What Is Needed: Prequel 2 of The Bow of Hart Saga

by P. H. Solomon

  "Then maybe it's not real. If I didn't know better I'd say you were..." Zelma fell silent and lowered her head.

  "What, crazy?"

  Zelma displayed a weak smile. "Perhaps over-worked. You said yourself you pushed to return before the winter snows."

  "I've only been allowed to tell you this. There is warning and likely danger but it is not to be spread, at least not yet."

  Zelma stood and opened the door.

  "Where are you going? Give me something more since I've been allowed to share this with you."

  "I have. Enter your visions in the book or go to sleep and forget them. Either way I'm due to say prayers."

  The first snow of winter blew drifts in the courtyard for three days and Hastra's leg ached worse each day. She left her haggard reflection in the mirror and shuffled with Zelma to prayer on the morning after the snow ended. She refrained from cursing the stairs on the arduous descent to the main floor. Stray words meant something to her and all Withlings.

  Other Withlings milled outside the chapel. Someone in the crowd laid a hand on Hastra's arm. She paused at an old man in a felt hat. Hastra bobbed her head for a better view of the stranger's face but got none in the morning shadows.

  Zelma kept walking. She waved at one of her friend's and turned to Hastra. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

  Hastra nodded with a grimace as she rounded on the other Withling. "Good morning, I don't think I know you." Hastra avoided putting weight on her injured leg.

  "We've met." The old man waved his hand.

  Hastra glimpsed a twinkle in his eye just under the brim. "I just don't remember - perhaps it's the hat?"

  "You need that hip healed. May I?" Without waiting for her consent, he reached around her and touched her lower back and spoke words Hastra didn't quite understand.

  The pain dispelled in a moment.

  Hastra sighed. "That's a relief. Thank you."

  The old Withling nodded with a wisp of a smile.

  Hastra didn't see Zelma anywhere. She must be close. Hastra glanced between people milling nearby in search of her sister. There was a message in that injury and the timing. She wheeled back to ask her healer's name. He was gone. Hastra brushed past the three smiling sisters from Grendon. What were their names? Zelma's hair blazed in the crowd where it thrust from beneath her head scarf.

  "There you are, sister. I've gotten a healing this morning." Hastra flexed her painless leg.

  "Who?" Zelma's head swayed as she searched the crowd.

  "I didn't recognize him but he's wearing an old, wide-brimmed hat." Hastra sat on a wooden bench beside Zelma.

  "In here?"

  "Oh, he's probably left it outside."

  Someone cleared their voice as the morning cantor started prayers.

  Halfway through the intonation, Hastra's head rose before she remembered herself and bowed again. She'd serve in the Hall of Silence until she had more direction. Her smile grew throughout the end of the prayer as the dour mood of several painful days crumbled from her face like melting ice.

  The long building that served as the Hall of Silence once housed soldiers. Now the order of Withlings used the old barracks for their meditations. Light burned lowly throughout the year and silence was the rule so that the mystics might practice both reverence and listening to their deity, Eloch. This meditation was termed as "volunteer service" where mystics both maintained lighting, heat and water as well as silent prayer. It was to this discipline Hastra retreated for some weeks to consider her visions.

  Hastra's lips puckered as the door to the Hall of Silence closed softer than falling snow. Nothing again. No impression to share with anyone or write it in the Book of Prophecies. She pulled her thick shawl close and high-stepped through the snow gathered around her legs. Thick clouds rolled over the Gray Spires. "Maybe I should just forget them."

  The Withling wandered to her room but didn't find her sister. Zelma's already at table. Hastra shrugged. She could use an early dinner. She soon served herself a bowl of steaming soup that smelled of onions and sausage. Hastra snagged brown bread with butter and shuffled between the trestle tables toward Zelma who sat alone and stirred her bowl of soup.

  "This is different for you. Your crowd is busy, I see." Hastra straddled the bench.

  "Your visions trouble me. You've spent so much time in the Hall of Silence. Won't you write them down for others to see? They consume you." Zelma sniffed and wiped her nose while a tear gleamed in her green eyes.

  "This is hardly the place to discuss my visions."

  Howart approached and sat across the table from Hastra and her sister. The tall Withling lowered his head in prayer. If he heard them... Hastra picked at her food and then took a hot spoonful of soup, smacked her lips, snatched a cup of water and sloshed the contents as she gulped.

  "What visions are you talking about?" Howart tore bread and dipped it into the steaming soup.

  Hastra choked and almost spewed her water. Now it will be out. She swallowed and wiped her face.

  Zelma elbowed Hastra. "You should talk about it."

  Hastra scowled at Zelma who arched one eyebrow higher than the other and offered a faint smile. No chance for denial now. Hastra's face heated with a flush. That soup burned. Hastra drank again. She swallowed and opened her mouth.

  The Grendonese sisters strode past. They giggled and whispered while their skirts twirled with their flouncing stride. Hastra clamped her mouth shut and followed the sisters with her eyes. Which one was which? She could never tell. They sat several tables away and shared a jest with Paugren and Corgren that set the Rokan brothers laughing.

  Zelma cleared her throat. Howart paid Hastra's reticence no mind as he dunked his bread again.

  "Not here. Let's eat first and find somewhere to speak."

  Howart shrugged and his sunken cheeks filled with his broad smile that exposed his crooked teeth. "A big secret, I see. Well enough, I've nothing to do after supper."

  Once they finished, Hastra led Zelma and Howart on a walk through empty corridors. She related the tale to Howart who bent close to hear Hastra's whispers. She paused often and checked the passages for anyone following. They paused at a window overlooking the courtyard.

  Howart gazed out the window at the late winter night beneath the early stars until his breath frosted the panes. "It's almost like the vision is now since you have no unction about it."

  Hastra shifted her feet and cocked her head. "I don't understand what you mean."

  The gaunt Withling turned from the window and his deep-set eyes shifted between Hastra and her sister. "The danger from these visions is here, now, and not something in the future." Howart swept his arms in an arc over Hastra's head as he spoke.

  Zelma hugged herself as she shivered. "But there's no sign of trolls in this old keep. How can there be any danger?"

  "The danger's here though. That's why there's no interpretation, no instruction." Howart wagged a long finger as he spoke.

  Hastra turned to the window and found her murky reflection in the fogged pane, her plain, brown locks outlined by Zelma's corona of wild red from behind. "But from where and whom is our danger? There may be trolls or not but there's something else at work." She turned back to her companions but neither answered. "We must watch for odd behavior and investigate if necessary. We have no proof of a betrayal or danger."

  Howart crossed his arms. "Except your dreams."

  Zelma chuckled and tossed her flaming tresses. "And oddity is common in this house."

  They stood silent as flickering lamps counted the passage of moments.

  Zelma stirred. "We should tell the elders there is danger."

  Hastra shook her head. "There is no instruction to do so. What if they can't be trusted?"

  Howart spread his arms, palms up. "Who can we trust? Should we search rooms?"

  "We can't just invade rooms and search belongings. What would we say if caught? We could make things worse." Hastra turned back to the window where the fog faded.
Below, Corgren crossed the courtyard and entered the gatehouse. "We'll have to figure that out as soon as we can. You were right a moment ago. We're not looking for odd behavior, just activity that is out of place." She watched her companions' reflections nod.

  "We'll catch whoever endangers us." Zelma patted Hastra's shoulder.

  Hastra drummed her cheek with her fingers. But this may not be about catching them. She shivered and pulled her shawl closer.

  3

  The three Withlings watched their fellow mystics and whispered their intentions in dark corners. Several weeks later, they gathered after dinner and discussed their lack of findings in hushed voices.

  "I say we inform the elders." Howart shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  Hastra shook her head. "Who can we trust?"

  Zelma uncrossed her arms and touched Hastra's shoulder. "We've found nothing. If there's danger we can't keep it to ourselves."

  Hastra paced away and back several times. She needed to do something. She paused and slouched. "We've done what we can, I suppose. If something happens without informing the elders we'll be responsible. Who should we trust with this?"

  Howart cleared his throat. "I say Elder Tokla. He's Chokkran and they dislike trolls more than most other dwarves. He'd never be an ally to trolls."

  "You're right." Hastra started walking.

  Zelma grabbed her sister's arm. "Now?"

  "When else?"

  They found the dwarf in his spare apartment. After the Withling elder invited them into his room they explained their problem. Tokla listened while he cleaned his glasses. When they finished, Tokla stood and paced his room, hands behind his back. "And no one else knows of this?"

  Hastra shook her head as did Howart and Zelma.

  The elder pointed his spectacles at them. "You should have told me sooner. Trolls are like vermin. I'll need to look into this, bring the other elders into it. We'll need to discuss an interpretation - a course of action at the very least."

  Hastra cleared her throat. "So you believe me?"

  The elder chuckled, a sound like crunching gravel from a dwarf. "Of course I believe you. This is Withling's Watch isn't it?" He waved aside Hastra's attempt to answer the obvious. "The question is what to do since we have no guidance from Eloch." The dwarf paced again and when he stopped, he lowered his chin. He pointed with his glasses to Hastra. "I'll let you know what we decide."

  Hastra wanted to ask if it was wise to bring other elders into this. Instead she nodded and Tokla showed them out. If only the dwarf would follow through on his promise. He would, he must. Tokla was a dwarf, after all.

  Two days later, Tokla shoved a note into her hand in passing as she and her fellow mystics departed the morning prayers. She read the curling words so reminiscent of dwarven runes: Fear not. We are investigating. Expect rumors of searched rooms but say nothing in response.

  That night Hastra slept well for the first time in weeks.

  But, the warning bell clanged and jolted Hastra from slumber. Screams and snarls echoed from the lower levels. It was a dream like the others. She clutched her blanket at her chin and waited.

  Zelma lit a candle. Light flared and illuminated her wide-eyed face and disheveled shocks of flame-red hair. "Is that what you heard in the first vision?"

  Hastra groaned. It had come. No, it had been here all along. She swung her bare feet onto the frigid floor. "Get dressed in something warm. The snow has melted but nights are still cold."

  Zelma's mouth remained open as she twisted in her bed with a nod.

  Hastra swirled into a dress and sat on her bed while she tugged wool stockings on her feet. "Shh." She waved a hand and they sat silent. Ominous sounds rose and fell beyond their door. "Put that candle out, someone's coming." She snatched her walking stick, hoisted it at her shoulder and stood by the door.

  Quick footsteps stopped at their door. It creaked open. Lamp-light bloomed. Hastra withheld her swing at the sight of Howart's gaunt face. His eyes blinked in the shadow of their deep hollows.

  The tall Withling swung the lamp in the room. "Come with me. I've expected this and made preparations in the cellars if we can get there. I'll get anyone else nearby while you finish here. Hurry! No shoes from here, they echo." Howart paused for spare moments, pulled shoes off his feet and then went tapping on nearby doors.

  Zelma lit the candle again.

  "Don't bother with that, sister, we can see enough to gather what we need."

  "I'll leave it lit when we leave so they'll have to search the rooms."

  Hastra nodded and grabbed their winter cloaks as Zelma finished with her stockings. They left with their shoes in hand and found wide eyed fellow Withlings who trembled by Howart in the passage. Just ten of us? So few. Hastra pushed hair out of her face. Better than none.

  Light flickered in the near stairwell.

  Howart shuttered his lamp and lowered his voice. "This way to the cellars. Run!"

  The knot of Withlings scurried along the hall. Their legs pumped as they navigated the far stairwell in near darkness. They reached a landing and crowded out of sight. Pig-faced bugbears smashed through barred doors at the far length of the lowest apartment level. Crashes and growls sounded from the level above them.

  Howart pulled his hood onto his head and he murmured into their knot. "Follow me. Stay in the shadows. We can't wait or they will catch us here." He held the shuttered lamp away from the wall. The skinny Withling pressed against the stone wall and slipped into the deeper darkness gathered below them.

  The others took their turns as the trolls ravaged rooms and drug out other screaming Withlings.

  Hastra pulled on her hood. She slunk after Howart and schooled her attention away from the trolls. She held her breath and crossed in the shadows. She ignored the screams, but her eyes flicked toward the movement. A bugbear stabbed feeble Durna. Tears pooled in Hastra's eyes at the sight of blood. The old Withling crumpled to the floor, her eyes still and fixed on Hastra.

  The troll licked the dead mystic's blood from its blade and roared it pointless victory over the wails of other victims.

  Hastra's stomach knotted. She suppressed the urge to vomit. Durna was so kind and now gone. Hastra rubbed her damp cheeks and faded into darkness.

  They lurched into the upper cellars.

  Hastra inhaled the mustiness as they descended. She winced at the destructive clamor and blinked back more tears for lost friends. Why couldn't she find their betrayers sooner? She bumped into someone with a grunt as they halted in the cellar passage. "Sorry."

  Dim light glowed on Howart's face and everyone crowded close at his whispers. "I'll chance a little light here. I'm not as familiar with this area. We need to go into the lowest cellars. Put on your shoes."

  Hastra slipped on her shoes and pushed closer to the skeletal Withling. "Those cellars aren't used anymore. It's dangerous with rats and decay."

  "I've been preparing for this. I've mapped a way out from there."

  Tenelle, the pudgy Shildran woman from the end of Hastra's hall, frowned. "Preparing? You've known about this and told no one?"

  Howart cleared his throat. "We've only suspected based on visions Hastra had all winter without instructions from Eloch. The elders knew and were investigating."

  Faces turned to Hastra. They were confused and angry with her. Torchlight flickered above and the sound of chaos rose.

  "We've no time to discuss this. Follow me or perish." Howart trotted away and passed closed storage-room doors.

  Hastra hurried after Howart with the others but endured uncertain murmurs until Howart shushed them. They blamed her. Maybe she should have spoken out. Crashes echoed from the dark passage behind her. It wouldn't have made a difference. They weren't warriors.

  Howart led them through several turns until they reached a stairwell to the lower cellars. Their leader huffed with sweat beaded on his brow. "I've hidden a few supplies below that may help us. This is a maze and I don't know my way well at all."

&nbs
p; Water dripped in places and the slick stair slowed them. Hastra held her skirt high and felt for each step with her foot. Dust tickled her nose. She covered her lower face with her sleeved arm and stifled a sneeze. If the trolls didn't get them the foul air would. She exhaled, gasped for air and held it. What's rotted down here?

  They gained the lower cellar level and kicked up more dust. Howart risked more light.

  Grit on the stone floor scraped under their feet. There were Howart's footprints from his earlier forays. Where was he leading them? Their guide turned several times and Hastra lost her sense of direction. She pulled her skirt higher as she traipsed through a shallow pool of discolored water.

  Howart opened a door and stepped into a room. Instead of darkness they met light as their knot of Withlings pushed into the room.

  Corgren wheeled from shelves packed with supplies. The position of the Rokan's light cast a shadow across half his face. "So you're the one who left all this here."

  Howart's voice rose in spite of the danger. "What are you doing here? Weren't you at the gate? Didn't you ring the bell? How did you escape the trolls?"

  "Paugren had the gate tonight." Corgren's thin lips spread into a smile beneath his hooked nose though no friendliness rose in his eyes. "And I didn't escape the trolls." He snapped his fingers. Snake-faced hobgoblins and tusked bugbears stepped from behind old crates. Curved blades whispered from sheathes as the trolls drew their weapons.

  Hastra wheeled toward the door. A sword-point rose to her throat. The mirthless grin of a hobgoblin revealed yellowed, broken teeth. They were trapped! She held her breath.

  "You see, Withling's Watch is mine in the name of Magdronu."

  Hastra gasped. The Hidden Dragon had destroyed them. The fetid stench no longer bothered Hastra as their captors snorted and snarled laughter.

  The hobgoblin's tongue flicked between needle-like fangs that flashed yellow in the torchlight. The blade-point pressed against Hastra's throat and she raised her chin. Corgren had run out of the darkness and flame the night of her visions. He was revealed out of darkness in the Hidden Dragon's flame this night. Her face twitched and she clenched her teeth. She'd gotten everything wrong!