Tarah quickly picked up her father’s bow and the leather satchel and headed down the hallway towards the front door. Djeri hoisted the two bags of coin, grunting in surprise over the weight, and followed her.
She left the house and stepped into the light, briefly noticing the pile of goblinoid bodies in front of the porch before unscrolling the parchment. She squinted at the small fine penmanship. This wasn’t written in her grampa’s hand.
“Good gravy, Tarah. That’s a lot of coin,” Djeri said.
“I don’t spend much,” she said absently. “I never know when I might need it.” Except on books. She was going to need to replace her books. “You ever heard of ‘Jharro Tree sap’?”
“I’ve herd of Jharro trees,” Djeri said cautiously. “What’s on the scroll?”
“It’s a list of ingredients and amounts. I think it’s the recipe for my grampa’s resin.” Tarah said. “The stuff he used to make my armor.” She rolled the tiny scroll back up and slipped it into the leather satchel along with the small jar.
She turned back and looked at her house. “I can’t live here anymore.”
“You know, it’s not so bad really,” Djeri said, rubbing his chin. “After our mission’s over, we can come back. I’m sure some of the Pinewood boys would help. We could clean the place up and sand off the carvings, make it good as new.”
“No,” Tarah said with a shake of her head. “All the memories are gone. This place just ain’t my home anymore.”
“You know . . .” Djeri paused thoughtfully. “Whatever those goblinoids did, they can’t really take your memories away. Even if your magic-.”
“No matter what we did with the place, it wouldn’t be the same,” she said. “They didn’t just take away my family’s memories. They replaced them with their own.”
I’ll never truly be gone, Tarah, her papa said. The memory bubbled to the surface. He was in bed. The rot had taken his vitality and he barely had strength to lift the finger he placed on her forehead. I’ll always be with you in here.
“You can scrub those away too eventually,” Djeri suggested.
“Stop,” Tarah said, raising a warning hand.
“Then what do you want to do?” Djeri asked.
Tarah Woodblade takes action, Grampa Rolf said.
Tarah looked back at the house, her jaw set in anger. “We drag those monsters’ corpses inside. Then we burn it to the ground.”
“Burn down your home?”
Tarah nodded grimly. “If I ever live here again, I’ll be starting from scratch.”
Chapter Twelve
While Djeri went to retrieve Neddy, Tarah took a solitary trip around the side of the hill to her papa’s gravesite. It looked much like she had feared. The ogre had dug it up and thrown aside the heavy stones she’d laid on top of it. Her papa’s bones had been piled on the ground next to the grave.
Tenderly, she placed each bone back in the grave. No flashes of memory entered her mind while she did so. Bones didn’t keep a memory. It was an oddity with the magic that Tarah had never understood, but she was grateful for it now.
Her trail shovel had been left with the mule, but instead of heading back for it, she used a flat rock and scrapped the dirt back in. It was hard work, but Tarah did it reverently. By the time she was finished replacing the stones on top of the grave, she was sweaty and dirty and her back was sore.
Tarah headed back towards the house feeling worn-out and emotionally drained. The moonrat mother had marked her for death and even though she still drew breath, Tarah felt like part of her had died. She had been uprooted. She had no home. All that was left was to bury that part of her past.
Your survival is the most important thing, Grampa Rolf reminded. At the moment, she didn’t know if she agreed.
When Tarah returned to the house, she saw Neddy standing outside. Djeri was having some difficulty pulling Clobber’s body in through the front door. The ogre’s legs were inside, but his upper body was wedged in the doorframe.
“Hello, Neddy,” Tarah said, patting the mule’s head before going to help Djeri out.
Together, they got the ogre’s body turned and pulled inside next to the others. Once they had finished, they loaded up the front room with any flammable debris they could find. Then they set to clearing away all leaves and fallen branches from around the house. Tarah would have felt incredibly guilty if they mourned her loss by burning down half the forest.
The sun was fading into the treetops when Tarah started the fire. She lit a stack of tinder just inside the front door. The flames spread fast. Soon they poured out the door and licked along the thatched roof. Tarah found it frightening how quickly her home burned.
Djeri walked up and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as they watched the fire rise. Tarah’s face was wet, though she didn’t feel the tears.
“What do you want to do with this?” Djeri asked. He held out her papa’s sword. “I took the scabbard off of the ogre before I dragged it in. It’s in surprisingly good shape considering.”
“You mean considering the fact that it spent the last ten years in the ground?” Tarah reached out hesitantly and touched the hilt. The memory that flashed through her mind was no longer the ogre’s. This one was more recent, full of Djeri’s sadness for her as she had left the sword in his arms. She gave the dwarf a thoughtful look.
“I don’t know what to do.” She had considered throwing it into the fire and letting it be buried in the rubble, but now she wasn’t so sure. A strange impulse overcame her and she found herself saying, “Why don’t you hold onto it for now?”
“Me,” he said in surprise. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Just until you find a replacement for your mace,” she suggested and added half-mockingly. “You do know how to use a greatsword, don’t you? It’s not too big?”
A half smile touched his face. “Woman, I might be young for a dwarf, but I’m a hundred and fifty years old. I’ve used about every weapon there is and I have two greatswords in my collection at home. Still,” he said, turning the sword over in his hands. “I’ve never used one quite this nice. Are you sure?”
“For now,” Tarah said. She liked the idea of Djeri’s memories washing the ogre’s away. “Just until you find a replacement.”
Djeri nodded slowly. “Thank you. I’m honored.”
“And you should be. My papa was a legend,” Tarah said, taking the sword from him. “Now turn around and I’ll help you belt it on.”
Tarah set the scabbard diagonally across Djeri’s back. The dwarf was right. It was in good shape. The wooden sheath was uncracked and the leather barely weathered. Her papa had kept it well oiled.
While she adjusted the straps, Djeri said, “Tell me about your papa. Who was he? The way you talk about him tells me he was an academy man.”
“His name was Gad the Brawler,” she said. “He was Berserker Guild.”
“Gad the Brawler?” Djeri said in astonishment. His jaw worked for a moment. “You’re kidding! You were right about him being a legend. Why he could have been guildmaster.”
“They offered it to him twice,” Tarah said. “But papa never liked being in charge. He just wanted to fight. He was happy to serve under Tamboor the Fearless until the berserkers were disbanded.”
Djeri reached up and grasped the pommel of the sword. Tarah had belted it on at just the right angle and the blade slid free of the scabbard with one long pull of his arm. The blade gleamed in the firelight as he shifted his body into an offensive stance. “Then this sword is the Ramsetter?”
“Yeah,” she said. The sword was huge in his hands and yet somehow it looked right. “Papa got it as a gift from some king or other after a mission. I don’t know all the details. He didn’t brag about it much. When it came to his academy days, he preferred talking about the other warriors.”
“Anyone who’s been through history classes at the academy knows about this sword.” Djeri said, shaking his head. “Made by a master smith, runed for carvi
ng through armor like it was paper. No wonder it nearly cut my mace in two.”
“I warned you,” Tarah said. “When that ogre swung the second time, I was sure you were dead.”
“If that ugly mace of mine hadn’t been so thick and stubborn I would have been.” Djeri shook his head. “I’m still mad about that, by the way.” He slid the blade back into its scabbard. “So tell me. How did Gad the Brawler and his daughter end up living out here all alone?”
Tarah’s brow furrowed in indecision as she stared at the climbing blaze. She never told clients about her past. Grampa Rolf had warned against it. Whenever someone asked her where she was from, she’d say, ‘I was born in the forest and raised by squirrels until I was big enough to kill moonrats.’ Or. ‘Tarah Woodblade wasn’t born. I just appeared one day, cutting myself free from a bear’s belly.’ She had a dozen of them and usually she’d just repeat new ones until the client stopped asking. But she’d already told Djeri some of her biggest secrets. Why stop now?
She took a deep breath. “When the academy got rid of the berserkers, papa could’ve done anything, I guess. He could’ve stayed and joined the swordsmanship guild like Tamboor did or he could’ve joined about any army in the world, but he decided to retire. Momma wanted to stay in Reneul, but papa hated living in the city, so they compromised and moved out here, close to Pinewood where momma was born.”
She paused, letting the light of the flames create afterimages in her vision. “They were happy for a few years, but momma died when I was real young. Papa decided to stay here and raise me in the woods. He liked living in the country. You know, away from his fame. Besides, he didn’t want me learning life from city folk.”
“Did you like it here?” Djeri asked.
Tarah looked down, “I loved being with papa. He taught me how to survive. How to hunt. Taught me everything I know about the bow.”
“Really?” Djeri said. “I didn’t know Gad the Brawler was a bowman.”
“Well, there ain’t much call for berserkers to use a bow, is there?” she said. “Bow hunting was his hobby. That, and tracking.”
“Huh. Well, I guess you can’t know everything about a man from his legend,” the dwarf said. “Did he teach you staff-work too?”
“No. That was Grampa Rolf. He gave my staff to me as a birthday gift when I turned twelve.” She smiled. “Papa didn’t like it. Thought it was too fancy. To tell you the truth, he just plain didn’t like Grampa Rolf. He was my momma’s father, see? Papa thought he was a bad influence on me.
“Anyway, my papa taught me what he knew about staff fighting, which was limited, but when he knew he was dying, he sent Grampa Rolf a message, asking him to take care of me. At least, that’s what Grampa Rolf said.”
“What happened to your father?” Djeri asked.
“He caught the rot,” she said, shrugging.
“Wow.” Djeri shook his head. “It seems such a shame a man like Gad going that way.”
“Yeah, I guess you dwarfs don’t have to worry about that,” Tarah said, not noticing Djeri wince. “Seems everyone I lose dies from sickness. I was sixteen when papa died. Grampa Rolf left me about six years ago. He was getting old and got a bad case of red-lung when I was out guiding some folks. By the time I got home, he was too sick to move.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Djeri said, cocking his head at her as if gauging something.
“It’s life, I guess. ‘Folks come and go and you’re left to keep living with what they taught you,’” Tarah said, quoting one of her Grampa’s sayings. “Momma taught me how to read. Pappa taught me how to track and how to survive. Grampa taught me staff work and business. Now I’m on my own.”
Her house was completely engulfed now. The fire had grown so hot, Tarah had to back away for fear it would burn her skin. She took a few steps backward, bumping into the mule.
“What about the Sampo Guidesman Guild?” Djeri asked. “I hear they’re like family.”
Tarah snorted. “Yeah, right. The men might be close, but they only put up with me because of my name. A few of ‘em are okay, but for the most part, they’re like a boy’s club that don’t really want a woman in their group.”
“They can eat turds, then,” said Djeri with a scowl. “You should join the academy when this mission is over. You’d get in, I’m sure of it. You’re already a better shot than most of our bowmen and your abilities would make you invaluable as a scout.”
Tarah looked at Djeri, smiling. “Thanks for that. I’ve thought about it, you know. Being academy like my papa. But he told me long ago that he didn’t want me to be a warrior. He said to stay a woodsman. Tracking and guiding are good, respectable trades.”
Djeri looked at her and shook his head. “Well I’m not going to tell you what to do with your life, but I’m afraid your thinking is just a little off. Whether you’re academy trained or not, you’re already a warrior.”
They unpacked their bedrolls and ate dinner. Then as soon as the flames died down enough that they were sure the forest wouldn’t ignite, they moved to the other side of the clearing and went to sleep. Or at least that was the plan. Tarah stayed awake a long while watching her house crumble to embers as Djeri’s words kept tumbling over and over in her mind. He really thought she was a warrior? Good thing he didn’t know how scared she was all the time.
In her dreams that night she fought the moonrat man amongst the burning embers of her house. Her papa and grampa were there cheering her on, but Djeri was yelling at her to get out of there. Slowly she realized that the glowing coals had eaten through the soles of her boots and flames were licking up her legs.
She ran from the house just in time to see dark figures dragging Djeri away. Tarah chased after them as the flames crept higher and higher up her body. Then she saw Djeri fighting the dark figures with the Ramsetter. He hewed them in half with great swipes, but there were too many of them. They were pressing him inexorably towards the open mouth of the giant who was laying in wait on the ground behind him with eager eyes.
Djeri continued to back up, unaware of the giant’s oncoming maw. Tarah ran and tried to fight her way through to him. Her staff knocked the dark figures in the air, but she wasn’t fast enough. The flames had reached her head.
Tarah woke with a gasp, to find that Djeri was already awake and making breakfast. The morning light was streaming across the hillside and nothing remained of her house but timbers. The cave mouth yawned open to the air, belching the occasional puff of smoke. Djeri had found the well and evidently it was still working because he had a soup boiling, made from their dried beef and grain along with spices of his own.
The meal was good, if a bit hot on the tongue. Then they packed up and readied themselves to leave. Tarah had decided to take her satchel with her, but they were left with the dilemma of what to do with the two large bags of coin. Djeri wasn’t comfortable carrying that much money around with them on the mission. They discussed it and finally Tarah and Djeri each took a spade from their supplies and headed to a nearby spot to bury it.
“This really is a lot of coin, Tarah,” Djeri said, shaking his head as they arrived at the place. It was under a tall pine tree that Tarah was quite familiar with, its trunk pockmarked by years of target practice.
“Six hundred and forty five gold worth,” she said and Djeri whistled. Tarah shoved her spade into the earth at the base of the tree. “Yep, it’s just about every penny Tarah Woodblade’s brought in since I was eighteen.”
“You’re kidding me!” Djeri said. “That’s a lot of earnings in what, eight years?”
She shrugged. “Grampa Rolf taught me good. I do this for him really. I make the most out of every deal just to make him proud, you know.”
“You seriously just go around thinking of ways to accumulate money?”
“I’ll spend it one day,” she said matter-of-factly. “If I ever have anything I really need.”
“You mean like when you have kids of your own?” Djeri suggested.
Tarah sn
orted. “Like any man would have me! No, I reckon I’ll find some use for it. Maybe I’ll open up a bookstore some day; one that folks would come to from cities all around.”
Djeri was frowning at her in a strange way. “You shouldn’t think that way, Tarah. Your future should be more than a job. What’s your legacy? What will you leave behind if you don’t have children?”
“What?” she asked and then she thought she understood his question. He was worried about all that money going to waste. “I’ll tell you what. If I die and I don’t got no one to leave it to, you can have it for all I care. You’ll live longer than me and you know where I’m burying it.”
“Me?” Djeri sputtered.
“What’s bothering you, Djeri the Looker? Are you thinking of killing me and taking my money?” Tarah laughed, shaking her head as she continued digging.
Djeri stood and blinked at her for a moment before finally chuckling. He lifted his spade and helped her dig.
When their task was done, they headed out for the location of the tracks. Tarah gave one last look to the only home she’d ever known and left, not sure how long she’d be gone or even what she would do if she ever came back.
The journey was a long one, and they were quiet for the most part. The weight of the events from the day before sat heavily on Tarah’s shoulders and she was beset by a deep melancholy. Djeri understood and let her be. It took more than half the day before they came to the area described on the map.
Tarah knew the area well. Her father had taken her hunting there several times as a child and she had guided a few hunters this way that were looking for deer. It was a lightly forested and rocky place at the base of the mountain slopes. This was the part of the journey which Tarah had most disliked bringing a mule into, but Neddy was stalwart and obedient, making it through the difficult terrain without many issues.
The map wasn’t detailed enough to show the exact location of the tracks, but from the descriptions the wizard had given them, Tarah knew that they were located somewhere along a small stream. That narrowed down the search considerably and they found their first track at the second stream they came across.
Tarah Woodblade Page 19
