by Troy Osgood
The Skeleton Stone
The axes continued to twirl as Culann started whistling to himself. The sound grew and was joined by sounds that were like musical notes. There was a rhythm and cadence to the sounds and whistles and Davey watched as Culann’s right hand started to glow. Green light enveloped the hand and Culann let the axe drop, hanging from his wrist by the leather loop. He pointed his closed fist at the right most Skeleton. He turned the fist up and opened it, showing the skeleton the palm of his green glowing hand. The whistling picked up, the green glow pulsating with the beats of the sound.
The whistling reached a crescendo and stopped suddenly.
The green glow around Culann’s hand flared and shot out as a wave at the skeleton.
The creature was pushed back and started shaking, vibrating. Cracks formed in the bones, green light escaping through the cracks and the thing just exploded into pieces. Shattered. Small scraps of bone falling to the ground in a pile of dust.
A flick of Culann’s wrist and the axe was back in hand.
A smile on his face, Culann faced the other two skeletons which heedless of the third’s fate continued to advance on the Far Rider.
“Ol’ Culann, he knows some tricks,” the man said. “Come on ye pile o’ bones. Come and see what else I know.”
He whistled, three quick notes, and the axe heads started glowing, the runes coming alight. The right one glowed red and the left one was blue.
Other Books by
Troy Osgood
www.ossywrites.com
Short Stories
Doom Walking (kindle ebook)
Two Gunslingers (kindle ebook)
Taleweaver’s Song
(published by Barking Fire Publishing)
The Skeleton Stone
The Gnoll Tracks
(kindle ebook short story, summer 2016)
The Orc Plains (late 2016)
THE SKELETON STONE
A Tale of the FAR RIDERS
By Troy Osgood
A Story From
The Skeleton Stone is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
2016 First Edition
Copyright 2016 by Troy Osgood
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Barking Fire Publishing, Northwood New Hampshire
Barking Fire Publishing and its logo are registered trademarks of Barking Fire Publishing, LLC
The Taleweaver’s Song is a registered trademark of Troy Osgood
ISBN: 0692692762
ISBN-13: 978-0692692769
Cover art by Shauna Mobley (http://shaunamobley.com)
Maps by Troy Osgood
Barking Fire logo by Kat Howell
The Taleweaver’s Song logo by Shauna Mobley
Back cover by Jason Thees
www.barkingfirepublishing.com
This book is dedicated to:
Kat
For many reasons
Davey had never heard of the Far Riders until the arrival of Culann Hawkfall. He was a traveling bard, so he said, but carrying no instruments, and claiming to be a Far Rider. He appeared one morning and said he had come to help the village. Some of the older villagers had acted like they knew what a Far Rider was, and doubtless a couple of them had. Some of them had traveled beyond the village of Minoda in their youth and had many adventures, so they claimed.
The explanation for what exactly a Far Rider was, that had confused young Davey. Even Culann’s description was vague and confusing. They were messengers, protectors, explorers, vandals, thieves, grave robbers and everything in between it seemed. He had said they worked for the GriffinStone Library.
Culann had just smiled as the councilors, the village’s leaders, talked and talked. They debated if they wanted his help at all. Finally, he had had enough and told them he was there, he was going to save them, and that was that. He couldn’t care less if they wanted his help or not, the ungrateful bastards were going to get it.
Minoda was an old village. It had grown from the few huts that had originally formed the village, almost two hundred years ago, to now number almost four dozen homes and buildings in the immediate area and another couple dozen in the surrounding forests and farms. It was a mining village, everything designed to support that trade and the miners themselves. It was built against the edge of a mountain, spread over a large plateau, at the top of a long slope with a winding road that led down into the rest of the Deris Duchy, part of the Kingdom of Jeryan. Minoda was part of that kingdom, but only the King’s tax collector’s bothered to come this far up. The only others that visited the out of the way village were the merchants that owned the mines and only rarely; preferring to send their representatives to the tiny village.
In Minoda, you either worked the mines or you did some craft or trade that supported the mines. That was the way it was, the way it had always been, and the way it would always be.
Davey Tobiason was the son of a miner and the grandson of a miner and back to the founding of the village. It was expected that he would be a miner, marry a village girl, and father more miners.
It was a hard but good life. The people of Minoda were hard working, industrious and loyal. They were good people.
Until the skeletons came. And everything changed.
CHAPTER ONE
NOW
The 13th day of Deireadh in the year 324 WR (Way Reckoning)
The Far Rider swung his right hand axe, hitting the skeleton solidly on the head. The creature, all bones and magical power, wasn’t fazed. The left hand axe held the skeleton’s own arm at bay, keeping the undead creature’s sharp claw like fingers away.
The man leaned back and kicked up with his left leg, connecting with the skeleton’s chest. He pushed off against the bones, pushing the creature back and flipping himself over. He rolled and came back up, facing the skeleton and the other two that were also advancing.
Culann Hawkfall took a step back, keeping his distance from the slowly moving walking bones. The skeletons were just that, nothing but bone held together somehow, the muscles long since rotten away. They were all human skeletons, roughly the same height. Unnaturally strong, the living bones needed no weapons. The undead monsters made clacking noises as they walked, bones scraping against bone, jaws moving as if they were speaking.
Davey Tobiason watched it all from where he hid behind the large rocks off to the side. He had a good view of the battle taking place outside the mine entrance. Culann, the Far Rider and Bard, stood to the right facing off against a trio of the animated skeletons, the mountain only a couple steps behind. Culann was keeping the creatures attention on himself and not letting them turn towards Davey. Trying to get them to concentrate on the man in front, the clear threat, and not the frightened boy that was so close.
Culann twirled the two so far ineffective hand axes. The weapons were all metal, all one piece, with leather wrapped around the shaft ending in a loop that was wrapped around Culann’s wrists. The metal was dark, not iron, but Davey did not recognize it. Four runes were etched into the surface of each axe head. The whole weapon was only about twelve inches long. Aside from the bow and quiver on his back, and a dagger on his belt, they were the only weapons Culann carried. Special leather sheathes for them hung from his belt, one on each hip.
He was lightly armored. Leather leggings with padding at the knees and hips, leather boots and gloves, chain mail of a dark material that was similar to the axes but different, dark iron the smith had called it, and leather sleeves that covered the shoulders with the straps crisscrossing the chain mail, a satchel hung off the shoulder b
y a strap crossing his body. The hooded cloak was a dark forest green. Culann had long black hair, tied in a pony tail, and a beard with his chin bare. The braided ends of his moustache were long and grew past the bottom of his chin. He was an interesting figure, was Culann Hawkfall.
The axes continued to twirl as Culann started whistling to himself. The sound grew and was joined by sounds that were like musical notes. There was a rhythm and cadence to the sounds and whistles and Davey watched as Culann’s right hand started to glow. Green light enveloped the hand and Culann let the axe drop, hanging from his wrist by the leather loop. He pointed his closed fist at the right most Skeleton. He turned the fist up and opened it, showing the skeleton the palm of his green glowing hand. The whistling picked up, the green glow pulsating with the beats of the sound.
The whistling reached a crescendo and stopped suddenly.
The green glow around Culann’s hand flared and shot out as a wave at the skeleton.
The creature was pushed back and started shaking, vibrating. Cracks formed in the bones, green light escaping through the cracks and the thing just exploded into pieces. Shattered. Small scraps of bone falling to the ground in a pile of dust.
A flick of Culann’s wrist and the axe was back in hand.
A smile on his face, Culann faced the other two skeletons which heedless of the third’s fate continued to advance on the Far Rider.
“Ol’ Culann, he knows some tricks,” the man said. “Come on ye pile o’ bones. Come and see what else I know.”
He whistled, three quick notes, and the axe heads started glowing, the runes coming alight. The right one glowed red and the left one was blue.
Taking another step back, he raised his foot and placed it against the mountain. Still whistling, and now smiling, the man pushed off the mountain, running towards the skeletons.
Two steps, three steps, then four and Culann Hawkfall jumped into the air.
CHAPTER TWO
THEN
Being the 12th day of Deireadh in the year 324 WR (Way Reckoning)
Davey Tobiason had been sleeping, soundly, until the screams and the yelling.
He couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming about, if at all, but the noise outside in the village proper had awoken him. He sat up in bed, crawling to the edge of the loft and looking down into the two room home. The door to the bedroom flew open as his father stormed out, pulling up his pants and trying to tighten the rope that held them up.
Sheren Tobiason was a big man. Still strong even though he was on the high side of middle aged. He had been born in Minoda, like his son Davey, and like his father and grandfather and still more before him. He had worked the mines. It was all he knew.
But it had made him big and strong, like many of the villagers. Swinging heavy hammers and picks all day would do that.
“Stay here,” he shouted up to Davey as he moved quickly through the dark house, the candles all since having gone out hours before.
Davey heard the front door open and close as he climbed down the ladder from his loft bedroom. He looked towards the bedroom and saw his mother, Mary, pulling a clock over her nightclothes. She looked frightened.
“You heard your father,” she started as Davey moved quickly towards the door.
At thirteen, he was entering that age where he was afraid of nothing and was curious about everything. He had already started working the mines, only a couple hours a day, and was starting to develop muscles to go with his tall frame. Dark of hair, like his father, he had his mother’s light complexion.
He opened the front door and looked outside.
He couldn’t see much, as their door opened onto a lane that came off the village square. Across the narrow path, not really a street, the door to the neighbors opened with the sound of more following.
“What’s going on,” said one person.
“The hells,” another cursed.
More sounds, more yelling, came from the village square.
A quick glance to see that his mother wasn’t close enough and Davey darted out the door, hearing his mother’s shouts behind him. He ran down the lane, only about five feet wide between the rows of houses, and stopped at the end before it opened out onto the village square.
What he saw stopped him short, even if he had wanted to continue.
Minoda’s village square wasn’t large but it was open. Only a small stage stood in the middle of the roughly circular space. Lanes, like the one he was on, came off the square with four larger roads at the four compass points. The tavern and general store both faced the square, one on either side facing the other, with the smithy and council hall facing each other.
In the center was a dark mass of bodies, it looked like they had something else surrounded. The thing in the middle kept moving and the men, the villagers Davey knew because he could make out the form of his Da, kept moving away from it well trying to keep it contained. Men were running around the edge of the square, lighting the torches that ringed it. Others ran towards the stage with torches in hand, meaning to light the four corner stacks.
As the four corners of the stage lit up, Davey noticed what looked like a man lying on the boards. Another person was leaning over. That person was yelling, trying to get someone’s attention.
Now Davey could hear a clacking noise, something he had never heard before. It was similar to pieces of wood banging against each other, but rougher and more hollow.
The square lit up and Davey could see the crowd of six men, with many others hanging back, spreading out around something. He couldn’t make it out yet.
“Davey,” his mother said grabbing his shoulder. “Get back inside this…,” she stopped as the men around the thing stepped further back and both Davey and his mother could see what it was.
A skeleton of a man.
The thing was as tall as anyone in the village, and all bone. There was no scrap of clothing, or muscle, fat or anything else. Just stark white bone. It bore no weapon, the bones scraping against each other as it walked. The arms were outstretched, trying to grab one of the men, the finger bones sharp and dripping blood. Its jaw moved up and down making the clacking noise.
“Rosmerta preserve us,” his mother said, invoking the Goddess of the Dawn.
Davey watched as one of the men darted in from behind, swinging what looked like a shovel. The skeleton turned, grabbing at the shovel, and pulled. The man came off balance, falling towards the creature which lashed out with its free hand. The man screamed as the fingers, claws, dug into his skin ripping his shirt. Davey could see blood dripping as the man fell backwards, the skeleton walking towards him.
“Hey,” Davey heard his father shout. “Here.”
The Skeleton turned, pausing enough for others to drag the wounded man out of the way. Turning completely towards Sheren, the skeleton started walking again, Davey’s father stepping backwards.
“No,” Mary, his mother, cried out watching as her husband was stalked by impossibility.
Davey wanted to run to his father, to help, but he didn’t know what to do.
He watched as more of the men pulled away from the skeleton, leaving it alone with Sheren. He wanted to yell out at the men, call them cowards, but then he saw that it was his father that was directing them, telling them to pull away.
Sheren led the skeleton around the stage, making noise to keep the things attention. As Sheren brought it back around to the far side, somehow staying out of reach, Davey saw men return to the square. The carried rope and nets and slowly crept up behind the thing.
Around they all went, Sheren keeping the walking skeleton moving, and the other men trying to creep up behind it as quiet as they could.
“Now,” Sheren shouted, his voice carrying over the shouts of the gathering crowd.
The men moved, almost in unison, throwing the ropes and nets around the skeleton. The thing got caught, tangled. It flailed about, trying to grab at ropes and pull at nets. But there was too much, the thing was obviously not intelligent, a
s it just grabbed at the nearest things which caused it to get stuck even more. Men, holding on to the ends of the ropes, now raced around it, pulling the ropes tighter and wrapping it up.
More men rushed into the square, these were carrying heavy stones and hammers. The first men pulled the skeleton off balance, its arms pinned to its sides so it couldn’t move. It fell to the ground, bones moving as it tried to lift itself up. The villagers rushed in, staying out of range. First they threw the heavy stones, thuds echoing through the square as the stones hit bone.
The creature stopped moving and men relaxed. A cautious few stepped closer. The skeleton lay on the ground, stones around its body.
No one got closer than a few steps.
Davey watched as his father walked to the edge of men around the skeleton. Sheren stopped and studied the thing.
The skeleton moved. Still wrapped tight it tried to roll, the clacking of the jaw loud in the silence. Men jumped back, shouting, women on the edge of the square screamed. Only Sheren Tobiason stood still. He reached behind him and grabbed a heavy sledge from someone. He walked around the skeleton, watching its movements.
Now behind it, Sheren raised the hammer up and swung.
Down it fell and the crack echoed through the square.
He lifted the hammer and swung again. And again. Each hit echoing with the crack of bone.
Sheren kept lifting the hammer, swinging it down, again and again. Crack after crack.
And still the thing moved.
Slower. Slowing with each new blow. But it still moved.
Sheren stepped back, panting heavily, hammer hanging at his side.
Still the skeleton moved.