Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  “A couple of days and you’ll toughen up.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll see to it that you get a bath. The stable master seemed determined to make you wallow in filth, unlike the others. For whatever reason, he didn’t like you very much.”

  She shrugged. “I like him even less.”

  “I imagine so.”

  Dawn’s jaw tightened. One day, Balo will understand exactly how little I favor him.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The two torches ahead of the caravan flickered softly. The fires were dying. Bausch held a slight apprehension of being in total darkness. Perhaps the dwarves teased, and they’d light some kindling to start a small campfire after they parked the wagon. He couldn’t imagine any race setting up camp in complete darkness overnight, but he was convinced that the dwarves had no intention of sitting around the glow of a fire.

  Total darkness.

  No idea what might be stirring around them, waiting to attack.

  Normally, the absence of light didn’t bother him. He had spent many nights camped in thick forests, and even in the dead of night, whether from the moon or a lantern; nothing was ever completely dominated by darkness. Except caverns.

  Wolf eyes glowed in the night, as did some predatory birds he had encountered. But these glowed because the reflections came from the eyes drawing the surrounding light into them. Once those two torches died, no light remained in the depths of this underground passageway. His knowledge from exploring caverns let him know that their caravan would not be alone. Other creatures or races might inhabit the cave and await an unwary party, like theirs. Should the beasts and creatures be native to the caves, their eyes had well adapted to the darkness. They didn’t need light to know where and how to strike.

  The cold cave made Lehrling shiver. Although the cold was mild compared to the harsh winter conditions outside the underground passageway, it was still quite chilly.

  In a way, Bausch held sorrow for the old man, his trainer and mentor. Lehrling’s compassion for Bausch was far greater than any father’s could be for his own son, and Bausch was thankful for everything the old man had taught him over the years.

  Lehrling’s teeth chattered as he glanced at Bausch. He asked, “And you’re still not cold?”

  Bausch laughed. “No. Not a bit.”

  The old man shook his head. “I find that hard to believe.”

  Nordun chuckled. “Aye, just wait until the wagon stops. We’ll drink strong ale and that’ll warm you up inside.”

  “I won’t refuse such an offer,” Lehrling replied.

  Bausch kept silent. So many times he had wanted to tell Lehrling about his dark secret, but he never found the courage to actually reveal who had tailored his armor deep in the heart of the Woodnog swamps. A thief in a tavern had told him about mystical beings and witches in the swamp thickets, and for a price, often one could buy enchanted weapons or other items. Nothing else was needed to prompt his curiosity to seek these things for himself. Self-constraint he lacked.

  After three agonizing days and nights of exploring the swamps, he was lost and cold during a horrible thunderstorm. He wandered aimlessly through the swampy forest until he collapsed face first into the muck. Leeches covered his body, and he shivered fiercely, unable to find warmth or shelter from the cold. The rain sluiced through the tree canopy and pelleted softly into the dark puddles around him. Battling hunger and complete exhaustion, he was ready to give up and die.

  A huge flash of lightning brightened the wet, dripping forest and the outline of a rugged hovel caught his attention. He had passed this way before and never noticed the shack. How? Was it really there or was he simply hallucinating because he was so exhausted? Pushing himself to his feet, he staggered and made his way to the rundown shack constructed from duskwood lumber, which indicated magical properties all its own. Lightning flashed again. He pressed his hand against the odd, warm door while he examined the architecture during each harsh strike of lingering lightning. The thatched roof was weaved from magical fern leaves. Talismans hung from the edge of rafters outside the only door and dangled in the storm’s wind.

  Other chimes hung and rattled with dull hollow echoes. He studied the long green-coated appendages that were strung together with thin spindles of sinews. Lightning revealed to him what these chimes were made from.

  Bones.

  The smaller set of dangling bones was human fingers. The bigger chimes looked to be massive Orc finger bones from a time long ago when a single army of this race was encountered marching through the swamps to attack Woodnog during the night. Elf watchmen along the city walls sounded no alarms. Instead they dropped the filthy green-skins with magic tipped arrows. The more timid Orcs retreated in hopes of getting back to their ship hidden south of Misthalls port, but quicksand and swamp creatures picked them off one by one.

  Bausch turned his attention from the wind chimes and stared at the rusted doorknocker that was the face of a serpent with ruby eyes. The stones peered cold and glowed ever so slightly when he reached for the large iron ring in its mouth. He hesitated, almost expecting the serpent to come to life and strike his hand. His eyes closed and his head lulled to the side. He shook his head to jar his alertness back. Gripping the iron ring tightly, he knocked three times on the weathered door.

  The door creaked and slowly swung inward. Flickering light spilled from the room and surrounded him on the crude slated porch. His eyes adjusted to the dozens of candles that burned beyond the door. Warmth flowed and hugged his shivering body, beckoning him to enter. Fire crackled and popped in the fireplace.

  An old hooded woman sat in a rocking chair that squeaked while she rocked. A spinning wheel rested next to her chair. A large gray lynx lay curled near the fire.

  “Come in, young man,” the lady said. “Weather’s atrocious. You’ll catch your death of cold out there.”

  Crude laughter escaped her mouth and echoed in his ears like hypnotic musical chimes. Everything blurred for a moment as dizziness overcame him. Placing his hand against the doorframe, he leaned to steady himself.

  “Sit,” the woman said, pointing toward a chair near the fire. “Warm yourself.”

  Bausch blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. Finally, he took a cautious step and felt less lightheaded. He reached to close the door, but it shut itself before his fingers ever touched it. He shook his head and made his way to the chair to sit down. The chair moaned beneath his weight. Water dripped from his face and clothes and meandered down until a pool outlined the chair beneath him. His muddy boots, matted with broken fern fronds and twigs, had also left a gooey path across her floor.

  Noticing this, he started to rise as he said, “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of your floor.”

  “Nonsense,” the woman said with a scratchy voice. “It will dry from the fire’s heat.”

  The woman’s wrinkled face remained partially hidden by her hood. Her pale skin almost looked bruised where the spider veins surfaced. She raised her head slightly until he could see her eyes. They were white with barely an outline of where her irises and pupils should be. As best he could tell she was blind, just like the beggars on the outskirts of the major cities.

  “What brings you here into the depths of Woodnog Swamps?” she asked in a pain-filled, raspy tone.

  “Magic,” he replied through shaky lips, still trying to find warmth to compensate the cold that numbed his body.

  She laughed and leaned back into her chair. “Magic? For what purpose? I take it that most of the Dragon Skull Order frowns on that sort of tie? Perhaps that is why you journeyed here . . . alone? Lehrling wouldn’t like it if he knew you were here, would he?”

  Bausch’s head jerked in surprise. “How do you know these things?”

  She chuckled; the wrinkles around her lips made her mouth appear drawn in, and then she shook her head. “Young man, the very thing you seek tells me who you are and why you are here.”

  Her gravelly voice sent a new wa
ve of chills through his body.

  “You wear the silver pendant, knight. There’s no denying whom you are with.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but your eyes. Aren’t you blind?”

  “In the physical sense, yes. I see nothing on the physical plane with these old eyes. But, on the spiritual plane, many more things are revealed to me. You will learn in time.”

  Bausch leaned closer to the fire to warm his hands and his face, but the fire did little to alleviate the chill that had worked its way to his soul. He believed that he could have walked into the fire and not felt a blister form. He’d never known cold like this, not even in the snowy mountain peaks.

  A large black pot filled with bubbling soup hung over the fire. The savory aroma increased his hunger pangs.

  “Do you have a name by which I can call you?” Bausch asked, afraid to look into the dead whites of her eyes again.

  “Moorsis,” she whispered with a near toothless smile.

  “Moorsis,” he said. “I have a little silver and gold. I’d be happy to pay for a bowl of soup.”

  “Help yourself. Coins don’t benefit me in the swamp.”

  Bausch hugged himself and more water dripped from his clothes and long hair. “Then tomorrow, I’ll chop wood for you. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Ladle and bowls are in that cupboard,” Moorsis said, pointing.

  Still rubbing his arms to find warmth, he stood and walked to the cupboard, found a ladle and a bowl, and quickly headed back to the fireplace. The lynx opened one lazy eye and watched him approach. The lethargic feline closed its eye and went back to sleep.

  With trembling hands, Bausch scooped soup and poured it into the bowl. Steam rose and wafted toward his nose. He inhaled deeply, turned, and sat down again.

  “What is it that you seek, Bausch?” she asked.

  “I’d like an enchanted dagger or sword.”

  “Are you not already capable of using such a weapon efficiently?”

  “Of course I can.”

  “Then added magic won’t help you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Magic aids only to increase something you truly desire or need. Weapons won’t better you if you’re already skilled.”

  Bausch frowned, slurped soup from his bowl, and nodded. “Okay, then. What do you suggest?”

  “In your present condition, what is it you need the most?” she asked.

  “Warmth. Heat.”

  Moorsis grinned. “Yes. You don’t take well to the elements of nature, do you?”

  “Not after three days of exploring these swamps. I can’t seem to get warm.”

  “Then what you need is armor that never allows you to suffer in whatever climate you encounter—blistering hot or icy cold. I’m a seamstress, and I can make such armor. But, at a price.”

  Bausch’s body shook. The room seemed much colder than the weather outside. Chill bumps pimpled his skin. “You said that silver or gold are worthless to you, so what’s the price?”

  “You must give homage and allegiance to Lez’minx, the god that I serve and the one who grants me this power.”

  Bausch frowned. “This is a god I’ve never heard of.”

  “Most never venture this far into the swamps. You have sought and now you’ve found. The choice is yours. Accept the gift I shall make you and offer your loyalty to Lez’minx, or you are free to go in the morning, the same adventurer you were when you knocked upon my door. Minus the gift, of course.”

  Bausch drank more of the soup’s broth and stared back at the door. Lightning brightened outside and flashed through the door’s narrow edges. Thunder followed. In spite of the fire and the hot soup, he ached to his core with cold. Should he refuse her offer and return to the swamps, he feared he’d never rid himself of the chills that rattled his bones. He doubted he’d get out of the swamps alive.

  “I . . . I accept your gift.”

  A sly grin spread across Moorsis’ face. “Good. Let’s get started. Bring me the leather materials from the table over there. Also, bring my spool of enchanted thread, and I’ll do the rest.”

  Bausch set the empty soup bowl on a table near the cupboard and walked to the other table. He studied all the thick cut leather pieces, which looked to be just enough to pattern one set of armor from his neck to his ankles. Exactly enough material.

  Odd, he thought. It seemed she had been expecting him, or had Fate predetermined he was to be here? Then there was the god that he had never heard of before this strange cold, rainy night. He didn’t like the thought of venturing further into the dangerous swamp to pay homage to a god he didn’t recognize.

  “You journeyed three days in these swamps?” she asked.

  “I did.”

  “On foot?”

  “Not at first.”

  “I see.”

  Bausch sighed. “I lost my mare in quicksand two days ago.”

  “A small sacrifice to find me.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “In time, you’ll see. Now, young man, the leather.”

  In the candlelight he reached for a piece of the leather. His skin was eerily blue. His breath was visible when he exhaled. He cautiously picked up the leather.

  “You’re here for more than just magic, aren’t you, Bausch?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s an emptiness inside you. A hollowness you wish to fill. That’s why you’re here.”

  Bausch brought several pieces of leather to Moorsis and carefully set them on her small table in front of her chair.

  The old woman set the leather into place and began sewing the pieces together. “Lehrling has helped fill the void, has he not?”

  “He has done much for me.”

  “Indeed, but what you seek here is something more than just a substitute father, which is another reason you need to seek out Lez’minx after this enchanted armor is completed.”

  Bausch watched Moorsis stitch together the leather. The silver thread glimmered with little sparks of blue as she punched the needle through the leather. Had he not seen her eyes, he’d have never thought her to be blind. Her skillful hands moved without hesitation and with such precision it seemed she had full clarity of sight.

  “Where is this god, Lez’minx?” he asked.

  “His temple is deep inside a cavern in the Woodnog swamp. You must seek him out.”

  “Why?”

  “To seek his added blessings and constant protection. Such is a necessity, especially since you’ve sought to obtain something blessed by his magic.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Moorsis paused from her sewing. Her frozen blind eyes moved to focus on him. The dead gaze was haunting. Her silence disturbed him. He shivered again, chilled to the bone. Puffy white clouds escaped his mouth and nose when he exhaled. The room temperature plummeted. He feared he was being tugged between spiritual planes or toward a different realm. Was he on the edge of madness or was it simply a bad dream? For the first time since he had entered the swamps, he wondered if his lust for a magically enchanted item cost far more than he had been willing to pay.

  She returned to pulling the enchanted thread through the leather, but her odd eyes still fastened toward him. She had admitted that she was physically blind, and if so, why was she staring at him? Was she looking deeper into his mind or his soul?

  Moorsis shook her head slightly and said, “Why would you not? Not paying tribute would only bring his wrath upon you and a curse.”

  Bausch didn’t reply. He swallowed hard, trying to quash his sudden fear before it infested his soul. He stood closer to the fire and stared intently at the flames, almost mesmerized, still trying to find warmth.

  The following three days he chopped firewood for the old woman and kept the inside fire roaring hot, but the cold that possessed him didn’t cease or lessen. He also tended to any repairs she needed inside her rundown shack. He was happy to oblige, and even did some hunting to give the woman fresher meat for her sou
ps and stews. At the end of the three days, she handed him a perfect set of armor. In appearance, it looked normal, without any magical attributes at all.

  Bausch put the armor on and within seconds all of his chills vanished.

  “It is as you requested,” she said.

  Moorsis walked with him to the door, and as he was preparing to leave, she pointed toward the darker recesses of the swamp where light didn’t dare pierce the overhead canopy. “Lez’minx’s cavern temple is yonder. The aged path that cuts through the duskwood trees will lead you to his temple cavern. Go find him.”

  At least the rain had stopped, but buzzing mosquitoes and other insects formed small blood-seeking clouds. To his surprise, some invisible shield around him repelled the insects.

  “The armor?” he wondered.

  “Go on,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”

  Bausch nodded but couldn’t suppress the rising lump in his throat. Although he was thankful for the armor, he was reluctant to seek the god responsible for its blessing. It was one of the few times in his life that he had known paralyzing fear. The uncertainty of what lay beyond made him grip the hilt of his sword, but he understood that the blade did little to combat magic or the supernatural. He took a deep breath and held it.

  “Hurry on,” Moorsis said. “Before night falls.”

  He walked toward the direction the old woman pointed, and after she had shut the door, he quickly changed his direction.

  “Bausch! You okay?” Lehrling shouted, snapping Bausch back to the present.

  He shook his head and glanced at his mentor. “Yes, sorry. Just in a mind dream.”

  “Quite a dream there, lad,” Nordun said. “More like a trance. Took a while for Lehrling to get your attention.”

  Sheepishly, Bausch offered a slight smile.

  Lehrling smiled. “He’s probably still thinking about Sarey.”

  “Oh!” Drucis said, eavesdropping on the conversation. “A woman has bewitched him with her wiles, eh? No wonder he doesn’t want to be thinking of things presently around him.”

  “No, it wasn’t her,” Bausch said evenly.