by Troy Osgood
“And it was a good thing that ye did,” Culann said honestly. “I’d hate ta see what state the village would have been in if ye hadn’t.”
“Master Tobiason explained some of what happened,” the guard captain said. “We thank you for your intervention. We are told you saved the village and its people.”
Culann bowed.
“I helped is all,” he said. “They did most o’ the work themselves.”
“I would like to offer the thanks of the Duke. What is your name so I may tell him of your deeds?”
“I appreciate the Duke’s thanks but nae need ta go further,” Culann replied.
The Captain studied Culann, looking him up and down and glanced at the satchel hanging off the man’s shoulder, which did not seem to be very full.
“What caused the skeleton’s to rise?,” the captain asked.
“A runestone,” Culann answered.
“And where is this stone now?,” Crato asked with a glance back to the satchel. A glance that Culann did not miss.
Culann looked around at the village, at the two King’s Guards and for others he knew would be around. How many did they bring? He smiled, knowing that the runestone was in the satchel even though he could not feel the weight.
“Destroyed,” he answered.
Culann watched the guard captains eyes. This was an experienced man, one that had traveled and seen much. He was not stupid. The man locked eyes with Culann, who smiled and nodded. He could see the villagers approaching; see Sheren’s hand tighten on the handle of the sledge.
Captain Crato glanced behind him, seeing the villagers gathering, seeing Sheren next to him. He looked back at the man that had help save the village. Standing at ease, bearing two runed weapons at his belt, a bow and quiver next to him, and who knew how much more magic at his disposal. Culann Hawkfall just shook his head, a tiny motion, barely noticeable. Crato nodded.
“Thank you for your service,” Crato said taking a step back. “We will not hold you any longer as I feel the road beckons.”
“That it does Captain,” Culann said. “That it does.”
“Captain,” the other guard started to say but Crato held up his hand, silencing him.
“Come Sergeant,” Crato said turning to walk away. “We are here so we will help the villagers secure and start the rebuild. We also have our own to look after.”
“Yes sir,” the Sergeant said following with a last glance at Culann.
The rest of the villagers dispersed, back to the chore of repairing and rebuilding. There were to be funerals later in the day, the bodies to be buried at the new cemetery to be laid out off the road out of Minoda. No one in the village wanted to return to the old one, the mountain pass in the process of being closed off.
Soon there was only Sheren Tobiason left.
“Keep that handy,” Culann said pointing at the runed sledge. “Polish it now and then ta keep the edges sharp and it will serve ye well.”
“I hope never to need it,” Sheren said truthfully, meaning the rune. He had no intention of using this sledge in the mines ever again. He was already envisioning a spot above the fireplace in his house.
“Ye never know,” Culann said, his tone turning a bit sad. “Ye know it’ll all change now,” he stated looking off towards the mine and the entrance to the Dvorkan Cradle. “Once word o’ this gets out.”
“Will you be telling anyone?,” Sheren asked, looking back at the mountain looming over them.
“Nay,” Culann replied. “I’ll tell the Librarians at GriffinStone and they’ll come ta study but that’ll be it. I’d be more worried about yer Duke and King. Probably lots o’ treasure left down in the deep.”
“Hopefully no more of the skeleton stones,” Sheren said.
Culann didn’t say anything; he knew the man was trying to be optimistic. The village had just lost some of their own, his friends and neighbors, and it could have been much worse. They had survived but what if there was more? What else was left buried in the abandoned Cradle?
“I will tell ye this,” Culann stated. “Dvorkan donae abandon Cradles wit’out cause.”
“We’ll close up the crypts permanently,” Sheren said. “And close off the new mine.”
“That’s a start.”
Culann could hear the sound of hammers, people working. Sounds of the town rebuilding. He wondered how much it would change in the coming months. It was sad really. Minoda had been a peaceful little mining town full of hard working people. But through no fault of their own, it was going to become something else.
“How is Hutch?,” he asked glancing up at the sun in the sky, measuring the time.
“Doing better,” Sheren replied. “He should be up and about in no time. Doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage.”
“That is good,” Culann said, studying Sheren. “And if there is or Hutch wants ta step down?”
Sheren didn’t look surprised at the question. A little shocked that Culann had made the observation. He looked out over the village and thought of the last few days. People had come to him, had listened to him.
“I don’t want to lead,” the big man said. “Never have.”
“True leader’s donae want power but take it because they need ta,” Culann replied. “And ye donae want that Hesh taking over. Nae now.”
“That is true,” Sheren said with a sigh.
“Ye will do good fer yer people,” Culann said and Sheren just nodded.
A resigned nod. This was a man that did not want to lead, which made him the perfect person to lead.
“And Davey?”
“Still resting,” Sheren said, a nod of fierce pride coming into his voice. “His Ma won’t let him out of the house no matter how much he complains. She hasn’t yet, but there’s a severe scolding in that boy’s future.”
“What he did in ta Cradle,” Culann said turning a serious look on the miner. “He shouldnae have been able ta do that. But I’m glad he did.”
Sheren nodded, unsure of what to think. He had been told the story by both Davey and Culann and was still shocked. Davey, his son, had performed magic? Had learned a spell just by listening to Culann do it? Thankfully Culann had told no one else about Davey performing magic, he had just told the villagers that without the boy’s help he wouldn’t have been able to dispel the magic of the stone. Only Sheren, his wife and Davey knew the truth. It would be hard to keep Davey from talking, but it would need to be done. Sheren knew the village was going to change, but he was more worried about what would happen to his family.
Culann held out his hand and Sheren took it.
“Take care of ye and yers,” the Far Rider said.
“Thank you,” Sheren replied. “And good travels.”
Culann adjusted the satchel and axes on his belt, grabbed the bow and quiver from where they lay on the ground. Holding the two, he started walking towards the edge of the village, away from the road but on an angle that would take him down the mountain through the forest. He stopped and turned back towards Sheren.
“Tell ye boy that I said the strength o’ a name is nae in the past but in the present,” Culann said and waved, turning back to the forest.
Sheren watched the Far Rider disappear into the shadows of the trees. Turning, he headed back to the house he had been rebuilding. There was work to do. There was always work to do.
EPILOGUE
The 17th day of Deireadh in the year 324 WR (Way Reckoning)
Culann Hawkfall looked across the road at the Waystation, the waters of the lake beyond it reflecting the setting sun. He stood in the Northeast corner, the Waystation in the Southwest, directly across from him. The roads ran East-West and North-South, two wagons wide. It was in decent shape this close to Deris Station and was a busy pass connecting Fort Leyn with the Eastern Reaches as well as the only road that led into Ameir. The sun was setting to the West and the Station was busy, men and women, merchants and adventurers, all setting down for dinner. Music could be heard coming from the common roo
m.
It was the same Waystation that had kicked him out only a couple days ago.
Maybe they wouldn’t remember him?
He could try apologizing to the Waykeeper.
He would have to, if he wanted to stay in the Waystation. He couldn’t risk antagonizing the Waykeeper and making the man deny lodging to other Far Riders. And it wasn’t like he would never be stopping at this Waystation again. This was the only road that led into the Eastern Reaches, unless one wanted to add the extra months by traveling around Loch Heddal, the largest body of water in the Centerlands. No, it might be best to put some distance and time between himself and the Waykeeper.
He looked to the west, the road that eventually led towards GriffinStone. Patting the satchel at his side, he thought he could feel the Skeleton Stone giving off heat, throbbing with power. The Librarians, mages and clerics, at the Library would spends days examining the artifact before locking it in the Vault. Maybe weeks even. It would be interesting to learn how the runestone was made. The Dvorkan academics, especially, would be eager to study it and the abandoned Cradle under Minoda.
He glanced behind him, to the northeast, the direction he had been heading before all this started. The mountains were between him and his destination, the kingdom of Ameir that was nestled in a large valley between the mountains and the sea. It was a good week or two of travel around the mountains and to the one pass that led into the valley. Rumors were coming out of Ameir of a ruin discovered in the unexplored lands north of the kingdom. The Librarians had thought it worth investigating.
Traveling to the GriffinStone Library in distant Far Dale was also about three weeks, if not more, then the same coming back. That would put him in Ameir almost three months from now, if he was lucky and nothing else happened to delay. All that travel through the middle of winter.
He didn’t want to delay, as that would mean being on the road as the snow fell or staying at GriffinStone for the full season. Ameir wasn’t going anywhere so the delay would not be bad but he also didn’t mind traveling in the snow.
He looked towards the mountains, then back down the west road.
The longer he delayed in returning to GriffinStone, the more time that the King of Jeryan would have to get into the Cradle and wreck havoc. No, the Librarians had to get here and soon, before word spread and the adventurers came.
Or the Dvorkan themselves might return. They would be as eager to reclaim a lost Cradle as anyone else was to discover its secrets.
Culann looked back towards the mountain and the village of Minoda. He could see smoke rising above the trees as the villagers lit their evening fires. At the end of the day, what had they accomplished?
He had gone into the Cradle to stop the skeletons from appearing, which had caused more to appear, which had killed villagers. It had been a sound plan though. Stop them now to ensure the safety of the village in the future. But is that what will happen?
The village was now safe from the skeletons. But what else could be there and with all the attention Minoda would now receive, was it worth it?
He knew, that one way or the other, life as the villagers had known it was over.
Culann sighed and pulled his hood up over his head, he started walking towards the West road. He could get another couple miles in before having to stop for the night. Looking in the Waystations windows, seeing the pretty blond waitress, he just shook his head, sighing. Another night under the stars, eating field rations and sleeping on the cold ground.
The life of a Far Rider.
Rider, he thought laughing, should have called us the Far Walkers.
Pulling the cloak tighter, he set off down the road, whistling a new mountain tune.
“What is a Far Rider?”
Alaistair Storrow looked down at the young man before him, who had asked the question. Like so many before him, he wanted to know. It was not an easy choice, as it would not be an easy life.
“That is a good question,” Alaistair replied after a couple minutes of thought. “It is not an easy answer. A Far Rider is an explorer, seeking out and searching for the mysteries of the world. Discovering new things and new places.”
The young man, eighteen at the most, seemed to brighten. That didn’t seem so bad. He had heard mixed things about the Far Riders. But how could anyone think badly of explorers?
Alaistair held up a finger, indicating that he was not done.
“A Far Rider is also a protector, guarding the people of Merelein against the wild magic and other dangers that exist in the world. A Far Rider is a teacher, telling others how to use and understand the magic around them. We are warriors, fighting against those that would use magic to harm others.”
Again, that didn’t sound bad, the young man thought. A noble pursuit.
Alaistair saw what he was thinking. It was in his eyes. The same thoughts that all the others had at this point, that Alaistair himself had had.
“A Far Rider is a thief,” Alaistair said, drawing a confused look from the young man. “Taking magic away from those that do not know how to use it. We are grave robbers, digging into old crypts to take potentially dangerous magic out to safety.”
The young man’s gaze drifted to the walls, to the many books filling the cases, the artifacts on shelves.
“A Far Rider is often hated,” Alaistair said drawing the young man’s attention again. “We are misunderstood, shunned and unwelcome in many places.”
Alaistair paused, letting what he had said sink in. Letting the young man fully understand what he was being asked to do, to become.
“Magic is everywhere,” Alaistair continued. “It is dangerous when unchecked, in the hands of those that would use it to harm others. Far Riders are the line of defense between the innocent and those that would abuse magic. Even if those innocents don’t want out help. We do what is needed. Far Riders do what is right.”
Alaistair watched the young man before him, watched as thoughts swirled in his mind. Watched as the man came to a conclusion.
“But how do we determine what is right?,” the young man asked.
Alaistair smiled. This lad was bright. Not many asked that question. Most took it on faith. But not this one, not Culann DunRowe who was now calling himself Hawkfall.
“That lad, is an even more difficult question.”
CODEX
Being incomplete entries from the book:
The Cultures and the People of Atair
by Jerem Holderen, First Librarian of GriffinStone, 75 WR
appended by Gert Yoren, First Librarian of GriffinStone, 152 WR
appended by Dint Rockfall, Second Librarian of GriffinStone, 229 WR
appended by Arthur Kaden, First Librarian of GriffinStone, 297 WR
appended by Alaistair Storrow, First Librarian of GriffinStone, 319 WR
Chapter Two - Section One
The Passing Of Time - The Reckoning of Years
A year for most of Atair; the Centerlands, Northerlands, Western Islands, Eastern Reaches and parts of the Southern Expanse; is made up of twelve months starting and ending with Samhain, the shortest day of the year.
The commonly excepted counting of the year started with the construction of the first Waystation and the formation of the Warders of the Way. This was when the various kingdoms and lands of Atair become more closely linked and as such is accepted for the common calendar used across most of the land, with the notable exception of the Romus Empire that bases time off the year the Empire was formed.
It should be noted that even though the many kingdoms in the Eastern Reaches are older than the formation of the Waystations, and there are no Waystations in many of those kingdoms, the Reaches still adopted the common method of counting years. Because each kingdom was counting based on their own reckoning and kingdoms could come and go so quickly there it is thought that the merchants adopted the shared common method used by the rest of Atair in order to make dealing with others easier and over time this just became accepted across all the Reaches
.
Because other methods of counting the years exist and existed that are still in some use, the commonly accepted method is called Way Reckoning.
So the current year, as of this writing, would be 75 WR.
It is also of note that the Elvict, commonly called Elven, races; the Nict and Pict; the Dvorkan, commonly called Dwarven; have their own way of reckoning the years based off their own histories, which will be covered in later sections of this work. The Halfling race, being alongside for humans for so long and having no homelands of their own, have adopted the human methodology.
Chapter Two - Section Two
The Passing of Time - The Months in a Year
The calendar for most of Atair; the Centerlands, Northerlands, Western Islands, Eastern Reaches and parts of the Southern Expanse; is based on a twelve month cycle starting on the shortest day of the year, the Samhain holiday. The months change based on the lunar cycle so that each month ends and begins with the full moon. The day starts at sunrise and goes to the next sunrise.
The first month is Samhain, which is also the celebration of the new year on the first day of that month. Midyear is celebrated with the Bealtaine holiday, also the name of the month, on the longest day of the year.
The months of the year in order are as follows;
Samhain, Ylir, Eanair, Hornung, Marta, Aibrean, Bealtaine, Skerpia, Luil, Lunasa, Fomhair and Deireadh.
There are four seasons with four months to a season. The seasons overlap the year and are based on the planting and harvesting cycle.
The Winter months are Ylir, Eanair and Hornung. The Spring months are Marta, Aibrean and Bealtaine. The Summer months are Skerpia, Luil and Lunasa. The Fall months are Fomhair, Deireadh and Samhain.
It should be noted that the Romus Empire, well using a different measurement of reckoning yearly passing, does follow the same twelve month lunar style but with their new year beginning on the longest day of the year and the months having different names.