WHAT IS NEEDED
by P. H Solomon
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Table of Contents
A Preview of The Bow of Destiny
Contents
Title
Notices
Maps
Author's Notes
Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
Section 5
The Bow of Destiny Sample Chapter
About the Author
Additional Works
Notices
Published by P. H. Solomon at Amazon Kindle
What Is Needed is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by P. H. Solomon, Second Edition Copyright 2016 by P. H. Solomon
Excerpt for The Bow of Destiny Copyright 2015 by P. H. Solomon
All maps are the property of the author, Copyright 2015 by P. H. Solomon
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming title The Bow of Destiny by P. H. Solomon. This excerpt has been formatted for this book only and may not reflect the final content for the forthcoming edition.
EBook ISBN: 9781310217753
Cover image licensed/commissioned through iStockPhoto
MAPS
Northeast Denaria
From the Sigoth Range to Dragon's Maw
The Gray Spires and
Surrounding Coastal Regions
Author's Notes
This short story, What Is Needed, covers events some 270 years before those occurring in The Bow of Destiny but about 30 years after those in Trading Knives. As such, this tale is a prequel meant to acquaint the reader with the world of Denaria and a few of the characters appearing in the upcoming title, The Bow of Destiny. The appearance of characters from Trading Knives is intentional and their true allegiance is unknown to the character in whose point of view the story is written. Future short stories will cover further details that affect other characters but will also pre-date events occurring in The Bow of Destiny. Thanks for reading this short story and please take a look at the sample chapter for the novel at the end.
1
Along the winding approach to Withling's Watch, a lone figure rode a plodding horse, bowed against the buffeting wind. Youthful hands battled the fingers of cold that snatched at cloak and hood. Strands of brown hair fluttered out of the hood as the woman who owned them huffed clouds of breath out her nose. Her receding chin held firm with clenched teeth against the encroaching chill. Her dark, brown eyes squinted into the wind and watered.
Withling's Watch squatted ahead now in deeper shadow as the dregs of sunlight dwindled behind the Gray Spires. Hastra's head bobbed with the motion of her mare's hoof-dragging gait. It was good to come home. She yawned and shivered. But the occasion of the first winter snow left her wishing for a warm fire and dinner at the village inn bypassed hours earlier. Zelma and friends waited with welcome. Hastra's stomach rumbled. But first, some food.
The expansive stone building loomed out of the dusk as the horse climbed the cobble-stoned incline to the walled keep. Smoke puffed from chimneys. She kicked her weary horse for a faster pace but the animal whickered and ignored her urging.
The gusts from the eastern flanks of the Gray Spires flung Hastra's fur-lined cloak in wild contortions. She tugged the garment under control, held it one-handed against another blast, and gripped the reins in her other hand. She chuckled between her chattering teeth. That woke her. They may be a house of mystics and miracles but even they suffered from cold and hunger. Her stomach growled again.
Horseshoes rang on the road as she approached the gates. Lamps in the gatehouse cast a pool of light in the gloom. Hastra pulled her cloak tighter and lifted her head. Snow threatened all day and night arrived fast below those peaks. Her gaze followed stray snowflakes onto her horse's head.
She blinked into gathering gloom. Hastra gasped. The gatehouse lights were out and the keep stood dark. Her eyes narrowed. The wrought-iron gates stood ajar and listed like a ship in a gale. She pulled the reins and the mare halted with a snort.
The wind howled and exploded past the squealing gateway. Shadow slammed into Hastra and she tumbled off the mare. Screams of terror and snarls of violence echoed from the courtyard. Fire belched from the darkness and roared past her. The mingled voices fell silent while gusts moaned like ghosts around the desolate square.
Boots clattered on the stone pavement.
Hastra recoiled as a figure distilled from the gloom. Her hand fumbled for her belt-knife. "Who's there?" She blinked and the spectral gloom faded.
"Hastra? It's me, Corgren." The Rokan Withling trotted to Hastra's aide with light streaming behind him. He extended his arms. "You fell off your horse. Are you ill or just tired? Are you injured?"
Hastra stammered. He looked like a vulture stooping over a corpse with that bald head and hooked nose. "I've had a..." She stifled her tongue in sudden wariness. Best not speak of a vision too soon. "I must've nodded off a moment. I've pushed hard to return before the snow."
"Can you stand? Here, let me help you." Corgren clasped hands with Hastra as she climbed to her feet.
"Just bruised, I think." She winced and rubbed her hip.
Corgren released Hastra. "You're young, that'll heal soon enough unless Eloch instructs someone to heal you."
"Yes, perhaps." Hastra cocked her head and arched an eyebrow at her surroundings. Light glimmered from the gatehouse and the gates stood whole. Lanterns gleamed in the courtyard while lamps or candles glistened from the keep's windows. She turned and found nothing behind her except the mare and the hastening night. That had been a vision, but of what?
Corgren gathered the mare's reins. "Come warm up in the gatehouse. I'll have your horse taken to the stable."
Hastra limped beside the Rokan who held her arm and led her mare. That vision came with neither instruction nor other impressions. She grimaced at her hip and stepped into the gatehouse as snow swirled thicker on the night wind.
"Noyal, please see that mare over to the stable. It should be curried and fed." Corgren motioned to the door and the young student scurried out the door on the assigned errand. "Is anything wrong, Hastra?"
Hastra stood at the door. Those gates leaned on their hinges in that vision. She rubbed her chin.
Corgren touched her shoulder. "Hastra?"
"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine. Just a bump." Hastra released her frown and smiled. Those gates, the dilapidated keep in darkness. It was abandoned after the screams and fire. She shivered but not from the evening chill. "I'll go up to dinner. Can the boy bring my baggage?"
"As you wish, there should be food on the table even now. I'll sen
d him around later with your things."
Hastra nodded and hobbled into the courtyard as her brows furrowed. She'd speak with Zelma, maybe pray and write it in the book for others to inspect. She winced as she climbed the steps to the door. Hastra turned at the top and found the courtyard dappled in light and shadow. Corgren's head drew back into the gatehouse. He was watching her. By those narrowed eyes he guessed more happened than she had let on. Hastra frowned again and entered the main door of the stone keep. Wind snuffed lit candles by the door.
"Who's that?" The doorkeeper stepped out of the shadows and held a covered lamp aloft. "Hastra! Welcome back to Withling's Watch. I'm sorry to discomfort you with candles at the door but I'm still lighting lamps."
"No bother, I just fell outside is all, Paugren."
The familial hooked nose of Corgren's brother cast an odd shadow on his face as he lit a lamp by the door.
Hastra tugged her gloves off her hands and held them folded in one hand.
"Do you need help? You look pained by the fall."
"No, I just want food." Hastra removed her cloak and draped it over her forearm.
Paugren motioned across the cavernous entry-hall. "Well there are plenty of our fellow Withlings still sitting at the table. I should like to hear of your journey when you have the time."
Hastra flashed a brief smile and nodded. "We can speak on the morrow. Good night." Paugren bowed as she limped away across the marble floor. The vaulted ceiling left the place too cold. It was too proud for their humble order. She grunted at her halting stride. All safe until the end of the journey.
Candle flames fluttered as she entered the passage leading to the dining hall. Muffled murmurs transformed to tangled conversations as Hastra entered the dining hall.
She stood in the doorway as the wave of voices washed away her silent journey. The Withling shuffled among her fellow mystics. Scents of roasted meats and spiced vegetables tickled her nose and her stomach grumbled. If only she could find Zelma. She should hear of this vision. There was her sister's frizzy, red hair down that row of tables. Hastra waved. "Zelma!"
The din of the clattering crockery and chattering mystics drowned Hastra's call. She hobbled along the aisle and met a familiar face. "Howart, greetings!"
"Hastra? Have you returned on the wings of a night-bird?" The Grendonese man switched the pitcher he carried to his left hand and offered his right in greeting. "What is needed..."
"Is given. Yes, but my owl walked the whole way." Hastra rubbed her sore haunch as Howart laughed. This bruise was given for a reason so she shouldn't linger. "I must speak to Zelma if you will excuse me."
The gaunt Withling nodded as she stepped away among the trestle-tables.
Hastra picked Zelma's voice from the mingled voices. "Zelma!" Hastra waved her gloves over her head as she approached.
The freckled face with receding chin and prominent nose turned toward Hastra. A moment of arched eyebrows and thin lips parted changed into wide eyes and grinning.
"Hastra!" The young woman scrambled over the bench and jostled her companions with apologies. "Sister, you've come with the night." Zelma hugged Hastra, drew back and touched her cheeks. "You're half-frozen. Come warm yourself and I'll fetch you a plate of food."
"But I need to speak with you."
"You can tell me all about the negotiations after you're warm and full."
Zelma found space for the two of them on the bench and hurried a plate to Hastra piled with steaming food and warm bread. The others eating around them welcomed Hastra.
"Has the snow started?" Sila, the Shildran, handed Hastra a cup of water.
"Flakes fell as I entered the gate." Hastra drank. She was thirstier than she realized. She smacked her lips as the dryness washed away. "It's colder here than your home in Shildra, I'll warrant."
Sila shrugged. "It's much colder than it is south of Grendon. I don't think I'll ever get used to this. But tell us; is Last Landing at peace now?"
"Oh, you know it is. Hastra sent word with the bird weeks ago." Zelma shouldered her way onto the bench next to Hastra with a grin and an expectant glance at her sister's food.
"What is needed is given." The others around them mumbled the saying with Hastra.
Her voice sounded smoother after the water. She shifted near her younger sister and lowered her voice. "I really need to speak with you, Zelma."
"Eat first." Zelma offered Hastra bread.
"I can take the plate with me but I must tell you fresh news."
Zelma's pale green eyes shifted between the food and Hastra's furrowed brow. The young woman's head tilted and her smile faded. "As new as when?"
Hastra leaned close again. "Now, at the gate."
"Well, fine. We can go to our room I suppose."
The sisters rose and excused themselves from those sitting near them. Hastra took her plate and followed Zelma among the tables with a wince. The hip was so tight in those few moments. She needed someone's prayers if offered. They exited into a narrow side-hall where fewer lamps glowed against the darkness.
Zelma turned back and gasped. "You're limping!"
"Now you notice."
The younger woman's gaze lowered to the floor. "Don't scold me, you've just returned."
"You're right, dear, of course. I'm tired, hurting and hungry." She patted her sister's clasped hands.
"You could have eaten in the hall. What's so urgent?"
They resumed walking and turned down another passage with fewer lights than the last. Zelma's mass of wild hair flamed red even in the gloom.
"I fell off my horse when..."
The candles faded. A snake-faced hobgoblin stepped out of a darkened door by Hastra.
The troll drew a curved sword.
She uttered a wordless shout and dropped her plate. Hastra thrust her hands at the creature. She stumbled on her sore leg as shadow descended.
The hobgoblin's dark eyes glittered malevolence. A merciless grin spread wide and revealed discolored fangs.
"No." The sword whistled at Hastra. Darkness snuffed her awareness.
2
Rough hands grasped Hastra. She screamed. The troll would kill her! Her heart thudded in her ears. She was dying. She stared into the blackness.
"Hastra!"
"Get it off me!"
Zelma's face, ringed with light, replaced the darkness. "Sister, what's wrong? You've fallen." Tears brimmed in Zelma's green eyes.
"It was here, a hobgoblin. It attacked me." Broken crockery and ruined food lay strewn on the rough stone. Hastra groaned, lay back on the cold floor and grabbed her head. "Another vision?" Tears streamed on her cheeks. She had to breathe. Her chest heaved.
"What's wrong?" Someone called. "Do you need help?"
Zelma helped Hastra sit up. "My sister is injured and fell."
Someone stepped closer. "What do you need?"
"Howart? That's Howart." Hastra twisted and placed her back against the stone wall. The gaunt Withling stood in the pool of light at the corner.
Zelma coaxed Hastra to her feet. "Send a student to clean the mess and have another bring more food to our room. It's second level, seventh door on the right. Hastra's weak from her travels."
"Can you get her to your room?"
Zelma nodded and displayed a weak smile. "What is needed is given."
Hastra trained her voice to a low tone. "Good, I'm not ready to share visions." There was no impression for action or meaning - yet. She winced when she put weight on her leg.
Howart frowned, nodded and left.
Hastra leaned on her sister as they hobbled away. They arrived at the stair and struggled at each step until they gained the next floor. Hastra hoped there was a prayer for her hip or she expected to be gimpy for a while. She sucked air through clenched teeth as her boot soles scraped on the wooden stair.
"You've had visions?" Zelma huffed and grunted as Hastra pushed against her.
"Yes, the first knocked me off my horse and that's how I got hurt. Thank
Eloch, Corgren helped me."
"Tell me what you've seen."
Hastra shook her head. "Not here, not now."
They shambled to their door and Hastra hopped to her bed while Zelma closed the door. The young woman rounded on Hastra with arms crossed and brow creased. "Tell me why this vision's so secret in Withling's Watch."
Hastra rubbed her leg and related the exact details. "Darkness howled from the gate with a gust of wind and punched me from the saddle. There was fire-"
Zelma whirled at a feeble knock and snatched the door open. "Good, this is good. Is the floor cleaned?" The young Withling closed the door as the student mumbled an answer.
She handed the plate to Hastra who nibbled and waited as the student's footsteps faded. She related the condition of the gates, the screams and everything else between mouthfuls of warm food. Zelma stood with her head cocked and the furrow between her eyebrows unwavering. She had Zelma's attention now. Hastra paused, bit into her bread and chewed.
"And in the passage?" Zelma motioned in the direction of the stairwell.
"A second vision." Hastra nodded with vigor. "Yes, on the heels of the first. A hobgoblin stepped out of a door and attacked me as darkness descended again."
Zelma sat on her bed and leaned forward with her elbows braced on her knees. "That's rather emphatic, two in one night."
"But there's more."
"Ah, good you haven't told me your impressions or inclinations. These are pivotal to interpretation."
Hastra frowned and set her plate aside. "That's just it. I have none."
Zelma leaned further forward. "Nothing at all? There must be something."
Hastra brushed crumbs from her skirt. "It's like an empty well. It should have water but the bucket brings nothing up."
"You need to write it in the Book of Prophecies. Someone else will know what it is for, what the interpretation is."
An edge crept into Hastra's tone. "Didn't you hear me? I have nothing from Eloch instructing me what to do, not even that."
What Is Needed: Prequel 2 of The Bow of Hart Saga Page 1
