Stone of the Denmol

by R C Gray

  Strolling down the aisle, she let her eyes adjust to the light as she studied the room. Sets of flickering candles in hammered metal sconces with red glass shades lined the walls, causing the shadows around it to dance to the low thrum of music coming from the large stage in the front of the room. Rows of seats with soft cushions sat in the center with aisles running down each side, gradually sloping towards the stage. Above the edges of the platform on the left and right were two small balconies, each with several seats, filled with men and women looking down excitedly at the musicians.

  Taking a seat near the aisle several rows back from the stage, Renna gazed around the theatre, watching people as they poured in and filled the empty spaces around her. Just as the last seats were filled, the low, rhythmic tap of the drums grew louder as nearly a dozen small blue and orange orbs of arcane flames floated from the sides of the stage and circled above, casting a bright light on the men and women that sat in a semi-circle with their instruments.

  Striking up a steady beat, the music echoed off the flickering red walls, and the heavy pounding of the drums sounded like a beating heart as five women made their way to the center of the stage, their faces and bodies obscured by thin black cloaks.

  The crowd fell silent as the women stood motionless, waiting as a tall, thin man walked onto the center of the stage, his black robes swaying behind him. Pulling back the hood of his cloak, his long hair fell over his shoulders as he lowered his head and tugged the cuffs of his shirtsleeves back over his wrists.

  Turning his head towards the crowd, bright blue eyes stared out over his pointed nose and sharp features, darting from one person to the next, like a falcon observing its prey. Throwing the cloak back with a flourish over his shoulders, he raised his hands slowly into the air, and the beat of the drums grew softer. Clearing his throat, the man’s melodic voice drifted out across the room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to hear my words and take them to heart. For what you are about to witness is a show unlike any other you have seen. Hailing from a small village far to the east, the women you see before you have forged their bodies and arcane skill against man and beast alike.”

  The man paused as he gazed out over the captivated crowd, letting a deep silence settle over the room as the slow beat of the drums gently faded away. Leaning forward, Renna held her breath as she watched the man standing on the stage and waited for him to continue. Wiping her palms on her skirt, she listened to the soft breathing of the men and women seated around her, keeping her eyes focused on the thin man standing on the stage. With a wild gesture of his hands, the drums began to beat hard and fast like a frightened heart in the darkness, and the man’s voice rang out like a bell over the crowd.

  “From hunting foul beasts in the cold dark of the dead of winter, to dancing with the Fae near the warmth of a glowing fire under the light of the moons in a summer field; the women you see before you have become as sisters, and have honed their craft and learned to bend the elements to their wills. Traveling deep in the forsaken desert across the mountains to the west, they have seen the luminous waters of the oasis and bathed in its crystalline pools. They have touched the sun-charged sands that illuminate the darkness with their glow, and have held council with the wise elders of the Dah’shi. And all that they have learned, they bring to you here and now.”

  Moving slowly across the stage, the man stood behind the five women, pulling their black cloaks away one by one before stepping to the side, arms outstretched as he swept into a low bow. “Lords and ladies, without any further ado, I present to you, the Witches of Wren.”

  As the man scurried away, the beat of drums grew louder, and the women began to slowly sway. Their arms hung loosely at their sides as they looked down at the stage, long hair covering their faces, their skin ranging in tone from pale pink to dark brown.

  Sitting up straighter in her seat, Renna watched as the balls of light swirled in tight circles above the women. Their hips moved and swayed as flames licked up one arm and down the other, illuminating the bare skin that showed clearly beneath the sheer material that was wrapped over their chest. Their loose black pants were tight around their ankles, and their bare feet slammed against the wooden planks in unison with the pulsing beat of the drums.

  Dancing in circles around the stage, they danced and swayed as the music changed from intense drumming that vibrated inside Renna’s chest, to the soft plucking of strings that carried as lightly as a bird’s song through a spring meadow. Sweat glistened on their bodies as they moved and jumped, singing loudly as they cast fountains of ice and fire from outstretched hands. Flurries of sparks blew across the stage as their bodies twisted and writhed against one another, letting soft blue flames flow like a wave from one body to another.

  Sitting on the edge of her seat, Renna gripped the fabric of her skirt, gazing wide-eyed as the women flipped and tumbled across the stage. Orbs of electric energy and flame flew from one woman to another, gliding gently through the air only be caught and transformed before being thrown once more. Their bodies moved and shook as they balanced and twirled on the tips of their toes or the balls of their feet, arms and legs swinging gracefully as their toned muscles bent and flexed as they jumped and rolled. Their delicate voices rose in harmony above the pulsing drums, flutes, and strings, floating out like a light breeze over the crowd.

  Renna watched in awe as the dancers glided across the stage, moving in organized chaos as one dance faded into the next, and the minutes turned into an hour. Their movements were as soft and smooth as flowing water, yet powerful enough to move even the heaviest heart of stone.

  Flashes of light burst across the room, brilliant blues and purples lighting even the darkest corners of the theatre as streaks of lightning ripped across the stage from one witch to another. Thunder rumbled and echoed off the walls as they stomped their feet, chanting in a language that Renna had never heard before.

  Exhaustion clear on their faces, the witches moved to the front of the stage and looked out over the crowd, their hair wet and matted with sweat. Joining their hands together to form a circle, they twisted and swayed to the beat of the drums, chanting quietly as bolts of lightning arced between them, splitting the air with sharp crackles and flashes of light. Inside their circle, the swirling wind became more intense as the lightning sparked and flared, becoming a single ball of brilliant white light. Flames danced on the tips of their fingers, leaping out to ignite the ball of energy as it whirled across the stage, popping and hissing as colored smoke drifted upwards towards the ceiling.

  Standing behind the blazing orb, the witches traced their fingers over the floating, spinning ball, causing deep blue cracks to form on its surface. Clapping their hands loudly in unison, the orb collapsed in on itself before exploding outwards, sending a wave of bright, colorful lights that flamed and sparkled, fluttering like butterflies above the crowd. Stretching out their hands, thin strands of white light shot out from their fingertips, striking each of the floating wisps, splitting them into hundreds of shimmering pieces that drifted down like falling snow onto the onlookers below.

  The colors fell gently, flecks of light cutting through the shadow-strewn, silent room, and Renna opened her hand, letting the pieces land on her palm. Warmth spread up her arm as the speckles of light burst in flashes of warm and cool colors before melting away like a snowflake on her skin. As the colors faded, the crowd erupted in cheers, standing and applauding the women and the musicians on stage as they bowed deeply until thick, dark blue curtains swung closed, blocking them from view.

  Renna sat in her seat, amazed by what she had just seen. The way they controlled magic was incredible. How could they flip and roll and still keep their focus? How were they able to use their magic together without it burning or ripping each other apart? Although she had seen powerful spells, she had never seen them used like this before. Giving her small tusks a couple taps with her nail, she thought about their clothing, or lack of thereof, and felt her heart skip a beat an
d a blush rise to her face. Smiling to herself, she stood and straightened her skirt as she waited for the aisle to clear before stepping out and moving towards the door.

  As she walked down the aisle, Renna noticed a plain-faced woman with red hair watching her from the back of the theatre, her foot propped up on the seat in front of her. Her dark brown boot was scuffed and worn with small bones tied onto the straps. Dagger sheathes ran up the length of her tight, brown pants and up onto the thin black leather bodice covering her white blouse. Freckles dotted her nose and upper cheeks, and as she pulled her hair behind her ears, Renna could see a long, thin, crooked scar running across the right side of her face.

  Smiling, the woman nodded as Renna walked by, her green eyes reflecting the dim glow of the candles on the walls. Sinker deeper into her chair, the red-haired woman looked back towards the stage as Renna opened the door to the lobby and made her way out onto the street. Stopping at the booth once more, she knocked loudly on the counter, not waiting for the man to look at her before speaking.

  “Where did you say that the Last Chance was at?”

  Not bothering to look up, the man pointed his finger down the street. “Down the street a ways, take a left at the crossroads, and it’ll be on your right. It has a faded yellow sign hanging out front. You can’t miss it.”

  Giving the counter one last hard knock, Renna meandered down the dimly lit street, looking into the shops and pubs as she passed by, listening to the music and laughter that poured from the buildings as she made her way to the crossroads. Down each lane, lanterns hung on thick wooden poles that lined the side of the cobbled streets. Turning her head to the left, she caught a glimpse of yellow out of the corner of her eye and saw a deep blue two-story building resting between two small, dingy shops a short distance away. Hanging on the front of the building just under the overhang of the balcony, a large yellow sign with the words Last Chance Pub painted in ornate letters swung gently in the cool night breeze.

  Turning the corner, she made her way through the crowds of people and pushed open the front door. The room was well lit, and a wooden stage was positioned near the back of the tavern. A long bar ran along the left side wall, and round tables were scattered around the room, leaving enough space to comfortably walk between them. To the right, a fire crackled quietly in the stone hearth, gently lighting the room with a soft orange glow.

  Along the walls, lengths of rope tied in ornate sailing knots were fastened on wooden plaques between the decorative lanterns that hung on blackened iron hooks. Covering the banister and balusters around the balcony, gold fishing nets twisted around the lightly stained wood, spiraling up the handrail that led up to the second story. On the wall behind the stage, several small porthole windows swung open into the night, letting in the salty ocean breeze.

  Moving to an empty table near the front of the room, several men at a nearby table whispered to one another, pointing their fingers in her direction as she sat down. Looking around the room, she noticed that aside from a few elves near the bar, everyone else was human. Shifting nervously in her seat, she reached down to check the dagger in her boot and crossed her arms over her chest. Seeing several more glares from people seated at the tables around her, she considered leaving and glanced back towards the front door and saw the red-haired woman from the theatre sitting at a table near the entrance.

  Turning back towards the stage, Renna tapped the back of her thumb on her tusks as a barmaid set a mug in front of her.

  “Wait. I didn’t order this.”

  The barmaid gestured back towards the red-haired woman near the door. “From the woman in the back.”

  Picking up the mug, Renna swirled the liquid around before smelling it. “What is it?”

  “Honey-thorn mead. Quite popular ‘round here,” the barmaid said, glancing over at several customers seated at a nearby table. “Anything else I can get ya?”

  “No. Thank you,” Renna said, taking another sniff of the mead as the barmaid hurried off to another table, taking orders and setting drinks down as she went.

  Turning to look at the woman, Renna raised the mug to her and smiled. The red-haired woman leaned forward, put her arm on her table, and hoisted her tankard before taking a long drink. Setting her cup back on the table, Renna pulled a small vial out of her pouch and poured it into the mead, hoping to dilute any poison that might have been in the mug. She wondered if the woman was following her, and why she would buy her a drink. There had been more than a few pointed fingers and whispers in her direction, and it put her on edge. If anything had been put into her drink that the antidote couldn’t counteract, she would be able to tell. And if not, she would at least try to take the woman with her if nothing else.

  Taking a sip of the mead, she let the liquid rest on her tongue, waiting for anything that tasted bitter or stung the inside of her mouth, but nothing came. Picking up only the sweet notes of the honey and a slightly herbal taste, similar to sage, she felt reasonably sure the mead was safe to drink.

  Swirling the mead around in her mug, she took a long drink and looked back up towards the stage, catching another sneer from a man seated at a table a short distance away to her left. Shaking her head, she clenched her teeth and turned her eyes back towards the empty stage, waiting for someone to make a rude comment or pull a knife. She wondered why she was getting so many dirty looks here. This was a port town and had to see quite a few travelers passing through. Although most of the people here at the Last Chance were human, they were acting like they had never seen anyone with orc blood before.

  Setting her mug down hard onto the table, mead spilled over the rim, splashing down onto the polished wood. Pulling back several fallen strands of hair, she flexed her muscles as she tightened the loose bun and adjusted the red flower tucked into her dark hair, giving the men a menacing look as she bared her teeth and small tusks. The men scowled and looked as if they were about to stand when a short, plump man in a light purple tunic and black pants walked onto the stage.

  “Good evenin’, and welcome to the Last Chance Pub. We ‘ave a fine show for you tonight, and a tale of which I’m sure you’re familiar. But I know that you’ve been waitin’ long enough for the readin’ and that you most likely didn’t come down here to listen to me ramble on like I tend to do. And if ya did, you can come find me at the bar.” The man on stage let out a laugh as the crowd smiled and nodded to each other as if they had heard the man tell one too many long-winded stories. “So, grab a drink, sit back, and enjoy the telling of the story of Wyldernacht by our special guest. For your listenin’ pleasure, I present to you Bodhran, the Beardless.”

  The short man clapped his hands and stepped towards the bar as a broad, beardless dwarf walked onto the stage, emerging from behind a curtain that covered the doorway to a side room for performers. The dwarf was dressed in brown woolen pants, leather boots, and a long-sleeved beige shirt. Rolling up his sleeves to his forearms, he cracked his knuckles and ran his hand through his disheveled brown hair, trying in vain to pull back the pieces that hung slightly over his ears. Dark, bushy eyebrows rested above his deep brown eyes, broad nose, cleanly shaven face, and wide grin.

  Sitting up higher in her seat, Renna watched the dwarf set down several scrolls on a narrow table and begin to untie the leather cord that held one of them closed. She had only seen a handful of dwarves in her travels, including Braig, but she had never come across one without a beard. Glancing back, she looked at the red-haired woman near the door and smiled, taking another drink of her mead. Although she was still unsure of the woman, she had the feeling that it wasn’t her that would give her trouble. The woman returned the smile and made a motion that looked like she was stroking a long beard before raising her cup and looking back towards the stage, waiting for the dwarf to speak.

  Walls of Stone

  Skara watched as Faine closed the door to the back room, leaving him sitting alone at the table. Using a knife, he stabbed another date and popped it into his mouth, grinding the soft
fruit between his teeth as he surveyed the room. Several men at a table near the back of the inn eyed him, murmuring to one another as they glanced towards the door Faine had gone through.

  Hearing a sharp laugh from the front of the room, Skara turned his attention towards the barkeep, watching as he poured several drinks for the patrons at the bar, occasionally looking in his direction as he spoke. Feeling the thud of boots vibrating across the wooden floor, he glanced back towards the whispering men, his muscles growing tense as he fixed his eyes on the pair approaching him.

  “I hear that someone’s been asking around town about a little goblin and his thieving friends. They say there’s a good price for anyone that brings ‘em in. And bad luck for you, but it looks like your elf friend left you out here all alone,” the man said, reaching down and taking a date, smirking as he stuck it in his mouth. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya?”

  Skara drummed his nails on the table and kept his eyes on the platter of dates. “I can’t say that I do. Now, if you don’t mind pissing off, I’m not looking for any company.”

  The man laughed as he leaned in, putting his palms on the table. “Ya see, I would do that if I didn’t think you were the little bastard they were looking for. And even if you’re not and we turn you over to the guards, it’s one less monster on the streets that we have to worry about. Can’t have something like you goin’ ‘round spreading your filth all over town.”

  A flash of anxiety washed over Skara as he turned his gaze towards the front door. He knew that if he ran, he could lose them on the busy streets, but that would also mean that Faine would most likely be their next target. And if he were to get lost, he might end up getting caught by someone else. He didn’t know how there could be a bounty for them, or how anyone knew that they would be here—but he knew that there was going to be a fight, and he would have to strike first.