Rolling Thunder

by A. R. LEOPARD

It struck Harvest in an odd way, the service. Here were those whom he'd seen gathered only a few weeks before, and yet, that had been a merry celebration. How quickly the joy had turned to mourning. But he needed to move on now, lay his mourning aside. He had a kingdom to rule and a new castle to look forward to.

  —————

  Several days later, Harvest received a response from his son. He quickly sat down to peruse the contents of the note. But before he had even got past the first few lines, a servant came up and announced the chief advisor wished to see the king.

  “Of course.” the king said as he placed down the papers.

  The counselor came in and quietly closed the door behind him, “I won't take much of your time, your majesty. I know you're quite busy.”

  He sat down opposite Harvest and laid out a sheet of paper,“This is the plan I have had drawn up for the estimated cost for having Rella Height built in half the amount of time that the builders proposed. As you can see, it is considerably higher, but I would say still within reason. Many more workers will need to be hired and more craftsmen too. They expect higher wages if they are to be working double time, but that is reasonable given what we are asking of them. Is it still your wish to complete Rella Height in the shorter timeframe?”

  Harvest was looking over the page now and studying the graphs and tables.

  “Yes,” he said absently, “I do still wish it. It may be bit ambitious and we will need to be more close with financing in the months following, but we are doing well and I do not foresee any real issue.”

  Gonestrom nodded and rose, leaving the paper with the king, “Very well. I will ensure that the proper measures are taken.” and he left the room as quietly as he'd entered it.

  Harvest picked up his son's note again. Terragone was deeply saddened by the tragic news. He wrote that he wished very much that he could've come for the service, but that he trusted it has been a beautiful affair. He then asked how Rella Height was coming along. How was mother? He wrote that he was doing well, though his company could be a bit moody at times. Not much to report of any real interest yet. He sent his love to them both and hoped they were both well.

  Harvest was happy for his son and refolded the letter before striding off to find Laurelina and share the contents with her.

  Nowhere in the letter however, did Terragone mention that his company had grown to include one rather eccentric old man. Oh well, James was used to being overlooked.

  —————

  And what of Ozival, king of Essa and former best friend of Harvest? Ozival had only been king of Essa for twenty years, half the amount of time Harvest had been king. His honored father had lived on to a good old age. Ozival had been crowned king when he was quite middle-aged and was now getting old himself. He had married young and had two sons. He and Harvest had always hoped that one of Ozival’s two sons would fall in love with Verna when they were all grown up and that their kingdoms would be united. But it was not to be. Verna had died in her childhood. Ozival’s own beloved wife Corventia had died of a similar disease, several years before he would be coronated. Still, he found much joy in his children and their children. He was younger than Harvest by several years, but people who saw them together always said that Ozival looked older. He had a slight build and was really quite short for a man. Some said he had remnants of dwarf blood running in his veins, but you can't believe everything you hear. He was a good king though, both fair and kind. He took care to train his sons, the princes, to follow in his footsteps and to be responsible leaders. Of course, he didn't need to train them anymore, for they were in their prime and he had them overseeing the provinces.

  I know it seems that kings are always getting letters, and I promise it is not all they ever do, but I must relate once again, the letter-receiving of another king. Ozival had just received Harvest's castle plans and was looking over them meticulously. He was always interested to see what his old friend was doing and accomplishing in his kingdom. He would then use the information as an object lesson for his sons about the pros and cons of the way their neighboring nation went about things. The news about Rella Height didn't surprise Ozival when he read it. Harvest had always dreamed of building a castle of his own design someday. He was weary of living in the citadel of his ancestors and thought it high time to reach out into modernity.

  Ozival was not surprised, but he was worried. Perhaps it was none of his business, but he wondered greatly where the funds for building such a masterpiece were coming from. How could he afford such an extravagance? And how did Harvest have the time to devote to this while still ruling Gailli? Ozival thought there were far better ways to spend time and finances than in making yourself look great. But, since their falling out, Harvest no longer cared for his opinion.

  The break happened soon after Ozival had been crowned king. They had quarreled over a criminal who had done damage in both their countries. When he had been caught, they could not agree on a just punishment. Harvest wished him to go free after several months of imprisonment, with a solemn promise to mend his ways. Ozival saw death as the only just solution. In the end, the man was deported, a compromise neither was very happy with. Ozival's relationship with Harvest was never the same after that. They got cooler and quieter and neither cared to reach out in any kind of reconciliation.

  And so it still was. They each silently judged the other while keeping up some pretense of interest to preserve a facade. Even so, Ozival never corresponded with Harvest without a pang of regret at the past, and an ache for what might have been his present. He had only seen Harvest’s son Terragone once, when he was but a young, serious lad. He had hoped to be able to attend the boy’s most recent celebration, but his country was in a time of unease. Something had disturbed the Waterwood forest. Trees uprooted and gashes bashed in the ground along with strange scorch marks and dead animals. It looked like giants or cyclops, maybe both. In any case, it was no time to leave his kingdom for a long journey. He hoped there would be a time where he could get to know Terragone better. He wondered what sort of man he was. He had been quiet and serious in his youth and his father said he still was, but he didn't say much more. Perhaps Ozival would try to make a point to get down there for a long-delayed visit after his own country was back in relative peace. His sons could take care of Essa in his absence if all was running smoothly. Perhaps as soon as he quelled this Waterwood episode.

  When he wrote back, he said what he thought was probably expected, acted like they were closer than they were, and sent it off with some sorrow, turning his mind again to the things that concerned him more closely.

  11

  The Chase is On

  “Poor fellow. Do you suppose he'll ever get it?”

  A very stubby and heavyset dwarf was flailing about a blunt axe, combating in a large outdoor arena. His face was scarlet as he wildly swung at his opponent.

  “Well, if he keeps at it and continues to practice and train, I wouldn't put it past him. He's got energy enough.”

  “Yes, to be sure. But style? Not an ounce. If he were truly beset upon, he be done for.”

  “Oh give him time. He's only been in training for a few short weeks.”

  “But even if he were to improve in style and strength and all those other necessary qualities, he's got to have a sharp brain too. Enemies vary, fighting tactics differ, situations and circumstances change, and the warrior to truly thrive under these stresses will not only have an active and healthy body, but keen intellectual prowess. A good head, clever and informed thinking, that is what holds all the rest in place.”

  “Whatever, Crisp.”

  The two cousins were sitting atop a stone wall watching several promising (and a few less promising) students as the parried with their martial arts masters. The number of students who entered this course had skyrocketed since the kidnap of Keif and the similar disappearance of two other innocent civilians a few weeks later. Yes, two more had gone missing, though in this case, no trace of them had been left. Search
parties had been far and wide looking for any signs as to where they were, but there was nothing. The enemy was careful to leave no more tracks. Crispin and Blacky had racked their brains for the reason for these vanishings, why and where and by whom, but there was no way to know anything for certain yet. There were, of course, the ropes, but they really only complicated matters more. Why? Because they were very, very old. Like many hundreds of years old. This raised a lot of questions about the kidnapper, but didn’t provide many answers.

  In any case, it had the region nervous, thus the abnormally high number of new participants in the martial arts school. It was one of the best schools for war art and not too far from where Crispin and Blacky lived, so every now and then they would come to watch the progress of the bright, energetic fighters. They couldn't come as often as they used to since their guard duties had increased significantly since the three disappearances. There were many new trainees who were unfamiliar to them, one of which was the sturdy young dwarf who now lay flat on his back with his teacher's sword gently pressed to his chest.

  “Poor fellow. I don't think I can watch anymore. What do you suppose ever happened to Shifty? Do you think he's graduated?”

  “Oh I’m sure of it. He was getting along very quickly.” and Blacky turned with Crispin away from the arena.

  “I wonder if they'll ever think to hire some new recruits for the Guard. We could use more fellows to lighten the load for all. Especially now.”

  Crispin missed the lazy days of coasting carefree over the sun-spilled plains on Iron Wing, playing pranks on his imperturbable cousin. There had been work then too, but in normal amounts. Now they worked night and day constantly, and any free time was used to catch up on sleep. Even now they were riding back to headquarters to get their orders for the next few days. The captain relied heavily on them since the two of them had quite a bit of experience and skill. They were both single too, without families of their own, so they were often times given bigger and longer missions. And Crispin had a dragon.

  They walked over to where Blacky's unicorn was pulling up tufts of lush-ish grass. Another horse was there too. Cliantripeas. He was Crispin's, or rather, Crispin's temporarily. Iron Wing wasn't allowed at the training camp because there were other dragons there who got riled up and misbehaved when the huge silver dragon flew in. Crispin figured it was jealousy. That, or Iron Wing said things in dragon speech that were insulting. She had that kind of personality. So now he rode a horse if he knew he’d be passing by the training center, and today he had chosen Cliantripeas.

  But it was time to return to headquarters, to get fresh orders and updates.

  It was a long way back and the fairies had to alternate running and walking so as to not tire out the horses. They had just switched to walking, but more because Crispin had been hungry and couldn’t eat on the run.

  “I wonder if it will rain.” Crispin commented as he glanced up at the clouds that were slowly filling in all the blue gaps where sunlight still desperately tried to break through.

  “Perhaps later tonight or early tomorrow, but I think not anytime very soon.”

  Crispin made a face, “Now what makes you say that?”

  “I don't know, I just feel deep inside me that these clouds don't have rain in them yet.” Blacky lamely shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well, what if I said, deep down inside me, I thought they were loaded with rain and we could get an instant soaking at any moment?”

  “I'd know you were being stubborn and ridiculous and distance myself from you for awhile, until you were ready to be a sane and reasonable companion.”

  “I suppose I should use your own medicine against you, for you are being a bit ridiculous yourself.”

  “Go right ahead. I, unlike you, quite enjoy going solo.”

  Crispin let it drop there for he couldn’t think of anything clever to say in response. And so they were quiet for a time, the only sounds being those of the gently rasping grass and the clinking of the horses’ tack.

  “So,” Crispin started in an attempt to regain some semblance of dignity, “tell me if you can. Does the great cloud-expert know if these clouds come from the mountains and if may they contain cold rain?”

  “I wouldn't go back to that if I were you.” Blacky said wisely.

  “Just answer my question, if you have the answer that is.” and Crispin waited in mock patience.

  “I just wished to save you from further embarrassment. But as you seem quite unable to be humble, I'll deal it out to you with pleasure. This morning, as you may or may not recall, it was nearly cloudless but for some low haziness on the southern horizon. These clouds grew from that haze. And Crispin, rain is always cold, being as it is formed way up in the chilly heights.”

  Crispin deflated a few degrees and finally let it go for good this time. Instead, he rode forward a few paces to work through his humiliation in private. A very observant fairy and an excellent marksman, he was nevertheless rather off with some of his basic facts.

  They were now bearing north and were nearing the boulder-filled marshland they had lost Keif in. Since then, the entire marsh had been combed thoroughly for anything that might help them locate the fairy, but for nothing.

  “Through it or around it?” Crispin called back.

  “Through it, if you're up to it.”

  Crispin laughed lightly, “Up to it? Of course I'm up to it, and let's see how fast we can get through it.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “What! Are you afraid?”

  “I'm not even going acknowledge that impertinent remark, but you should know better than to gallop a horse through this uneven, mucky place. It's not even your horse.”

  Crispin rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Oh please!” but he knew that it would not go well with him if he returned the horse to his owner with a broken leg. There was no way to come out winner in this matter either, so he just smiled it away, forgave and forgot, dismounted, and walked his horse carefully over to the treacherous ground.

  Soon they were surrounded by large boulders and pools of stagnant water. Mists were curling up from the water making the atmosphere quite heavy. Mosquitoes added greatly to the environmental experience and buzzed and bit in a most cheering way, at least, Crispin thought so.

  But besides their little hum, it was still as death. Even the horses seemed to trod more quietly through this desolate place. Indeed, it was so quiet that they barely heard the soft thud. Crispin made an ugly exultant face at Blacky who in turn looked up at the grey sky above him in dire concern.

  “Now was that thunder?” Crispin asked tauntingly.

  “It was rather quiet for thunder.” observed Blacky, dearly hoping he was right.

  “It better not be thunder, for it's not suppose to rain until late tonight or early tomorrow, or so the genius predicts.” and Crispin laughed rather hopefully. It seemed fate would redeem him from his tangled web of disgrace after all.

  The next thud sounded closer, and a scratching sound accompanied it. The two fairies paused immediately, hoping to hear it again, but it had stopped. Both looked rather wonderingly at the other, and then with an almost simultaneous shrug, they gently pulled their horses on again.

  But there it was again. It sounded a bit like a moose or antlered deer had got caught somewhere and was trying to butt its way out. Except it wasn’t snorting or crying. The fairies decided it would be wise to investigate, even if only to help a trapped animal.

  They led there horses to a sheltering boulder and tied them there so that they wouldn’t spook whatever it was. Just then a thud sounded, and this time much closer. Still soft, but obviously whatever it was, wasn’t stuck.

  Blacky raised his eyebrows at Crispin and they slowly and quietly moved forward to where the sound was coming from. Perhaps it was a wounded animal stumbling among the rocks.

  But no. They had not gone far when they saw a dark shape move out in the mist. They quickly slid behind a boulder, before carefully leaning around to see
what it was.

  “Can you tell what it is?” Crispin whispered as he drew out a short dagger from his belt.

  “I don’t know, Crisp. It looked a bit like a big cat. It’s standing on one of the boulders.”

  There was another soft thud. The creature must have moved.

  Blacky motioned to their rock, “There’s a cleft in this boulder. Hide in it if it looks like trouble.”

  Crispin nodded and quickly scanned the inside of the small aperture for poisonous snakes or big spiders. All clear.

  It was eerily quiet then. They scanned the area but saw nothing. The mists were too thick to see very far and they were unsure about leaving their hiding place when the creature was probably up on a rock somewhere, waiting them out.

  They were just about to call it and start scouting around when they heard it jump again and land with a scuffle on a boulder that sounded very nearby.

  Blacky and Crispin slithered all the way into the crevice, knowing the animal would probably pass right by them. With daggers poised, they waited in the darkness, their shoulders scraping against the rough stone walls of the tiny space.

  “What about the horses?” Crispin barely said.

  Blacky shook his head, “Sea Grape can escape. Cliantripeas too probably.”

  “So what do we do? Wait, or go out and get it? And why is it jumping from rock to rock?”

  With a solid thud, the creature landed on their rock.

  Blacky turned to Crispin, a finger to his lips. Crispin nodded. Blacky then slowly moved towards the opening. Once he was as close as he dared, he carefully tipped his head into the opening to look up to see if he could find out what it was. To be sure, it was clear now that it was no ordinary animal lost in the marshes, and though they were not afraid of it and would have leapt out to fight it if the need arose, at this point, it would accomplish nothing really.

  A weak shadow fell over the opening and Blacky pulled his head back quickly.

  “It’s a cave cat.” he mouthed to his cousin.