Child Of Storms (Volume 1)

by Alexander DePalma

  “Aye, the Teeth of Kaas,” Ironhelm grumbled.

  “What? Teeth of Kaas?” Stormbearer said.

  “They are a pair of tall mountains, rising considerably higher than the mountains all around them,” Braemorgan explained. “Positioned close to one another, the effect they present from a distance is rather like a set of fangs. They mark the entrance into the valley. They can be seen, on a clear day, from as far as thirty miles away so you should not have any difficulty finding them. Once you’ve found a way through the Teeth you should be able to find the temple readily enough.”

  “When you have located the temple, it will be an easy matter to spot the collapsed observation tower to the south. I would advise approaching it at night to avoid detection. The Cult keeps only a very light guard there, nothing to trouble you whatsoever. The High Priest of the Cult, a wizard by the name of Faxon, hasn’t given much thought to the tunnel. Perhaps he considers it impassable, or does not suspect that anyone would think to use it.”

  “Faxon is there?” Jorn said.

  “Indeed he is,” Braemorgan said. “I would not advise going out of your way to encounter him, either. By all reports, he is a very powerful wizard. Your task is to locate the vessel, steal it, and get out of there. Besides, without me to do battle with him directly, he could quite possibly defeat you all if it came to combat.”

  “You mean you’re not coming with us?” Jorn said.

  “I cannot,” Braemorgan said. “It is most unfortunate, I know.”

  “Ach,” Ironhelm moaned. “We’ll have need of you.”

  “It cannot be helped,” Braemorgan said. “After learning how to infiltrate the temple, I returned back across the sea and landed at Rivergate and summoned all of you to help me in this endeavor. But waiting for me was a letter summoning me away on urgent business. It seems I am the only person the Kings of Brithborea and Shalfur will accept as mediator to avert their plunge headlong into war. I’ve been specifically granted one last chance to negotiate a peace between them in but one week, and they will accept no one else nor any postponement. King Uilric’s new Chief Minister is a Sollistorean elf who insists it be me and no other.”

  “Aye, I’ve heard men speak of this Talfryn,” Ironhelm said. “A Sollistorean outside of Sollistore is a rare thing, it is.”

  “It is an occurrence heretofore almost unheard of,” Braemorgan said. “Talfryn has Uilric wrapped around his elfin thumb and the king refuses to listen to anyone else. I have no idea why Uilric has such faith in this elf that has him on the brink of war with a more powerful neighbor. Nor have I the slightest idea why Talfryn insists I and I alone can mediate the disagreement. If Brithborea goes to war with Shalfur, Llangellan cannot count on her aid should the Cult invade.”

  “So there you have it. At the very time when my wizardry could be so useful, I am called elsewhere. Ronias is a wizard of much experience, however. In my absence, he will have to do. Now…one other thing: A wizard’s power is enhanced or diminished relative to the phases of the moon, as you may know. The night of the double full moons is the only night on which the most powerful of spells can be cast. Such is the case with calling forth Amundágor’s soul from the vessel. You thus have four weeks to perform this task, for both moons will not be full until the Sixth of Cerenor. My hope is the alliance of evil beings held together by the promise of Amundágor’s return will fall apart once he doesn’t appear on the appointed night, but that still may not prevent an invasion. Gruk hordes will seek plunder, whatever the case. Invasion will come no matter what we do. But if Amundágor is prevented from returning, I think it becomes a war we should win. Without him, the Cult alliance will crumble at the first sign of stress.”

  “Only if Brithborea can be dissuaded from war with Shalfur and instead convinced to turn south against the forces of the Cult,” Ailric added. “The Knights will fight alongside Llangellan in this fight, I’m sure, but Llangellan and Havenwood are going to need help. Faerfachen will send what they can, but the gnomes are not nearly strong enough to make much difference. We’ll need Brithborea.”

  “And thus I’ve no choice but to head north in the morning,” Braemorgan went on. “Brithborea must be brought on board, at all costs. You shall head east towards your task of snatching the vessel. I think you see this has a substantial chance of success. You can be at the temple, get the skull, and have it in my hands as much as a week before the appointed day of Amundágor’s return if there are no setbacks.”

  “It is possible, gentleman, that Amundágor may be beaten again even if you fail to stop his return. The odds, however, are not good. The Cult seems to have more forces at their disposal, far more than the first time around. They also hold The Westmark and the western shores of the Bachwy Bay, making an invasion of Linlund much easier. A hundred years ago the invasion of the north, launched at the same time Llangellan was attacked, was halted at the high mountain passes bordering The Westmark. The Cult now holds those very passes. Einar is even building a mighty navy with Cult funds. Wouldn’t you like to strike at Einar, Jorn? Then strike at the ones who fund him! You’ll be cutting off his legs right out from under him. What say you to that?”

  “We would still need the troops to dislodge him,” Jorn said. “He will not just step down because his Cult allies are gone.”

  “Most correct,” Braemorgan said. “But he will be much weakened. His berserkers and gruks will go home and you will find allies much easier to obtain than before against such a weakened foe. You have my word that after the vessel is in our hands and the threat to the Southlands destroyed, I shall make certain you have your troops. It will be my sole priority.”

  “Grang’s teeth! I’m in!” Jorn shouted, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. He turned towards Stormbearer. “Max?”

  “I’ve never been one for causes,” Stormbearer said. “The man who fights for the benefit of others is a fool, I always say, but I can see certain advantages for myself in all of this. Yes…count me in, as well.”

  “Aye. And me,” Ironhelm said.

  “And I as well,” announced an ashen-faced Willock. He looked like a man who had just been sentenced to death. “I will do whatever I must in defense of Llangellan.”

  “What a glorious quest!” Sir Ailric said. He seemed oddly elated by the whole prospect. “The Knights of Havenwood shall not go unrepresented in this endeavor! I shall lead you all.”

  “Grang’s ass you will!” Jorn growled.

  “There is no need to elect any leader,” Braemorgan said. “I am sure you can complete your task without resort to hierarchies.”

  Jorn said nothing, taking another drink of ale and glaring at Ailric. Braemorgan turned towards the elf.

  “Ronias?”

  “What is in it for me?” the elf rasped.

  “You will be adequately compensated,” Braemorgan said. “I know what it is you seek, and you know that I can provide it for you. This is your only opportunity and you would be well advised to take it. My offer is good for exactly ten seconds.”

  “Very well,” Ronias said. “I will go, but I shall hold you to your promise.”

  “Then that settles it,” Braemorgan said. “Get to the temple, snatch the vessel, then bring it to me. It can probably only be destroyed by magic, if at all, so don’t attempt its destruction yourselves. You shall meet me at Glammonfore Keep five weeks from today. We shall decide at that point exactly what to do with it. Perhaps the vessel will have to go into safekeeping again until it can be figured out how to destroy it."

  Braemorgan paused again, taking a long puff from his pipe.

  "So there you have it,” he said. “I take your commitments as solemn oaths.”

  “Oaths should be sealed in blood,” Ironhelm said. “Aye, or with drink.”

  “Without a doubt,” Braemorgan said, nodding. He put aside his pipe and rose from the table. He picked up his mug of wine and held it out before him. The others picked up their own mugs and rose along with him.

  “To the que
st before you,” the wizard said.

  They clanged the mugs together and drained them.

  _____

  The inn was quiet, everyone gone to bed. The only sounds in the common room were the rain beating against the window panes and the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. Jorn sat by the fire. A bottle, a mug, and a small leather pouch on the table beside him. Leaning forward, he poured some more of the amber fluid from the bottle into the mug. Picking up the pouch, he sprinkled a little of the ground mixture within into the whiskey.

  He sipped the concoction as he stared at the small copper amulet in his hand. The amulet, no larger than a coin, was carved into the shape of a crudely-formed oak leaf and attached to a plain leather cord. Jorn held it up, the flickering firelight dancing upon its surface. He took another sip.

  “Do you mind if I share a drink with you?” Braemorgan asked.

  Jorn started in surprise. He hadn’t heard the wizard approach.

  “Be my guest,” Jorn said. “Say what you want about these damned Southlanders, they make good whiskey.”

  Braemorgan sat down next to Jorn. He picked up the bottle and poured himself a little of the drink. The bottle was light, almost empty.

  The wizard noticed the pouch.

  “You still take flannae?” Braemorgan said.

  “It dulls the shoulder pain,” Jorn said.

  “I see,” Braemorgan observed. “You’re up late again.”

  “So are you.”

  “I thought I might have a puff of my pipe by the fire. There is much on my mind. Glenaevon still weighs heavily on your mind, I perceive.”

  Jorn glared at the wizard, taking another gulp of the whiskey.

  “How could it not?” he growled.

  “You blame yourself.”

  “Who else? And Einar. Grang’s teeth, I’ll see him dead!”

  “You have been consumed with rage ever since you left Glenaevon,” Braemorgan said. “Your nights are spent staring into fires getting drunk enough to pass out, your days bleary-eyed, hung-over, and wallowing in anger.”

  “What of it?”

  “Consider this,” Braemorgan said. “If a man lives only for vengeance, then he will have nothing left to live for after it has been granted him.”

  _____

  The morning dawned overcast and cool, a light breeze coming from out of the east. It was no longer raining, but the road through town was wet and muddy. A sparse fog blanketed the quiet village and the silent woods all around.

  The travelers were up early, saying little as they saddled horses and packed supplies.

  Some distance away from the others, on the far side of the old stone bridge by the mill, Braemorgan and Ironhelm strolled along the road and up the hill overlooking the village. They reached the hilltop. Turning, they looked back down upon the fog-shrouded rooftops of the village below.

  "You won’t be disappointed," the wizard said.

  "Ach. I hope not," Ironhelm snorted. “They’re both awfully young, they are. Aye, and as hot-tempered as pair of wounded boars."

  "Jorn is a seasoned fighter,” Braemorgan said. “You know that. Besides, the prophecy insists he must come along. As for Sir Ailric, I can assure you that he is an exceptional knight who has seen much battle.”

  “Aye, and wha’ about this Willock?” Ironhelm said.

  “What of him?” Braemorgan said. “He’s as skilled a scout and tracker as I’ve known and is perhaps the best archer in all of Llangellan. He will not let you down.”

  “Wha’ about Stormbearer?” Ironhelm said. “Is the laddie good enough to get us through tha’ Guardian tunnel?”

  “You sound skeptical, Durm,” Braemorgan said.

  “I wonder why you picked him,” Ironhelm said. “After all, the gnome is barely a day’s -”

  “Stormbearer is among the very best at his trade,” the wizard snapped. “At least as good as the gnome. Perhaps even better.”

  "I don’t believe tha’ one bit,” Ironhelm said. “The gnome may be a pompous little ass, tis true, but he’s the best damned trapbreaker there is.”

  “I’m not about to go to that greedy little rat begging him to join this expedition,” Braemorgan said. “He still insists I owed him a certain unpaid sum, and would likely demand the imaginary debt be paid in full - with interest, I am sure! - before agreeing to go. I’m not so reduced in circumstances to humiliate myself in that manner. Stormbearer will do.”

  “Aye, if you say so,” Ironhelm said.

  Ironhelm’s gaze fell upon the meadow to his left. He stopped, staring at the fog-cloaked woods beyond.

  "What is it?" Braemorgan asked.

  "Something I keep thinking abou’," Ironhelm said. "Last night, as I passed by here, I could’ve sworn for just a moment something was in those trees there. Aye, it was watching me, it was, and then took off."

  "Oh? What do you think it was?"

  "I thought for a moment it was a gruk. It smelled like one, it did, but there’re no gruks in these parts. Aye, not for hundreds of miles."

  "These days one can never be sure.”

  "It was a deer. Aye, had to be."

  The Wizard frowned.

  “There are reports of increased gruk activity to the south,” he said. “I left King Geirwen only two days ago and heard tale of it. Troops are to be shifted there and messengers have been sent out calling the nobles to their duty. He is good a man, intelligent too, both being rarities among monarchs. I fear he’ll be too cautious when the attack comes, however, for he is given to tentativeness and self-deliberation. It’s not his fault, you know. He never thought he’d be king, not with two older brothers. Now he finds himself ruler over a vast realm on the brink of war.”

  They started back towards the village, the dwarf scanning the sky for signs of improved weather. Braemorgan remained silent, lost in thought.

  "It’ll be slow going today, aye, it will," Ironhelm observed. "The road is muddy as all hell."

  "I will go with you as far as the crossroads a half dozen miles east," Braemorgan said. "Then I turn north, and you will be on your own. One last thing…"

  Braemorgan produced a small pouch and handed it to Ironhelm.

  "That should provide adequate funds in case of any, um, unforeseen emergencies which might arise," he said.

  Ironhelm nodded, tucking the pouch into the small satchel at his side.

  “The laddie looks well enough,” Ironhelm said. “Seems he’s recovered from his wound. Aye, tis true.”

  “Oh, yes,” Braemorgan said. “It took time, but he’s strong as ever. If the prophecies are as I have interpreted them, he will be decisive in defeating Amundágor with this quest. Guide him well, Durm.”

  “Aye, I will. Was the laddie hiding on Glaenavon all this time?”

  “It is a long story, old friend, and too long a tale for today.” Braemorgan scanned the sky. “Ah, look there! I believe that is a bit of blue sky over yonder.”

  _____

  Jorn finished saddling his horse, glancing up the slope where the wizard and the dwarf stood talking. They were well out of earshot.

  “How can you be sure?” Stormbearer was asking Willock. Jorn had no idea what they were talking about, distracted and constantly glancing up at the hill.

  “Long experience,” Willock answered. “By midday, the sun will be out and all these clouds will be gone.”

  “Are you woodsman or soothsayer?” Stormbearer said. “Who could know such a thing?”

  “Do you feel that breeze? Yes?” Willock said. “It’s from the east, off the mountains. A southern wind in the morning always brings dry, cool air. By midday you will be enjoying sunny weather.”

  “I should like that,” Stormbearer said. “These western lands are all too damp. You know, in Vandoria it is a much drier climate.”

  Jorn checked the straps on his saddle one last time and looked back up the hill. Ironhelm and Braemorgan were now walking towards them.

  “What the hell does Braemorgan have to say to th
e dwarf that we can’t hear?” he said. “Why must they take counsel in secret?”

  “Oh, they’re probably just talking about that barmaid’s bosom last night,” Stormbearer quipped. “Was I the only one transfixed? I didn’t hear a word Braemorgan had to say the whole night I was so distracted. Wherever are we going, by the way?”

  Ailric and Willock chuckled. Jorn smirked, turning away in silence. Ronias was sitting silently a few yards away on the front porch of the inn ignoring everyone and sipping from a metal flask.

  “I hope Braemorgan doesn’t expect me to take orders from the dwarf,” Jorn announced. “Or from any of you.”

  “Just don’t think you’ll be ordering me around, Ravenbane.” Sir Ailric said coldly. “I will not be commanded by some landless Linlundic barbarian.” He paused, eyeing Jorn. “Tell me something, Thane Ravenbane. The fall of The Westmark was a rather famous, or perhaps I should say infamous, event. We heard tale of it in Havenwood. I have an interest in history and want to make sure the accounts are accurate. Is it true that you were defeated in one-on-one combat with your cousin?”