncertain courtiers he passed on his way.

  The king leaned forward on his throne, and a frown rippled his forehead.

  ‘Where have you been all this time, Raffold,’ he asked.

  ‘On your business, of course. Or, I should say, my own interpretation of what you would have asked me to do if I’d asked you in the correct manner.’

  The king smiled. ‘You’d never user one word where twelve would do.’

  ‘Of course. Brevity is to wit as…’ Lancer stopped talking as he drew close enough to see the king’s pained expression.

  ‘Are you not well,’ he said, as he stepped on to the dais.

  ‘Well? I remember being well,’ said the king, leaning back and resting his head against the ornate upright of the throne.

  ‘What would you have me do, brother?’

  ‘Ah now, there is a question. It has been good to see you again, after such a long time, and I would apologise for my treatment of you back then.’

  ‘Now, brother. None of that. There was enough blame to spread over us both, and it was long ago. So, I ask once more, dear brother, what would you have me do?’

  King Eron closed his eyes and he sighed.

  Lancer stood before him for a moment, one hand lifted a little as if he was reaching for his brother.

  ‘What would I have you do? I’d have you sit beside me and rule with me, I would. And when I am not myself, you can steer me on a safe course.’

  ‘And when I am not myself?’

  ‘Then no harm will come to anyone, for there is no harm in you, brother.’

  Lancer stood upright for a moment, with his thin face unresponsive.

  ‘Then I’ll need my own throne, I think, for I’ll not sit on your knee, brother.’

  Chapter 59 Rootheart

  Rootheart pulled at the sword, but it would not allow him an inch. He pulled again, his muscles straining. His efforts were met with the same result.

  ‘No, it won’t be moved. You are…’ Rootheart stopped talking, for the hilt of the sword would not release his hand. ’What have you done to me?’

  Almost without him noticing, Anders placed the large round stone he’d found by the boulder in the half-giant’s left hand. ‘Do not fear my friend. This will all turn out wonderfully. You are about to become a legend, my friend.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a legend, I want to be free. So, say your silly little words and release me from this spell. You’ve impressed me, if that was your intent, so finish it now.’

  Anders stepped back and brought the Wellstone up to his chest. ‘From stone to sword, from sword to flesh, from flesh to stone, from stone to sword.’ The words emerged from his mouth in a hiss, the spittle decorating his chin.

  Suddenly, the weight of the stone seemed to increase exponentially and Rootheart’s left hand was drawn to the ground, leaving him bent over, with his legs straight and his back bent, and bound to the ground by sword and stone.

  ‘Pay good attention Rootheart to what happens next and know that never again will you need to fear the cold.’

  Hissing almost silent words into the surface of the Wellstone, he flexed his fingers in just such a way and the hilt of the sword began to glow. He repeated the action, and the stone holding the half-giant’s hand to the ground did the same.

  ‘What! Stop this! My hands are burning!’

  Rootheart’s hands began to glow, and the red light rushed up his arms and across his shoulders. His red hair burst into flames, as did his clothes.

  Anders stepped back a couple of paces, pulling his face at the smell of burning hair; at the stench of roasting flesh.

  ‘Rrrroar….!’ As the flames engulfed his body he was no longer capable of words. In a last desperate attempt to save himself from the fire, he threw himself from side to side, jerking at his bonds, but they held firm.

  Soon his face could no longer be seen. All that was visible in the great column of flame that leapt at the sky, was the bent twisted shape of a half-giant.

  Anders gloried in the heat from the tower of fire and he poured in more and more Magic from the Wellstone to feed his creation.

  ‘I call ye God’s Challenge and you will be sustained by the power of the Wellstone for all time. My will made real in flesh and stone and flame, and no ice will pass this place, for the heat of God’s Chall
enge will turn all cold things to vapor, and thus I have spoken.’

  He laughed as he turned from the heat and strode towards the veil of mist that hid the valley; that hid the land that was now his.

  ‘What will they call me?’ He laughed as he disappeared into the mist. ’Anders the Great? Anders the Terrible?’

  By some trick of acoustics, his laugh was carried across the length of Misthaven, and all who heard knew fear.

  Chapter 60 Lord Richard

  He ran; tired as he was, he still ran.

  Having a Trytor chasing you would give anyone the impetus to carry on, despite the fatigue.

  He worked his way up a steep slope, and prayed it would be the last.

  He gasped as he reached the summit and saw the narrow valley below. With his chest heaving, he turned and watched the Trytor begin to climb the rough path behind him. It was a little narrow for his great size and mayhap it would slow him enough.

  Lord Richard turned and groaned as he set off down the steep decline to the valley below. He was a big man, and not as young as he’d like to be, and he wasn’t built for running. Fortunately, neither was Ashlorn, perhaps the greatest of all the Trytor.

  With his long heavy limbs and massive torso, this run must be causing him some distress.

  Richard pounded down the narrow meandering path. He tried to increase his pace, fearing that the beast behind him would catch him before he reached the far side of the little valley, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Not today. Not after all the preparation and hard work.

  Today he would kill another Trytor, if he could survive the next 10 minutes.

  His boots kicked up dust as he ran, and his cloak flapped in the wind he was causing. His closely shorn hair glistened with sweat that trickled down his face into his full beard.

  He was in the centre of the valley, when he heard the roar.

  Against his will, and common-sense, he stopped and turned. Ashlorn had crested the hill behind him and spotted his prey.

  His body, naked save for a red fur cloak, was as big as the trees that bordered the path. He raised his enormous fists to the sky, and he roared once more. Then he fixed his red eyes on the man and began his descent.