The Nightstone

by Wil Ogden

  “Sis,” Pantros said, “It’s better for you to stay too. It’s not going to be safe. Especially if we leave James and Bouncer here.”

  Tara put a hand on Pantros shoulder and patted. “If it were going to be safe, I’d not have to go. You’re my ward, my brother. Until you see your twentieth summer, you are still a boy. I saw the hellhound. I know what danger is going to be out there. If we go by foot, we not only have demons to deal with but we have to go through some untamed lands like the Wyldes. There could be giants, trolls, Vulak and maybe even a dragon.”

  Pantros let out a derisive snort at his sister’s mention of dragons. Dragons didn’t bother people unless provoked and he hadn’t heard of any in the Wyldes.

  Tara poked his arm. “Don’t laugh. Sheillene travels by foot between Fork and here. She tells of her battles on the road.”

  Pantros knew the stories. Sheillene travelled across the continent and spent a day or two at the hedgehog twice a year. She told the same stories for as long as Pantros could remember. In more than ten years of travelling through the Wyldes, Sheillene had only four tales of personal experience with Giants or Vulak and none with trolls.

  “Isn’t she still here?” Pantros asked.

  “She left a short while ago,” Tara said. “We should follow in her footsteps. With any luck, we’ll catch her during her stay at the Backwards Trout in Stonewall. If her tales are true, she’ll be all the escort we need.”

  “You think she’ll drop her income as bard to offer us a hand?” Pantros asked.

  “You’re going to pay her more than she’d make on the stage for whatever time we need her as a guard.” Tara said.

  “Me?” Pantros asked. “What makes you think I have money?”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “You really think I can run an Inn and not notice that I have more coin in the till than I could have made by selling every bowl of soup dale cooks and every mug of beer behind the bar? I know where the money comes from. I don’t mind the extra coin, but we’ve never needed it. I do know how to run an Inn. It’s just not good business to let everyone know exactly how well we are doing. I have a little stash of all the extra money you’ve given to the till, but it’s tiny compared to yours. I found two stashes of coins and jewelry so far and I’m sure you have more around here.”

  Pantros had four. Other than the one in the basement, there was a sack stowed behind the ovens, the third stair leading up from the taproom was hollowed and filled with silver and gold, and he had several sacks of jewelry under the floorboards of his room. “Which ones did you find?”

  “There’s more than one?” Tara asked. “I lied. I only found the one behind the ovens, but I’ve never seen so much wealth. You have more than that? At least two more if you thought I knew of two and weren’t sure which ones I found.”

  “Damnit,” Pantros said. “I don’t care about the money. I do have a lot of money. But life in this pirate pit of a town is terribly boring for someone who is not into drinking and fighting as primary forms of entertainment.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you stayed. You could have run off with Bryan last year.”

  “And leave you alone here?” Pantros asked. “You’d worry too much. Bryan makes things interesting, but he likes his fun a little more dangerous than I do.”

  “You steal from people who would kill you if they found out,” Tara said.

  “I’m good and I plan everything carefully. If I can’t figure out a way to take something without significant risk, I don’t take it.”

  “Fine, Pan. But we need to go.” She looked over at Bouncer. “I assume you caught all the details of what’s happening?”

  Bouncer nodded. “Dale’s in charge while you’re gone. There’s extra money behind the ovens.”

  “Good.” Tara said then grabbed Pantros by the shoulders. “Go get whatever money you can carry easily, we’re leaving now.”

  Pantros ran upstairs and grabbed a heavy leather satchel and filled it with handfuls of coins and jewelry.

  As he came down the stairs to the taproom, James was sitting at a table with a long ornate box sitting on it. Tara sat at his side. “Come here, boy,” James said, gesturing to a seat across the table.

  “What’s this?” Pantros asked.

  James slid the box closer to Pantros as he sat down. “It’s a sword and it’s yours.” James opened the box to reveal a sheathed rapier with a polished silver bell. “My father was an axesmith and occasionally did trade with the Abvi. This here is Abvi made, not quite as good as Matderi made, but far better than you’ll find in this town or anywhere for a hundred leagues.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Pantros said. He reached for the hilt. James hand closed over Pateros’s wrist.

  “Hold up there,” James said. “This here is not even a normal Abvi sword. It’s got, um...I’m not sure how to say this…”

  “Is it cursed?” Pantros asked, pulling his hand away.

  “No, that’s not what I’d call it, but perhaps some would.” James reached into the box and gently lifted the sword by the scabbard. He seemed to carefully avoid touching the hilt or bell. “I don’t know what you know of Abvi, but when they die, they don’t really die. They transcend this world, taking their bodies with them. But that only works for Abvi that live out their full lives. When one dies early, they actually die and their souls wither and fade unless something is done to preserve it. One way to preserve it is to contain the soul in a magnificent work of art. This sword is such a work of art.”

  “You’re saying the sword is possessed?” Pantros asked. He was not so eager to take the blade and set his hands on the table.

  James nodded. “The sword is alive. It’s not able to fight on its own, but it can offer advice. I’ve never spoken to it, but it’s supposed to be the soul of a veteran warrior killed in battle. It’s dormant right now, asleep. It will wake up when drawn and it will bond to whoever pulls it from the scabbard.

  “I don’t think I want to draw it if it’s sentient. I can’t take on another responsibility right now.” Pantros said.

  “The thing is that I’ve had this sword for two centuries and my father for a few before that. We’ve never really felt right with the idea of selling it. But it needs to be drawn and have the opportunity to complete its life journey. Ideally, some day the soul will complete and it will transcend as it was meant to in life. If you’re not going to draw it, at least take it with you and give it to a worthy Abvi in Melnith. I will say that it’s one fine weapon and would not have any difficulty penetrating the thick hide of those hellhounds.

  Pantros thought about it a moment. “I can take it with me to Melnith. I hope I don’t have to draw it on the way.”

  Tara spoke for the first time since Pantros had sat at the table, “I hope so too. I’m sure you think you’re good with weapons, Pan, but the best way to avoid getting hurt in a fight is not to get in one.”

  Pantros stood and took the rapier, and emulating James’ care not to touch the hilt or bell, he buckled it onto his belt. “C’mon, sis. We need to get going.”

  Tara stood up and glanced around the empty room. “I know.”

  CHAPTER 6: CHARLES

  The village of Dragon’s Tear was little more than a large inn on the western shore of Dragon’s Tear Lake. The trail up to the inn had taken Charles and Heather three hours to climb. During that time they were passed by several carriages. When they arrived at the inn, Charles wondered if the climb had been in vain. By the look, the inn catered to the extremely wealthy and with only his sword and a blanket, Charles had no wealth.

  Heather had only an ill fitting dress which she’d taken from the mining camp since her explosion had destroyed her own.

  “The road stops here,” Heather said. “I’ve never heard of an Inn as a destination, just stops along the way to somewhere else.”

  “I’m not sure this is the place to seek food we don’t have to forage,” Charles said. “I don’t think they’d let us in the front door.” From a distan
ce the inn had looked large but modest; up close Charles could see the extremely detailed carvings in the trim surrounding every opening on the building.

  “You’re probably right about that,” A woman’s voice said, approaching them from one of the few small houses of the village. The woman wore an apron and had several utensils hanging from its straps. “The menu in the Inn of the Dragon’s Breath is usually simple but the prices start at several silver coins. By the looks of you, you haven’t had a decent meal in a week, and your wardrobe is worse off than you.”

  “Would you believe we were attacked by a dragon?” Heather asked.

  “Just by your appearance, I would,” the woman answered. “But dragons aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t attack a man carrying a sword. There’s not enough meat on a man to make it worth the risk. Cows on the other hand are plenty of meat without much risk of being run through. This is one of the few places south of the great range where dragons can be found, but I’ve never heard of one attacking a person.”

  Charles stepped up to the woman and offered his hand in greeting. “We’re from a little mining town up north, Blackstone. There was an explosion and most of the town was destroyed. My name is Charles and this is Heather.”

  “I’m Amanda,” the woman said. “I do all the cooking at the inn. I might be able to get you a meal or two, but I’d feel better about it if you could offer something in return.”

  “We’re blacksmiths,” Charles said. “If you have need of that kind of work, we could offer a trade.”

  Amanda pointed to a building at the edge of town with a trail of black smoke pouring from the chimney. “We have a blacksmith, a young lad who just became a master, not much older than you. But I do have smithy work if you’re the right kind of iron worker.”

  “What kind would that be?” Charles asked. “Iron is iron, heat it, hammer it, and cool it. We can make just about anything if we could borrow your smith’s tools and shop.”

  “Gus’s is good at making things do exactly what they’re supposed to do,” Amanda said. “He has no sense for the aesthetic. I need a couple iron dragons to hang by the front door; they should look like they’re breathing fire. I keep asking Gus, but he’s not giving the job any priority since he can’t understand the purpose of them.”

  “Sure we could do that,” Charles said. “Are you looking for cast or wrought iron?”

  “Wrought,” Amanda said. “I just think it would look better from a distance. They should be this tall each.” She held her hand out at her shoulder level.

  “Should we head to the forge then?” Heather asked.

  “Let’s get you some food first,” Amanda said. “Follow me around to the side door.” As she started to walk, she added, “Occasionally guests leave some things behind. I’ll have to go through that stuff and see if there are any clothes that would fit you two.”

  §

  After a lunch of bread and some kind of lettuce that grew in the shallows of the lake, Charles and Heather headed to the blacksmith shop. Amanda had given them clothing that might have been some nobles’ hunting attire. The green and gray materials were soft leathers and heavy, layered, linen.

  “I don’t think I could get used to wearing such tight pants,” Heather said. “We might have to venture into civilization to get some proper clothes in proper colors. I like the green, but the gray and brown are not pleasing.”

  “I’m just happy to not be wearing a blanket,” Charles said.

  Gus’s shop was small and tidy with piles of iron sitting behind it in a small open barn. A young man was drawing something at a desk on the opposite side of the workshop from the forge. Charles guessed it would be Gus and called out the name.

  “Yes?” The man answered, setting his charcoal down. He walked over to Charles and Heather. “I’m the inn’s smith, any work you need should be requested through the barkeep, stable boy or innkeeper.”

  Gus wore a red leather apron over a sooty white shirt and canvas pants. He had a lithe frame like a man who hadn’t yet reached twenty. Charles, though only twenty, had a thicker body. Perhaps Gus spent more time planning and less time swinging the hammer, Charles reasoned.

  “Amanda sent us over to help you get those decorative dragons done,” Heather said.

  Gus looked at Charles and nodded, “You look like a blacksmith. As long as you know what you’re doing and stay out of my way when I need to be at the anvil, have at it. The iron’s out back. I only use iron from the Red Clans, so don’t waste it.” Gus appraised them again, then, without another word, went back to his desk and picked up his charcoal.

  “What did he mean that you look like a blacksmith?” Heather asked as they walked around back to pick out some iron from the barn. “You look like Charles to me.”

  Charles pointed to the back of his wrist. “Strong muscles here mean that I’m either a blacksmith or a carpenter. He pointed to a different part of his hand, here would mean I’m a swordsman.”

  “I guess the muscular shoulders don’t hurt,” Heather said. “Only Gus isn’t as muscular as you, I wouldn’t have noticed the same muscles on him.”

  “Maybe maintaining an inn takes less smithy work than maintaining a coal mine.” Charles ventured.

  Gus had a few long rods of iron among his stock so Charles picked half a dozen of them and headed back inside. The coals were barely warm, so he stirred them up and started pumping the bellows. He showed Heather how to pull the rope quick enough to speed the heating but not so fast as to burn away the coal closest to the bellows. He didn’t need to explain the whys to her; he’d done that several times in the past.

  While the forge heated up, he stepped over to a rack of tools and looked for the right tongs, hammers and cutting chisels. A thick layer of dust covered the tool rack as he leaned over to blow the dust off, he paused.

  “Heather, come here,” he said.

  She left the bellows and stepped beside him. “What?”

  “The tools,” Charles said. “Look.”

  “Gus needs a maid,” Heather said.

  “It’s not about what he needs,” Charles said. “It’s about what he doesn’t need.”

  Heather looked at him like she didn’t want to play the guessing game.

  “Something wrong?” Gus asked. He’d stepped over to the forge and pumped the bellows a couple times. “I should have two pairs of round stock tongs.”

  “Oh!” Heather said. She elbowed Charles. She then said to Gus, “But you’re not sure?” With barely a pause she continued, “You’re not sure because you don’t use your tools.”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply.” Gus seemed nervous. Charles understood why.

  “I’m implying you can do this,” Heather grabbed one of the iron rods and heated it to a red glow.”

  “Of course I can,” Gus said. “Why didn’t you answer the Wizard call?”

  “Wizard call?” Heather asked.

  “You don’t know,” Gus said. “Well you should. When I said I only use Red Clan stock, you are supposed to respond, ‘Well, it is the hottest.’ That’s how we know we’re both Wizards. The red apron is a hint to ask about the Red Clan iron too.”

  “I didn’t know,” Heather said. “I thought I was the only one.”

  “You need to be trained,” Gus said. “You need to get to Melnith or Grabarden and seek one of the schools.”

  “There are schools?” Heather asked. “I thought Wizards were extinct.”

  “There are two, and they’re very secretive.” Gus put a finger to his lips. “Find a Wizard in one of those cities using the phrase I taught you and they’ll take you to the school.”

  “I will,” Heather said.

  “Do it soon,” Gus said. “More often than not, when a Wizard is untrained, they explode, usually killing themselves and sometimes blowing their homes apart, killing their families too.

  “We might be too late for that,” Charles said. “Only when Heather had her incident, she destroyed a town.”

 
“And she survived?” Gus said. “Lady, you have too much power. Get trained and until you do, find some trollswart. It’s a relaxing herb that will help keep you calm.” He walked over to the tools and shook his head. “I guess the dust is a bit suspicious.”

  “And your muscles are too small,” Charles said. “I see you keep your forge burning as a ruse, but you should do some of your work manually to help with the charade. It will build your muscles up a bit, which would also help.”

  “Can you teach me anything?” Heather asked.

  “I could,” Gus said. “But, without the proper training you will be dangerous with anything I’d show you. Training starts with several seasons of emotion control exercises, I really don’t want an untrained Wizard around me that long, especially not one that took down a town. You can get those dragons finished, but after that, get yourself to a school.”

  CHAPTER 7: PANTROS

  The sun had just set when Pantros and Tara crossed the bridge over the Backflow River into the town of Stonewall. By the smell, Pantros could tell it was a fishing town. The largest building in the town was also the only Inn. The Backwards Trout drowned out the smell of rotting fish with the smell of cooked fish and mulled wine. As he expected, Sheillene was sitting on a chair atop a table by the hearth, strumming her mandolin. The gathered crowd was far sparser than a night at the Hedgehog and Pantros and Tara had no difficulty finding a table close to the makeshift stage.

  Sheillene silenced her instrument and stepped down from the table, apologizing to the crowd for cutting her first set short. She walked over and sat beside Tara. “I would not have expected to see you outside of your Inn, let alone this far west.”

  “It’s only a day’s travel west,” Tara said. “But, I’ve never been here before. We’ve had something happen. Or maybe I should say Pantros got himself in a bit of trouble.”

  “Someone finally caught you and you’re on the run?” Sheillene asked.

  Pantros laughed. “I didn’t get caught.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Tara said. “You got caught, but more as in caught in a trap than caught misbehaving.”